Can Bill Furlong stand by and let his neighbours suffer beside him? This is the core tension faced by the protagonist of Small Things Like These, directed by Tim Mielants. As the title would suggest, Small Things Like These is an understated film that focuses on the little details: a child drinking milk from a cat's saucer, a woman crying in front of a convent, an envelope filled with cash. Moments that are easy enough to ignore in isolation.

However, the bitter irony of the title is revealed by the immense tragedy that these details collectively paint—a picture so big that it pervades one's consciousness, and begs for confrontation. It is a picture of Ireland in the 1980’s, wrought with economic, political and religious corruption.

The film takes place in the days leading up to Christmas—a time of family, generosity, and religious celebration, yet also a time of reminiscence, financial strain, and bone-chilling winter. Throughout the film, Bill observes the poverty of families within his community. Poverty which he and his family are narrowly avoiding, and which he barely escaped in his own childhood.

Through flashbacks we learn that Bill’s mother was a “fallen woman”. These “fallen women” were commonly sent to Magdalene Convents to suffer life-threatening abuses and near-enslavement, under the guise of reformation and rehabilitation. However, Bill's mother, Sarah, was luckier than most, thanks to the benevolent Mrs. Wilson, who housed and saved them from the usual fate. In the present day, after the passing of his mother and Mrs. Wilson, Bill works as a coal and timber merchant to support his own family. While making his rounds delivering coal he begins to witness the repeated abuse of a young woman at the local Magdalene Convent, a woman coincidentally with the same name as his mother—Sarah.

He is obliged by his wife’s urges, the church’s veiled threats, and his well-off community’s suggestions to ignore what he’s witnessed, reminded of the church’s power and likely retribution. Yet, it’s impossible to dissociate this Sarah from the fate his mother could have suffered. If not for Mrs. Wilson’s help, what life would she have had? What life would Bill have had? Though these questions are not outright asked, they beg questioning and suggest Bill's moral quandaries.

By Christmas Eve, the tension has grown so unbearable that Bill is pushed to act. He saves Sarah and brings her into his house, despite the conflict it is bound to bring. For the first time, Bill smiles genuinely, easily—his tension at last resolved.

While Small Things Like These is a rich and multilayered film, not much necessarily happens. Tangible external conflict and conventional ‘plot’ are absent, instead, the film is primarily driven by internal conflict and tension—a stylistic trademark of Claire Keegan, author of the film’s adapted text. Through Cillian Murphy’s restrained performance as Bill, a brooding score, claustrophobic cinematography, and a screenplay pregnant with subtext, the film expertly translates Keegan’s authorial style and Bill’s internal conflict to the screen.