Rachel Walshe gets political in Neasa Ní Chianáin’s latest documentary.
With everything going on in the world (and oh boy, is there a lot), it can be hard, inconvenient if you will, to remember the Sword of Damocles that is climate change. Across Europe, what should be the existential issue of our age feels like a footnote on the political landscape. Forever Is Now, directed by IFTA-winner Neasa Ní Chianáin (School Life, Sundance 2017; Young Plato, 2022) and produced by BAFTA-winner David Rane (Much Ado About Dying, 2023; My Sweet Land, 2024), attempts to reignite a conversation. Through a fly-on-the-wall look at former Green Party Leader Eamon Ryan, the film focuses on the last eighteen months of Ryan’s political career in government. Which, as it happens, was a very consequential eighteen months.
At its best, the film offers an intriguing look behind the curtain of global politics. Ryan acts mainly as an avatar, a way of looking into the political landscape of the time, which does feel like a very specific moment. Ní Chianáin captures the feeling of 2023/2024 as a hinge point. Unfortunately, we know which way it swings. Rising protests and an ever-present air of disquiet, on all sides of the political spectrum, act as a backdrop. Ryan attends two COP events over the duration of the film: COP 28 in Dubai in 2023, and COP29 in 2024 in Azerbaijan. Both nations are huge exporters of oil, with an oil refinery welcoming the Irish delegates to the Azerbaijan event.
This visual representation of the complex political nature of these conferences is accompanied by an evident frustration at the lack of forward momentum. Both times, protesters urge delegates to walk away rather than settle for an ultimately ineffective deal. Ryan remains within the system, clawing what wins he can. Back in his offices, staffers joke about the creativity of hate mail, when a hand-drawn shamrock that doubles as a snake is accidentally ripped up. Scenes like this feel like the Irish take on Armando Iannucci’s Veep.
This peek offers an interplay between public and private. In the most literal sense, there is generous access given by Ryan to his family, namely his relationship with his son Tommy, who seemingly helps in giving the film its title; throughout, Tommy repeats the word “forever”. Tommy is often with his father at work, or out in nature, exploring. But, as is stated at numerous points throughout the film, Tommy needs full-time care. It’s the pull of family that ultimately leads to Ryan’s departure from government in 2024. It is also admirable that, throughout the course of the film, Ryan’s political work does not solely focus on Ireland. There is a huge push to discuss climate equity with Africa, for a global, interconnected movement outside the realm of might and markets. It’s sad to see how, in only three years, we are in a much bleaker political environment. Hard to imagine any minister in government today talking, as Ryan does here, about not “building walls” when it comes to dealing with refugees entering the state.
There are several moments which reveal, to an honestly frustrating level, how much forethought goes into how a policy sounds. Ryan debates whether to use “bio-diversity” or “nature” when speaking on The Late Late Show. Obviously, the goal is to connect to the listener, the point made by Ryan that (as he learned from his playwright grandmother) it’s always best to use the simpler word. But it does raise a core issue of climate advocacy: how do you, in a fun, engaging way, explain to people that the earth’s on fire? In response to protesters at Mary Robinson’s Conference on Climate in Ballina, Ryan responds that “Collective steps are possible, if we get the story right”. But the basic plot points of climate change have been around for decades, so when will the narrative shift?
Minute attention to detail does lead to scenes portraying the real, boring, and crucial work of policymaking, in which Ryan and his team pore over leaked documents for the proposal at COP28, where “coulds” and “shoulds” define whether or not we will see an end to fossil fuel use. But there is also serious discussion about which socks he should wear, with no table to hide behind on The Late Late Show set. During the interview, Ryan reaches down and adjusts his socks, mid-question from Patrick Kielty. His staff worry they’ve made him self-conscious, watching backstage in the green room. This shows how conscious politicians need to be of the perception of everything. After attending the UN General Assembly in 2023, Ryan speaks to John Kerry, US presidential envoy for climate. Kerry lays bare the reality of what climate-conscious politicians are up against: you have to focus on what is “marketable” and “acceptable”. 2023, incidentally, was the hottest year on record (at the time), breaching 1.5 degrees for the first time since the Paris Agreement in 2015.
There is an astute point from Ryan that political science trumps climate science, noting that most politicians are aware of the situation. What is intriguing is where, at least behind the scenes, there is an overlap in thinking. In the earlier scene of the protesters interrupting Ryan’s speech at Mary Robinson’s Conference, the accusation that the government offers only “baby steps” is, in fairness, taken on the chin by Ryan. In the back of a car on the way back from COP28, Edel Hackett, Ryan’s former adviser, repeats the phrase, decrying the baby steps taken when the issue is “sprinting”. If those protesting and those in power are on the same page, how did we end up here? (I mean, it’s capitalism but like, c’mon, give a girl a break.)
The use of montage sequences, often beginning with imagery of the natural world, helps condense the huge number of events that take place over the span of the film. Long shots of seawater crashing over seaweed offer a respectful distance and yet an evocative omission of the bodies of refugees, washing ashore. Disembodied voices compare the rise in migration to a “flood… an invasion”. Tents line the underpass by the International Protection Office on Mount Street, where around 200 asylum seekers were camped. Ryan does face scrutiny in an interview with Kieran Cuddihy, where Ryan rightly notes that a less politically divided Irish media landscape is essential to democracy and to fighting the trend towards far-right policies. But it does bump with the fact that Ryan was a part of the government and had agency over assisting,
That Ryan steps down as leader, and that Green parties across Europe suffered a crippling defeat in 2024, almost feels lucky from a purely narrative standpoint. Or, to be more charitable, it could be down to Ní Chianáin’s keen instincts for the moment. Flies land on walls sometimes, and sometimes what they see happens to be worthwhile, and, to be clear, a record of 2023 as a reminder of the steps that got us to 2026 is worthwhile, but the film’s overall intent feels elusive. If it was to act as an avenue to discuss climate change, that is admirable. Anything that brings climate change back into the conversation is crucial, but that is because the conversation has been cut off mid-sentence. The interspersing of major weather events like Storms Éowyn and Agnes alongside Ryan’s everyday work schedule paints a stark picture of how nature will not wait for politics to cop on. And yet, if someone was a climate denier, or maybe someone who’s a smattering of climate apathy, would they be moved?
Throughout the film, there is a push to engage the average Joe, to get them not in the head but the heart. Forever Is Nowfaces some of the same challenges that many who try to push for climate action face: how to capture the imagination of the unconverted. And yet, in the end, I think it’s much like the Green Party itself; maybe not 100% what it’s doing 100% of the time, but you’d miss it if it wasn’t there.
Forever Is Now screens in cinemas across Ireland from 12th–18th October 2026 for Climate Action Week.
