Exploring Complicity in “Small Things Like These”
“Small Things Like These,” directed by Tim Mielants and based on Claire Keegan’s poignant 2021 novel, unfolds with the subtle tension of a gangster film, yet the power dynamics at play are orchestrated by the hands of nuns. Set in the winter of 1985 in southeast Ireland, the narrative delves into the intricate ways individuals exert and experience control within a tightly-knit community, unraveling the many nuances of complicity that ensue.
At the heart of the story is Bill Furlong, portrayed by Cillian Murphy, who makes a modest living selling and delivering coal and fuel in his small town. Although his occupation barely sustains his wife, Eileen (played by Eileen Walsh), and their bustling household filled with daughters, they manage to maintain a semblance of happiness. Bill’s life takes a disquieting turn when he witnesses a young woman being forcibly taken into a building adjacent to the local convent. This unsettling image haunts him; he suspects she is an unwed mother, much like his own mother once was, and her apparent distress—a scene of kicking and screaming—strikes a deep chord within him.
Much of the film’s narrative unfolds through a series of flashbacks. After the troubling encounter at the convent, Bill drives home, only to spot a frail, hungry-looking boy by the roadside. These two sights—of the distressed girl and the neglected boy—ignite memories from his own childhood that he struggles to articulate. His wife, Eileen, soon notices a shift in his demeanor. Although it is Christmastime, traditionally a season of joy and comfort, Bill finds himself enveloped in a fog of dissociation, his mind drifting back to his own past. While his childhood was not devoid of happiness—thanks to a compassionate employer who helped keep him and his mother together—there lingered unanswered questions and mysteries that clouded his memories.
Murphy, who recently garnered acclaim for his performance in “Oppenheimer,” not only stars in but also produces this compelling film. His portrayal of Bill is nothing short of powerful and layered; the character is a man of few words, yet Murphy conveys an ocean of emotion through extreme close-ups that capture his internal turmoil. Panic simmers beneath the surface as if it is molten lava, ready to erupt at any moment. Bill has buried his grief deep within, but the young woman outside the convent has stirred something profound within him, forcing him to confront the buried pain and fear. In many ways, he becomes a microcosm for the struggles faced by his entire nation.
One fateful day, Bill, while delivering an invoice, slips inside the convent and begins to suspect that the nuns, particularly Sister Mary (played by Emily Watson), are inflicting harm upon the young women who are confined there, waiting to give birth. As he grapples with these unsettling revelations, his sense of dissociation transforms into full-blown panic attacks, compounded by the realization that he is powerless to alter the harrowing situation.
From the vantage point of history, it becomes alarmingly clear that this convent is emblematic of the notorious Magdalen Laundries—institutions run by Roman Catholic nuns that served both as homes and profit-generating laundry facilities. The film concludes with a solemn dedication to the more than 56,000 young women who were subjected to these institutions from 1922 to 1998 under the guise of “penance and rehabilitation,” casting a long shadow over the narrative and highlighting the deep scars left by such systemic injustices.
