Blindboy: The Land of Slaves and Scholars review – Innovative look at the tumultuousness of Irish history

Blindboy Boatclub came to prominence as half of comedy musical duo Rubberbandits, who had a viral hit in 2010 with Horse Outside and later collaborated with Russell Brand on a dire cover of Blur’s Parklife. That second song was full of the clever-sounding guff that was Brand’s stock in trade until his career took a different turn. “Words used efficiently can be a dangerous tool that slices through propaganda like a … sharp knife”, Brand chanted, Blindboy joining in on the chorus in his Limerick accent. Po-faced and infantile, it was as if George Orwell had been reincarnated as a Teletubby.
Blindboy has since become a popular podcaster and author – all while wearing a plastic bag over his face. His fans love him dearly as a progressive figure with all sorts of outside-the-box ideas about the hidden societal ley lines rippling modern Ireland. But to most of the population he remains obscure, and it is quite a step up from podcasting to fronting a prime-time RTÉ history documentary, as he does on Blindboy: The Land of Slaves and Scholars (RTÉ One, Thursday, 10.15pm).
It’s a weird hotchpotch. At moments Blindboy comes across as an Irish version of Philomena Cunk, Diane Morgan’s English faux-documentary presenter, though without the laughs. The biggest problem is that RTÉ doesn’t tell us why Blindboy is obscuring his features behind a bag and why he’s an authority on Irish history. Imagine Simon Schama presenting Civilisations while dressed in a bin liner. There would have to be a good reason – and the BBC would definitely offer an explanation. RTÉ apparently assumes viewers will be au fait with the Blindboy persona when that is unlikely to be true for many tuning in.
[ Blindboy: ‘I left my first day of school feeling great shame. The pain of that still rises up in me’Opens in new window ]
One upside is that it’s great to hear a Limerick voice on TV: it’s astonishing that regional accents are still such a rarity on the airwaves. That said, Blindboy has an unusual method of delivery that makes everything he says sound sarcastic. Even when he’s being sincere, as he is throughout this broadcast, it’s as if he’s winding up for a punchline that never arrives.
The Lands of Slaves and Scholars starts with the novel premise of Blindboy struggling to acknowledge medieval monks’ contribution to Irish and European culture in light of the crimes of the Catholic Church in the 20th century. It’s certainly a new take – has the Book of Kells ever before been drawn into the conversation about the wrongs of Christian Brothers?
He also seems to believe that there’s something shocking about the film’s big reveal that Ireland in the time of St Patrick was a “slaved-based society” and that “we don’t talk about that”. Don’t we? Every version of the legend of St Patrick I’ve heard begins with him being kidnapped by slavers and forced to toil in Ireland. It’s part of the origin story of our national saint. He also seems far too performatively chuffed when one historian explains that, as Blindboy puts it in a flash of cultural cringe, Ireland “taught the English how to write”.
Such criticisms aside, Blindboy brings something new to the airwaves. He taps into the sense of haunting weirdness that runs through Irish history via spooky, swirling transitions between interviews with experts such as Manchán Magan, Dr Daniel Curley and Dr Elizabeth Boyle. Here is a dive into the deep past that captures the sheer uncanniness of ancient Ireland and avoids the cliches of history TV, which inevitably features a clever-clogs academic radiating smugness in front of a ruin.
Blindboy deserves praise for approaching the tumultuousness of Irish history from a different angle. Sadly, his producers let him down. They should have started the documentary by explaining who Blindboy is, why his views are worth listening to and what’s up with the plastic-bag thing. Some viewers may take one look at this strange man speaking sarcastically from inside a shopping bag and switch off – and what shame that is.