SMALL THINGS LIKE THESE

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Storyline (warning: spoilers)

Irish coal merchant Bill (Cillian Murphy) goes about his workday, providing for his wife and five daughters, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with the local convent and the increasing numbers of young women and girls that they take in. He has his own life to worry about, his own trauma to process, and influences both within and without keep telling him that, whatever may be happening, it’s none of his business. Just carry on. Live his own life. Be thankful that he can.
While the decision to centre a story about the Magdalene Laundries and their inhuman treatment of ‘fallen women’ on a guy from the outside initially feels like an odd fit, that itself is part of what makes the film work so nightmarishly well: He is The Bystander. He watches life as it happens around him. He has a deep connection with the women in his own life, but he’s ultimately just another resident of this small town.
As a relatable everyman, Cillian Murphy matches the understated presentation of the film around him beat-for-beat, adding even greater weight to the maddening tragedy of the story. The anguish of being unable to wash his hands of the guilt is so visceral, you can practically feel that same brush that he uses to clean himself of coal after a day’s work, scrape your own knuckles.
Small Things Like These hurts. A lot. But in the best way. Between Tim Mielants’ matter-of-fact direction, Enda Walsh’s faithful adaptation of Claire Keegan’s book, and a career highlight performance from Cillian Murphy, Small Things Like These uses its actual-events foundation to elevate an unshakably personal moral dilemma to a strata at eye-level with the heavens themselves. It’s a bleak vision that reveals something glorious and shining, like a brutally honest reminder that the world can be shit… but that doesn’t mean we have to be.