Small Things Like These

There is a moment in Small Things Like These—which emerges as quietly as boots crunching on frost—that reminds us why we need cinema that speaks softly but strikes with the force of a mountain. It's when Bill Furlong, the coalman played by Cillian Murphy, his eyes filled with sadness and a conscience that even soot can't stifle, stumbles upon a young girl locked in the convent's freezing shed. There's no dramatic music, no orchestral crescendo to guide our emotions. Just a man, a young woman, and the silence of a town too afraid to look within itself. This moment is emblematic of everything this film accomplishes: a quiet, whispered punch that leaves you speechless long after the final fade to black.

Directed with ghostly restraint by Tim Mielants and adapted with literary sensitivity by Enda Walsh from Claire Keegan's short story, Small Things Like These is less a conventional drama than a whispered confession between generations. It's a film that lingers in liminal spaces—doorways, dark hallways, fogged-up truck windows—just as its protagonist lingers on the edge of action, observing, assimilating, slowly succumbing to the weight of moral inertia. It's no surprise that Murphy, fresh from his Oscar win for Oppenheimer, chose this project for his next film. In many ways, it feels like an emotional return to his roots.

Cillian Murphy, who also serves as producer, returns to Ireland not as a historical figure, but as a man whose life is made up of routine and quiet compromises. Bill Furlong is the embodiment of the ordinary man: a coal merchant and father of five daughters, married to a hardworking woman (Eileen Walsh, excellent in the role of a woman torn between worry and pragmatism) and on whom the town depends. But as Christmas 1985 approaches in the perpetually damp town of New Ross, it's clear that something is going on with Bill. Whether it's memories of his childhood as the “bastard” son of a single mother or the gradual realization of the horrors lurking behind the sacred facade of the convent, Bill begins to grapple with long-buried truths, some his own, others those of society.

This is not the nostalgic Ireland of postcards. Mielants and director of photography Frank van den Eeden envelop each image in a palette of coal dust, condensation, and faint candlelight. This is the Ireland of cold hands, damp stones, and history etched into every creaking floorboard. The period details are meticulous without being ornamental: pop songs and dated cartoons barely peek through the pervasive Catholic austerity. When Bill returns home after his shift and scrubs the grime from his skin with a fervor that seems less about hygiene than absolution, it feels like we're watching a man trying to cleanse his soul, not just his hands. These sequences, often wordless, are Murphy at his best. He doesn't need dialogue to convey emotional turmoil. A frown, a pause before breathing, a sidelong glance, and suddenly the whole film vibrates with inner struggle.

And then there's the mother superior played by Emily Watson, Sister Mary, whose honeyed politeness hides an iron control that rivals that of the most memorable villains in recent cinema. Her scenes with Murphy are masterclasses in tension. When she hands him a Christmas card with money and a note of gratitude, the subtext is as thick as the fog outside. It's clearly money to buy his silence, and Bill knows it. We know it. But at that moment, the horror lies not only in the abuse that takes place within the convent walls, but also in the system of complicity that keeps those walls standing. From pub owners to family members, everyone warns Bill with feigned concern: “Don't get involved.” It's a warning disguised as advice, but it's still a threat.

What elevates Small Things Like These above the usual historical drama is its refusal to sensationalize. It is not a judicial denunciation or a melodramatic critique of the Church. It is a reflection on how silence becomes a matter of survival and how complicity is often disguised under the guise of pragmatism. The real antagonist is not Sister Mary, but the pervasive cultural rot that allowed institutions such as the Madeline laundries to continue in plain sight. The townspeople are not villains, but they are trapped in a moral fog as tangible as the coal smoke billowing from Bill's truck. And in the midst of it all, Bill, who has carried decades of grief and gratitude for his mother's escape, begins to understand that action, even small, silent, and terrifying, is the only antidote to a life of unresolved guilt.

The flashbacks to Bill's childhood, while less urgent narratively than the present-day tension, nevertheless provide emotional nuance. We see the warmth of Mrs. Wilson, the wealthy woman who took his mother in, and we sense that without her kindness, Bill might have become a footnote in a country that preferred women to be humiliated and hidden. Here, the past is not just context, it is a mirror, and Bill slowly begins to understand that kindness, however small, can reverberate across generations.

Some may find the film's ending abrupt. It doesn't end with a spectacular act of justice, but with a gesture, a silent rebellion, a step into the unknown. It offers no conclusion, but that is exactly the point. Real life doesn't resolve itself so neatly. Laundries didn't close overnight. Courage doesn't come with fanfare. In the final shot, Murphy's face, torn between fear and fierce determination, becomes a symbol of an awakened conscience, not of justice served.

In one of the most understated films of the year, Small Things Like These speaks volumes. It's not just about the Magdalene laundries, or even Ireland. It's about the moral algebra that each of us must solve when faced with injustice. It's about the price we pay, often in isolation and at risk, to do what is right. But it's also about hope: by standing up, even on a small scale, we keep the flame of decency alive. This film deserves to be seen not only as a historical reckoning, but also as a cinematic parable. It reminds us that some of the most powerful stories are not the ones that are shouted, but the ones that are whispered. And that sometimes, it is the quietest characters who leave the deepest marks.

Small Things Like These
Directed by Tim Mielants
Written by Enda Walsh
Based on Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan
Produced by Matt Damon, Cillian Murphy, Alan Moloney, Drew Vinton, Jeff Robinov
Starring Cillian Murphy, Eileen Walsh, Michelle Fairley, Clare Dunne, Helen Behan, Emily Watson
Cinematography: Frank van den Eeden
Edited by Alain Dessauvage
Music by Senjan Jansen
Production companies: Artists Equity, Big Things Films
Distributed by Lionsgate (Ireland and United Kingdom)
Release dates: February 15, 2024 (Berlinale), November 8, 2024 (United States), April 30, 2025 (France)
Running time: 98 minutes

Seen on VOD on April 10, 2025

Mulder's Mark:

It is 1985, somewhere in Ireland, in a village. The bells are ringing, and we hear the loud noise of workers banging with their tools as day breaks over the dark alleys. Like every day, Bill Furlong is delivering bags of coal in his truck. He often comes across young children on his route, most of them poor, wandering the streets looking for wood or things to take home. He has no time to feel sorry for them; he has to get on with his daily deliveries. He is a coalman, after all.

It's hard, dirty work, and when he gets home, his first concern is to wash the grime off his hands and face before kissing his wife and five daughters. His life is simple, with the pleasure of being with his family around the fireplace. The days pass and are all the same, like the dark and dreary weather that reminds him of the coldness and color of coal. Among his important regular customers is the convent of young girls in the center of the village. Bill does his best to satisfy the mother superior, who is demanding when it comes to the speed of coal delivery and would not hesitate to change companies. He knows that times are hard, he is the head of the family, and some of his daughters will later go to the convent to get a good education and find a good job.

Bill rarely enters the convent, only to collect payment for his bills, spending most of his time at the cellar door. He is unfamiliar with this monastic life. One day, however, having lost his way in the heavy building, he sees young girls dressed poorly, dirty, with sad eyes, washing the floor. He cannot stay long, as the sisters quickly escort him to the exit. What he glimpses and sees over the following days leaves a deep impression on him. He feels uncomfortable and guilty for letting it happen and not being able to say anything.

His mind is troubled by what he saw inside the convent. Since then, Bill has withdrawn into himself at home, shutting himself off in silence. Numerous close-ups show his sad face as he sits staring out of the window at the street, looking distant, with only a faint light illuminating the room and a fire crackling in the fireplace. He is witness to the growing misery and despair that surrounds him, like the young girls who are mistreated and locked up in the convent. It is Christmas time, a season of happiness, with presents under the tree, but this holiday brings back memories of his childhood, and a flashback helps us better understand what he has been through.

A silent rebellion begins to stir within him. Bill knows that he is happy with his children and his wife, they have everything they need, he has a good job, but now more than ever he thinks about other families who are suffering. What can he do to denounce the abuse, the misery, and the injustice? His distress is evident, for example, when he violently strikes the coal with a shovel to calm his anxiety and pain. He is overcome with anger, his breathing is labored, and he cannot contain his rage. Actor Cillian Murphy is remarkable, excellent in his portrayal of Bill, with his awareness and deeply human gaze, in a register far removed from his role in Oppenheimer.

This feature film, based on the novel by Claire Keegan and adapted by director Tim Mielants, accurately depicts the Irish countryside in the 1980s, with its inhabitants living on very little and under the thumb of the church, which controls the education of children and dispenses moral order to the inhabitants. The dark and sober film may seem long, with a slow pace and little dialogue, but the images speak for themselves, the setting is often in chiaroscuro, with a pale glow in the rooms and a black landscape. The saving light actually comes from Bill, who illuminates the world with his noble sentiments and clear-sightedness. This is an emotionally charged, touching drama that allows us to see the evolution of a man who no longer wants to lie to himself.

Small Things Like These
Directed by Tim Mielants
Written by Enda Walsh
Based on Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan
Produced by Matt Damon, Cillian Murphy, Alan Moloney, Drew Vinton, Jeff Robinov
Starring Cillian Murphy, Eileen Walsh, Michelle Fairley, Clare Dunne, Helen Behan, Emily Watson
Cinematography: Frank van den Eeden
Edited by Alain Dessauvage
Music by Senjan Jansen
Production companies: Artists Equity, Big Things Films
Distributed by Lionsgate (Ireland and United Kingdom)
Release dates: February 15, 2024 (Berlinale), November 8, 2024 (United States), April 30, 2025 (France)
Running time: 98 minutes

Seen on Tuesday, April 8, 2025, at Club 13, avenue Hoch, Paris 8th arrondissement

Cookie's Mark: