Director Ian Palmer had a contact with Irish 'traveller' families and he became interested in their ways. In particular he sought out the semi-ritualized bare knuckle fights which solve (and re-kindle) their feuds. This feature-length documentary has been gestating for over a decade. Palmer's film partly appeals because of the secret nature of the age-old practice and the raw brutality of some of the moments caught on film. It grabs the same part of the psyche that responds when the ugly cage fighting is on (Cable) TV. Of course bare knuckle fighting isn't the invention of the 'tinkers' – it was common throughout England in the 19th century – it just looks weird now as an atavistic survival amongst these sprawling, huge, feud-locked families. Some of Palmer's subjects are great documentary material, especially his lead character who keeps fighting (and winning) but who has begun to felt heart-sick at the whole thing. You can also see the well springs of renewal in the adoring faces of the little boys who shadow box and dance around him as he comes home victorious. This is what it means to be a real man in this community. The old men are involved too, usually as referees (there are rules as we discover when young aspirant loses the plot and is disqualified for a bit of the old Mike Tyson face-biting). Away from the blood lust and excitement of the back lots and lanes, the members of the various feuding families – the Quinns and the Joyces – pontificate on what the point of it all is. "It's not just wars", says one man, "it means something." But the remark hangs in the air precisely because, as Palmer's haunting doco shows, this might no longer be true, if it ever was. There is individual heroism here but increasingly the sad idea takes hold that this dying form is just a huge cannibalistic waste of community energies.
