Small Things Like These

When “Small Things Like These” begins, the sound of church bells fills the air, signaling the approach of Christmas in a quiet, unassuming Irish town. At first, the bells feel like a comforting reminder of community and tradition. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear: those chimes don’t herald peace or joy but serve as a haunting prelude to a far darker truth.

In recent years, Irish cinema has carved a distinct niche in exploring its eerie folklore and the shadowy intersections of faith and history. Few subjects encapsulate that duality as potently as the Magdalene Laundries - grim institutions where so-called “fallen women” were confined, abused, and forgotten under the guise of religious piety. Though these laundries officially closed in the 1990s, the scars they left remain fresh.

Adapted from Claire Keegan’s 2020 novella by Enda Walsh, and directed by Tim Mielants, “Small Things Like These” delves deep into this grim chapter of Irish history. Set in 1985, the story follows Bill Furlong (Cillian Murphy), a devoted father whose discovery of the dark secrets lurking within the local convent threatens to unravel not only his life but the fragile veneer of the community around him.

Cillian Murphy delivers one of his most nuanced performances to date. Known for his intensity in roles, here Murphy trades swagger for restraint, embodying a man quietly grappling with guilt, trauma, and moral reckoning. Mielants frequently frames Murphy from behind, his face obscured, creating an emotional distance that mirrors Bill’s internal struggle.

When the camera finally closes in, the impact is devastating: Murphy’s expressions radiate raw vulnerability, his panic barely contained beneath a surface that feels ready to shatter.

Mielants’ direction is meticulous, favoring subtlety over spectacle. The film’s visuals - simple but deliberate - immerse viewers in Bill’s world, from the cold convent halls to the muted bustle of the town square. A few well-placed 360-degree pans invite us to linger in these spaces, amplifying their quiet menace. The sound design, too, is remarkable.

Snippets of distant voices, crying babies, and muffled television sets create an almost suffocating intimacy, while moments of silence-punctuated only by Bill’s measured breathing, emphasize the weight of the unspoken.

This is not a film that rushes to make its point. Every detail, from the dialogue to the cinematography, is purposeful. The final church bells toll not as a celebration but as a warning: “We are always watching.” It’s a chilling reminder of how abuse thrives-shielded by secrecy, complicity, and societal reluctance to confront uncomfortable truths.

“Small Things Like These” doesn’t provide easy answers. Instead, it asks its audience to sit with the discomfort of the question: In the face of ruthless power, what can one person do? The film suggests that sometimes, the best we can manage is to take one small, good step forward - because even the smallest acts of courage can ripple outward, leaving the faintest crack in the walls of oppression.

With its stark beauty, unflinching storytelling, and a career-defining performance from Murphy, “Small Things Like These” is a cinematic triumph. 

Watch it once to feel its impact. Watch it again to catch every masterful detail. This is a story that demands to be seen - and remembered.