Critic’s rating: ★★★★
(98 minutes; PG-13)

Ably directed by actor/Renaissance Man Kenneth Branagh and mostly shot in evocative black-and-white, Belfast is a coming-of-age tale that comes off as half sentimental and half coldly realistic. Strange bedfellows, maybe, but the combination works fine for this sometimes funny, sometimes deadly serious, frequently charming story inspired by the director’s own beginnings.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away — er, Northern Ireland, circa the summer of ’69 — “the Troubles” had Protestants hating Catholics, and vice versa, and bloody violence sometimes spilled out of the pubs and into the streets. Work was hard to find and paid little, personal debt was often debilitating, and life was largely a struggle.

Surviving the strife and striving are precocious little Buddy (Jude Hill), fresh faced and the most charming nine-year-old in the world, his pretty, vivacious, determined mom (Caitriona Balfe) and his handsome, caring, mostly apolitical dad (Jamie Dornan), devoted to his family but obligated to be away for weeks at a time to work in England. Also in the picture are kindly, loving grandparents, played seemingly effortlessly by Judi Dench and Ciaran Hinds — the pair offer a lesson in believable, lived-in onscreen chemistry.

There are detours here and there, including a Catholic romantic interest for Buddy, who’s Protestant; a family member’s illness; and fun times at the movies (hey, I went to “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” as a kid, too!)

But “Belfast” largely focuses on a decision looming over everything: Should they stay or should they go? Will Buddy and family remain in close proximity to family, friends, neighborhood and everything they’ve ever loved and known in Ireland, or will they escape their hardscrabble circumstances and ever-increasing violence by moving to England or a place even farther away? How about Vancouver? Melbourne, Australia?

As a sort of bonus, Branagh book-ends his movie with color footage of landmarks around Belfast, circa now, a mini-travelogue that no doubt would thrill Tourism Ireland, aka the Irish Tourist Board. And he limns the action with some of the best music of native son Van Morrison (unlike Branagh, Morrison grew up to be something of a crank).

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