In the wintry stillness of 1985, where unspoken truths burden frost clings to the earth and hearts, Small Things Like These emerges as a film of quiet defiance and deep humanity. Directed by Tim Mielants, the film features a hauntingly resonant performance by Cillian Murphy. It weaves a story that feels more like an excavation than mere craftsmanship, akin to the slow transformation of coal into a diamond.
As Bill Furlong, Murphy serves as the steady heartbeat of the story, his every gesture reflecting a man shaped by hardship yet unbroken by it. The ghosts of his past — the silent shame of his unmarried mother and the charity of Mrs. Wilson (Michelle Fairley), who sheltered them from ruin — are not loud but always present, casting shadows over his kind eyes and lined hands. He is a man who has borne the weight of decency in a world quick to turn its back.
When the coal shed door creaks open, Bill discovers Sarah (played by Zara Devlin) shivering and silent as the frost thickens around them. Devlin’s performance flickers like a dying flame—fragile yet vibrant. Her character represents the haunting truths that have long been buried in Ireland’s Magdalene laundries. For Bill, her presence serves as a mirror reflecting his past and igniting a fire in his present.
Emily Watson, playing Sister Mary, rules the convent with a demeanor as cold, calculated, and unforgiving as winter itself. Her threats, disguised as polite words and false kindness, linger in the air like icicles poised to fall. She is not a loud villain but a deeply unsettling presence, representing the quiet complicity in the pews and on the streets.
Eileen Walsh, playing Bill’s wife, embodies the warmth of their home, providing a flickering light of a family that anchors Bill amidst his spiraling turmoil. Yet, even she—pragmatic and sensible—cannot wholly understand the storm brewing within her husband. The townspeople, represented by Helen Behan’s cautious Mrs. Kehoe, appear frozen, aware yet unaware, hesitant to break the ice.
The physical and emotional landscapes evoke the stark beauty characteristic of Mielant’s work. The cinematography presents New Ross not just as a town but as an active participant in the story, with its grey skies heavy with secrets and its streets and fields whispering of unsaid things. Against this backdrop, Bill’s decision to step forward and bring Sarah out of the shadows is both luminous and brave, like a candle illuminating a vast, cold cathedral.
The script is a symphony of silences and subtle moments, where every word is carefully chosen, and each pause is filled with meaning. Bill and Sister Mary’s conversations are battles fought not with swords but with shadows, their truths hidden beneath layers of implication.
The film reveals its deepest poetry in its quieter moments—like the clink of coal in a bucket and the nervous rustle of Sarah’s breath in the shed. The sound design enhances Furlong’s muted world, while the score subtly underlines his emotions, conveying both the pain and hope of a man who ultimately decides to shed the weight of silence.
*Small Things Like These* do not shout or clamor for attention. Instead, they flow like a frost-laden river—slow, deliberate, and unstoppable. In its final moments, as Bill carries Sarah out of the cold and into the warmth of his home, the film transcends mere storytelling; it becomes a hymn to courage and the small acts of kindness that can change the world. In this moment, Bill transforms into an everyman and a hero—a coal merchant turned keeper of the flame.
Mielants and Murphy offer us more than just a film; they provide a lifeline—a reminder that even in the deepest cold, the human heart can warm. For those willing to see beyond the surface of stillness, *Small Things Like These* uncovers a powerful fire within.
Grade: A. Streaming on Hulu.
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