The Three Urns
John-Paul Davidson and Stephen Warbeck reunite for Warbeck’s sophomore feature, The Three Urns, a quietly affecting character piece disguised as a road-trip comedy—one that, in its emotional undercurrents, recalls the humanist strain of Planes, Trains and Automobiles.
Much like a John Hughes film, the script is packed with witty dialogue and heartfelt character moments, operating on several emotional registers at once.
The road-trip structure works because the protagonist is traveling to visit various family members before reaching his final destination. What begins as a straightforward drive gradually unravels through unforeseen events, introducing humor and slapstick that, while masking the story’s deeper pain, never dilute it. As in life, the saddest people are often those who appear the happiest.
The film repeatedly veils grief through comic encounters. In one such moment, two girls steal his bag—only for us to learn they are acting out after losing their mother. Small interactions like these, the strangers he meets along the way, give emotional weight to both the journey and the film itself.
While road-trip comedies such as Due Date or Road Trip aim primarily for laughs, The Three Urns, like Planes, Trains and Automobiles, reaches for something more layered.
Writing and directing in tandem, Davidson and Warbeck demonstrate a clear tonal vision. The pacing remains steady throughout, with no scenes feeling slack or structurally misplaced.
The mysterious woman pursuing him across the film adds a layer of intrigue that mostly works, though its narrative impact ultimately feels slight. It suggests an additional thematic purpose that never fully coheres.
Richard Kendrick’s cinematography, however, lands every beat. The film is beautifully shot: crisp framing, expansive yet purposeful landscapes. Given the protagonist’s outward journey, much unfolds in the Irish countryside, whose natural beauty becomes an expressive backdrop.
Kendrick never wastes these environments, using them not only to invite the viewer in but to elevate the film’s emotional atmosphere. In films built around movement and encounter, visual tone becomes essential—sometimes more defining than dialogue itself.
The contrast can be seen in works like Before Sunrise and Before We Go: while setting plays a role, the decisive difference lies in visual language. The latter’s comparatively flat cinematography alters its emotional texture entirely.
Though not the sole force behind the film’s success, Kendrick’s work remains one of its strongest assets.
The performances are equally precise. Ciarán Hinds delivers a restrained, deeply felt turn. A role that could easily tip into excess remains grounded, culminating in a vulnerable third-act moment that completes the character’s arc.
Ultimately, beneath its humor, The Three Urns is a gentle portrait of a man mourning his wife while carrying her toward a final resting place—a journey rendered with quiet sincerity.