Irland, Ende der 1970er Jahre: Joe und Kate Ruttledge verlassen London, um sich in einer kleinen, ländlichen Gemeinde an einem malerischen See niederzulassen. Das Paar genießt das Leben fernab der Großstadt und verbringt seine Zeit mit Kunst und Gartenarbeit. Ihre Tür steht allen Dorfbewohnerinnen und -bewohnern offen, die schrullig, hilfsbereit und liebenswert sind. Jeder Mensch der Gemeinde ist eine kleine, faszinierende Welt für sich. Joe und Kate tauchen im Laufe eines Jahres immer tiefer in die Dorfgemeinschaft ein, erleben Hochzeiten, Trauerfeiern und Feste und schließen die Menschen immer tiefer in ihr Herz. THAT THEY MAY FACE THE RISING SUN ist eine Adaption des letzten Romans von John McGahern, einem der größten Romanautoren Irlands, und der dritte abendfüllende Spielfilm des irischen Autorenfilmers Pat Collins.

THAT THEY MAY FACE THE RISING SUN is an adaptation of the final novel from John McGahern, one of Ireland’s greatest novelists. Joe and Kate Ruttledge have returned from London to live and work among a small, lakeside community in rural Ireland near to where Joe grew up. Now deeply embedded in the life around the lake, the drama of a year in their lives and those of the memorable characters that move about them unfolds through the rituals of work, play and the passing seasons as this enclosed world becomes an everywhere. THAT THEY MAY FACE THE RISING SUN is the third full-length feature film from Irish auteur director, Pat Collins.

Watching the film adaptation of the John McGahern novel ‚That They May Face the Rising Sun‘ is a profound experience. It’s a wonderful film. If you haven’t seen it yet, try to get to it this week. Beautiful, incredibly moving, and soothing, it’s also an exercise in memory. Afterwards, I suddenly remembered reporting on John McGahern’s funeral for the Sunday Tribune. It was on a Saturday in the spring of 2006. I remember how people gathered by the roadside, in the places we must have gone through or around – Rooskey, Mohill, Fenagh, Ballinamore. I remember the beautiful plainness of the event, the quiet dignity and respect displayed by working people – a butcher here, a mechanic there – heads bowed as the hearse passed. I think I remember the sun giving way to grey clouds, a spitting rain hitting the coffin at the graveyard beside the church. I remember other things too, small details, but I’m not sure if they’re accurate. Memory is an unreliable narrator, after all.

With a sound design steeped in birdsong, and a spare piano score by Irene and Linda Buckley, here’s a film that unwraps its mysteries slowly, revealing under its quiet surface the human condition writ delicate but deep.