Small Things Like These, directed by Tim Mielants and scripted by Enda Walsh, arrived with such high expectations, based as it is on one of the most superb novels (short enough to be a novella, actually) of the 2020s, the book of the same name by Irish novelist Claire Keegan. I am delighted to affirm this movie as excellence in content and execution. The storyline is simple enough: Bill Furlong, a quiet, hardworking small businessman, the owner and operator of a household coal delivery firm, experiences deep existential, historical agony when he stumbles across an egregious case of inhumanity at the powerful local convent. With five daughters, two of them already being taught at the convent, Bill can hardly afford to rock the boat, but searing memories of his own poor, fragile upbringing, compel him to action. The film both adheres closely to the plotline of the book and presents an entirely different overlay to the book, messing with small but significant plot particularities in ways that enhance and complement the novel. The cinematography, its muted, Irish-foggy colourings and the found sounds of the dingy local town, are beautiful to witness. The flow of the simple story is impeccable. But of course what sets the movie apart from all others I’ve seen so far in 2025 is the coruscating performance of Cillian Murphy as Bill Furlong. We spend most of the film on or close to his tormented, gentle face, and I doubt I’ll ever forget some of the scenes. The rest of the cast is also flawless, especially Emily Watson as the venal convent Mother Superior. Small Things Like These might not suit viewers attuned to superhero action boldness—this is an arthouse, oblique kind of film—but for anyone drawn to cinematic greatness, it is mandatory.
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