It’s the silence that gets you. Honestly, most movies about historical trauma try to scream at the audience, but Small Things Like These just sits there and breathes. Coldly. You’ve probably seen the trailers or heard the buzz about Cillian Murphy’s first big role after his Oppenheimer Oscar sweep, but this isn't a blockbuster. It’s a quiet, devastating look at Ireland’s Magdalene Laundries. It isn't just another period piece; it’s a story about what happens when a whole town decides to look at their shoes instead of the girl screaming in the shed.
Cillian Murphy plays Bill Furlong. He’s a coal merchant. He’s a father. He’s a man who works until his fingernails are permanently stained black with coal dust. But more than that, he’s the lens through which we see the suffocating power of the Catholic Church in 1985 Ireland.
What Small Things Like These Gets Right About Irish History
The movie is based on Claire Keegan’s novella. If you haven't read it, it’s tiny. You can finish it in an hour. But the weight of it stays for weeks. The film captures that same density. It focuses on the New Ross community during the weeks leading up to Christmas.
While everyone else is busy buying turkeys and singing carols, Bill is delivering coal to the local convent. It’s there he finds a young woman locked in a freezing coal shed. She’s disheveled. She’s terrified. She’s one of the "fallen women" the Magdalene Laundries were designed to "reform."
Basically, these institutions were workhouses. They were run by Roman Catholic orders. For decades, women who were deemed "promiscuous"—which often just meant they got pregnant out of wedlock—were sent there to work in laundry services for no pay. Their babies were often taken away. Some were sold. Many died. The film doesn't show you the decades of torture; it shows you one man’s internal collapse when he realizes he’s been a silent part of the machine.
The Power of What Isn't Said
Tim Mielants, the director, leans into the claustrophobia. He worked with Murphy on Peaky Blinders, but this is the polar opposite of Tommy Shelby’s bravado. Bill Furlong barely speaks.
Most of the movie is just Murphy’s face. It’s a masterclass in micro-expressions. You see the gears turning as he remembers his own mother, who was lucky enough to be taken in by a kind employer rather than being tossed into a laundry. This personal history is what makes his eventual choice so heavy. He isn't just a hero; he's a man grappling with his own survival.
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The town of New Ross is its own character. It’s gray. It’s damp. You can almost smell the wet wool and the coal smoke. The cinematography by Frank van den Eeden makes the convent look like a fortress. And in many ways, it was. The church didn't just provide spiritual guidance; it controlled the schools, the social standing, and the local economy. To cross the Mother Superior—played with a bone-chilling stillness by Emily Watson—wasn't just a sin. It was social suicide.
Why This Isn't Just "Another Sad Movie"
There is a specific kind of "misery porn" that some historical dramas fall into. Small Things Like These avoids this trap by being incredibly specific. It focuses on the complicity of the "good" people.
Bill’s wife, Eileen, isn't a villain. She’s a mother trying to protect her five daughters. When Bill mentions the girl in the shed, Eileen’s reaction is sharp. "If you want to get on in this life, there are things you have to ignore," she tells him. It’s a brutal line. It’s the line that allowed these laundries to operate in Ireland until 1996. Yes, 1996. That's the year the last one closed. This isn't ancient history.
- The film highlights the "small things"—the bread, the coal, the tea—that make up a life.
- It contrasts the warmth of Bill’s home with the sterile, freezing halls of the convent.
- The soundtrack is sparse. It lets the sound of the wind and the clinking of coal do the heavy lifting.
- Emily Watson’s performance is brief but terrifying. She offers Bill a "Christmas gift" (an envelope of cash) as a way to buy his silence. It’s a transaction, pure and simple.
The Reality of the Magdalene Laundries
To understand the stakes of Small Things Like These, you have to look at the real-world context. The laundries weren't some secret underground operation. They were a part of the fabric of Irish life. Families sent their daughters there. The state sent women there.
Estimates suggest over 10,000 women passed through these institutions. The discovery of a mass grave at a former laundry in Dublin in 1993 was what finally broke the silence. The film captures that tension—the moment before the dam breaks.
It’s uncomfortable. It’s supposed to be. When Bill stands in the kitchen washing the coal dust off his hands, he’s trying to wash off the guilt of knowing. We see him scrubbing until his skin is raw. It’s a metaphor that could feel heavy-handed in a different movie, but here, it feels like a physical necessity.
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Comparing the Movie to Claire Keegan’s Book
Keegan’s writing is famously lean. She leaves gaps for the reader to fill. The movie does the same. It trusts the audience to be smart. It doesn't use flashbacks to explain every single detail of Bill’s childhood. Instead, we get flashes of memory—a certain light, a certain smell.
If you’ve read the book, you might find the ending of the film feels a bit more "cinematic," but it maintains the core emotional truth. It asks: What is the cost of being a "good" person in a bad system? Is it enough to just be kind to your own family while your neighbor suffers?
Cillian Murphy’s Performance is the Engine
Since winning the Oscar, Murphy could have done anything. He could have joined a superhero franchise. He could have done a big-budget thriller. Instead, he chose to produce and star in this.
It’s a quiet performance. He looks smaller here than he did in Oppenheimer. He looks burdened. There’s a scene where he’s just walking through the town, and you can see the weight of his thoughts. He’s a man who has realized that his comfortable life is built on a foundation of silence.
The chemistry between him and Emily Watson in their one major scene is electric. It’s a battle of wills. She uses the authority of the church like a weapon, and he uses his simple, stubborn sense of right and wrong as a shield. It’s one of the best scenes in cinema this year because of how little actually happens on the surface.
How to Approach Watching Small Things Like These
Don't go into this expecting a fast-paced thriller. It’s a slow burn. It’s a movie that requires your full attention.
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- Watch it when you have time to think. This isn't a "background" movie.
- Research the McAleese Report. If you want the cold, hard facts about the laundries, this 2013 report is the definitive source. It’s a tough read, but it provides the E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, and Trustworthiness) background that makes the film even more impactful.
- Pay attention to the daughters. Bill has five of them. His fear for their future in a town that discards "unruly" women is what ultimately drives his actions.
- Notice the color palette. Everything is brown, gray, and deep blue. When a splash of red appears (a Christmas decoration or a child’s coat), it feels almost violent against the drabness.
The Actionable Takeaway for History and Film Buffs
If you’re interested in how cinema handles systemic injustice, Small Things Like These is a landmark entry. It proves that you don't need a huge budget to tell a massive story.
To get the most out of this film, start by reading Claire Keegan’s Small Things Like These and her other novella, Foster. They provide a unique perspective on the Irish domestic experience during the late 20th century. After watching, look up the work of the Justice for Magdalenes advocacy group. They have worked tirelessly to bring the truth of these institutions to light and ensure the survivors are heard.
The real power of the film isn't in its depiction of the past, but in its challenge to the present. It asks us to look at the "small things" in our own lives—the injustices we walk past every day because it’s easier to stay silent. Bill Furlong’s journey reminds us that the hardest thing to do isn't to be a hero; it's to be a human.
Check your local independent cinema listings, as this film is often in limited release before hitting major streaming platforms. Seeing it on a big screen, where the silence of the theater matches the silence of the film, is an experience that won't leave you quickly.
Once you’ve finished the film, take a moment to look into the modern-day equivalents of these systems. History has a way of repeating itself in "small things" until someone finally decides to open the door.