History is usually written by the people who weren't there. You get the dates, the maps, and the dry political analysis from a guy in a suit sitting in a studio in London or Dublin. But Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland does something different. It’s raw. It’s messy. It’s actually human.
If you grew up during the Troubles, or even if you just watched the news back then, you think you know the story. Car bombs. Barbed wire. Ian Paisley shouting. Gerry Adams. But James Bluemel’s five-part documentary series—which hit BBC and PBS recently—doesn't care about the politicians. It cares about the people who had to live through the madness every single day.
It’s heavy. Really heavy. But honestly, it’s probably the most honest thing ever put on film about that era.
The Trouble With How We Talk About "The Troubles"
Most documentaries start with 1968 or 1969 and give you a timeline. This one starts with faces. You see the wrinkles, the eyes that have seen too much, and the nervous smiles of people who are finally, decades later, letting the truth out.
What makes Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland stand out is the lack of a narrator. There is no "voice of God" telling you what to think. Instead, you get folks like Billy, a former loyalist paramilitary, or Ricky, who was just a kid when the violence started. They aren't reading from scripts. They’re remembering.
One of the most gut-wrenching moments involves a woman named Bernadette. She talks about the day her mother was taken. It’s not a political statement. It’s a story about a daughter losing her mum. That’s the core of the series—stripping away the "us vs. them" narrative to show that, underneath the balaclavas and the flags, everyone was just terrified.
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It’s Not Just About the Bombs
People forget that life went on. You still had to go to the shop. You still wanted to go to a club and dance. The documentary captures that weird duality of trying to have a "normal" life while British soldiers are patrolling your street with semi-automatic rifles.
There’s this incredible bit about the punk scene in Belfast. While the city was literally tearing itself apart over religion and identity, these kids were spiking their hair and wearing safety pins. They didn't care if you were Catholic or Protestant. They just wanted to listen to The Undertones and ignore the war outside. It’s a reminder that even in the darkest times, people find a way to be rebellious and, well, happy. Sorta.
Why the Timing of This Series Matters Now
We are living in a world that feels increasingly polarized. You see it on social media every day. People retreat into their camps, stop listening, and start dehumanizing the "other side." Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland serves as a brutal warning of where that road ends.
It ends with 14-year-olds carrying guns. It ends with families being blown up at Remembrance Day ceremonies. It ends with a wall through the middle of your neighborhood.
The documentary doesn't take sides. It doesn't try to justify the IRA or the UVF. It just shows the cost. When you hear a former hunger striker talk about the physical pain of starving himself, and then you hear a victim's family talk about the hole left in their lives, you realize there are no winners. Just survivors.
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The Women Who Held It Together
Historically, the narrative of Northern Ireland has been very male-centric. Men in meetings, men on hunger strike, men behind barricades. But this series gives a massive amount of screen time to the women.
They were the ones keeping the houses running while the men were in prison or on the run. They were the ones walking their kids to school through gauntlets of abuse. The strength shown by the female contributors is staggering. They weren't just "bystanders." They were the glue that kept society from completely dissolving into anarchy.
Facing the Uncomfortable Truths
Some of the interviews are genuinely hard to watch. You're looking at people who did terrible things. They don't always seem "sorry" in the way we want them to be. Some are defensive. Some are still processing the trauma.
This is where the documentary earns its "E-E-A-T" (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, and Trustworthiness) credentials. It doesn't sanitize the past. It forces the viewer to sit with the discomfort. You realize that "peace" isn't just the absence of war; it’s the incredibly difficult process of living next door to the person who might have killed your brother.
The Good Friday Agreement in 1998 changed everything, but as the documentary shows, the scars didn't just vanish when the pens hit the paper. Trauma is intergenerational. It’s passed down through stories, through silences, and through the very architecture of cities like Derry and Belfast.
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Real Stories Over Political Spin
If you look at the archives, most of the footage from the 70s and 80s is filtered through a heavy lens of British or Irish state media. Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland uses that archive footage but overlays it with modern-day reflections.
The contrast is wild. You see a young, angry man on a barricade in 1972, and then you see him now—a grandfather, perhaps a bit quieter, reflecting on whether any of it was actually worth it. Often, the answer is a heartbreaking "no."
How to Actually Process This Series
You can't binge-watch this. Don't even try. You need time between episodes to breathe and think. It’s not "entertainment" in the traditional sense, even though it’s categorized that way. It’s an archival autopsy of a society.
What You Should Do Next
If you want to understand the modern geopolitical landscape of the UK and Ireland, watching this is non-negotiable. But don't stop there.
- Watch the companion series: James Bluemel also did Once Upon a Time in Iraq. It uses the same "human-first" storytelling method and is equally devastating and necessary.
- Read "Say Nothing" by Patrick Radden Keefe: If the documentary sparks an interest in the specific mechanics of the disappearances during the Troubles, this book is the gold standard of narrative non-fiction on the topic.
- Visit the sites (if you can): If you ever find yourself in Belfast, take a Black Taxi tour. Seeing the "Peace Walls" in person after watching the documentary puts the scale of the division into a perspective that a TV screen just can't manage.
- Listen to the music: Seriously. Look up the Stiff Little Fingers or The Undertones. Understanding the subcultures that existed despite the conflict gives you a much more rounded view of Northern Irish identity.
The biggest takeaway from Once Upon a Time in Northern Ireland is that peace is fragile. It’s not a permanent state; it’s something that has to be maintained by people who are willing to talk to their enemies. It’s a lesson that, frankly, the rest of the world could stand to learn right now.
There are no easy answers here. Just voices. And for once, they’re the voices that actually matter.
Actionable Insight: Start by watching Episode 1, "It Wasn't Like a Movie," on BBC iPlayer or PBS. Pay close attention to the background details in the archival footage—the laundry on the lines, the kids playing in the background. It reminds you that these weren't just "events"; they were lives. Once finished, research the work of the Wave Trauma Centre, an organization that supports those bereaved or injured during the Troubles, to understand the ongoing psychological support required in post-conflict societies.