James Finlan Atones For His Sins (sort of)...

I was sitting in a bar in Soho with my friend Anthony, when Anthony dropped the bombshell: “Atonement is the worst Irish film ever made”. At first I thought he was joking – trying to get a rise out of me. But then it hits me. He's not joking. As my American friend Rick would say – he's as serious as a heart attack. “Have you seen it?”, Anthony persists. I shake my head and stare down into my pint of Old Speckled Hen. “Is that the time? Must dash”, I splutter as I grab my coat and stumble out into the rain. It was – to quote the Pogues song – a rainy day in Soho but I assure you the dirty London rain was no match for the torrent of tears which flowed from my eyes.

Lest there be any confusion, I'm not referring to the multi award-winning adaptation of Ian McEwan's fine novel. Alas, no. I refer to a far less worthy effort - a short black and white film whose release was to shake the Galway film-making community to its very core. You see, the thing is: I directed Atonement. And Anthony – a friend from the post-Atonement phase of my life was blissfully unaware of this fact. Of course he was unaware. Atonement was my dark secret and I wasn't going to tell anyone about it. But now my past had caught up with me. I could never escape it.

Ever since its premiere at the Galway Film Fleadh in 1992, it has followed me like a stalker. Not the kind of sexy female stalker one might secretly fantasise about. More like some sad anorak-wearing nerd with nothing better to do than constantly remind me that I am responsible for this blight on Irish culture. Well, the time has come to say it. Don't blame me for Atonement. Blame the Galway Film Centre.

There. I've said it. For it was the Galway Film Centre who awarded me the handsome sum of 700 pounds towards the making of said film. Yes, it was none other than Bob Quinn and Lelia Doolan who saw fit to finance this dubious venture under the script award scheme of what was then known as the Film Resource Centre. The fallout from the Atonement debacle was such that an extraordinary general meeting was called and the decision was made to rename the centre as the Galway Film Centre with immediate effect. Bob Quinn, who had now completely distanced himself from the film – proposed issuing a fatwa, Celine seconded and the vote was only narrowly defeated by a margin of three votes. Under advice from the Garda commissioner, I defected to Russia for a year.

And so, it's out in the open. I've come out of the proverbial closet which I've shared for the last 17 years with four hundred odd feet of 16mm black and white celluloid. And I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore. So, the next time you see me, before you consider bringing up the dreaded 'A' word; before you indulge in the noble Irish tradition of 'slagging', remember this: Slag me and you slag the Galway Film Centre. Condemn me and you condemn the Galway Film Centre. And you wouldn't want that on your conscience now, would you?