In the gray winter light of 1980s Ireland, where silence often carried more weight than words, one man’s ordinary deliveries lead him to an extraordinary moral crossroads. Small Things Like These, the acclaimed drama now streaming on Netflix, has struck a deep chord with audiences and critics alike. Boasting a remarkable 94% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, the film stands as a masterclass in understated storytelling. It proves that the most devastating impacts often come not from explosive action, but from the slow, inexorable weight of conscience in a society built on complicity.

Directed by Tim Mielants and adapted by playwright Enda Walsh from Claire Keegan’s bestselling 2021 novella, Small Things Like These marks a significant personal project for Cillian Murphy. He not only stars in the lead role but also serves as a producer through his company Big Things Films. Following his Oscar-winning turn in Oppenheimer, Murphy delivers what many call a “profound” and deeply internalized performance. The film transforms a seemingly simple tale of a coal merchant into a haunting meditation on courage, memory, and the hidden abuses that once thrived behind the walls of religious institutions in Ireland.

A Routine Life Shattered by Uncomfortable Truths

Set over the Christmas season in 1985 in the small town of New Ross, County Wexford, the story centers on Bill Furlong (Cillian Murphy), a hardworking coal merchant, devoted husband to Eileen (Eileen Walsh), and father to five daughters. Bill is a man of few words but steady actions. He navigates the daily grind of loading and delivering heavy sacks of coal to keep his family afloat and his community warm during the bitter cold.

His regular stops at the local convent, run by the formidable Sister Mary (Emily Watson), initially seem unremarkable. Yet, subtle signs begin to disturb him: a frightened young woman dragged inside, glimpses of girls working under harsh conditions, and an atmosphere of fear and control that contradicts the institution’s benevolent public image. As Bill witnesses more, he cannot ignore the reality that the convent is operating as one of Ireland’s notorious Magdalene Laundries — institutions where thousands of “fallen” women, including unmarried mothers, orphans, and those deemed socially undesirable, were confined, exploited for unpaid labor, and subjected to systemic abuse for decades.

What elevates the film beyond a simple exposé is its intimate focus on Bill’s internal struggle. Flashbacks reveal his own fractured childhood and the kindness that shaped his sense of right and wrong. As the weight of what he knows grows, Bill faces pressure from his wife, who fears for their family’s stability, and from the powerful forces in the town that benefit from looking the other way. The story asks a deceptively simple question: What happens when doing nothing becomes impossible?

Cillian Murphy’s Masterful, Restrained Performance

Much of the film’s emotional power rests on Murphy’s shoulders. In a role that demands minimal dialogue, he conveys volumes through micro-expressions, posture, and quiet intensity. His Bill Furlong is a man constantly wrestling with his thoughts — a far cry from the charismatic or high-stakes characters Murphy often plays. Critics have praised this as some of his finest work, noting how he makes the character’s moral awakening feel visceral and authentic.

Supporting performances are equally strong. Eileen Walsh brings nuance and quiet strength as Bill’s wife, torn between protecting her family and recognizing the truth. Emily Watson is chilling as the smooth, authoritative Mother Superior, whose polite conversations mask institutional cruelty. The ensemble, including Michelle Fairley and Clare Dunne, helps paint a vivid portrait of a tight-knit community bound by fear, faith, and economic dependence on the Church.

Cinematographer Frank van den Eeden captures the bleak beauty of the Irish winter, with muted colors and intimate framing that heighten the sense of isolation and dread. The film’s deliberate pacing — meditative and unhurried — mirrors the slow realization of its protagonist. There are no dramatic chases or courtroom showdowns; instead, tension builds through everyday moments: a shared meal, a sleepless night, or a hesitant conversation.

Rooted in a Painful Chapter of Irish History

While fictional, Small Things Like These draws directly from the real horrors of Ireland’s Magdalene Laundries. These institutions, operated primarily by the Catholic Church with state complicity from the 18th century until the late 20th century, confined an estimated 30,000 women. Many endured forced labor, separation from their children (often placed for adoption), physical and emotional abuse, and lifelong stigma. The last laundry closed in 1996, and the full extent of the abuses only came to light through survivor testimonies and official inquiries in recent decades.

The film is dedicated to the women and children who suffered in these places. It does not sensationalize their pain but confronts the culture of silence and deference that allowed it to persist. By focusing on one man’s quiet act of resistance, it highlights how systemic evil often relies on the inaction of ordinary people — and how individual courage, even when small, can challenge it.

A Film That Unsettles and Lingers

Audiences have responded powerfully to Small Things Like These. Many describe finishing the film in silence, needing time to process its emotional depth. It does not “entertain” in the conventional sense; rather, it disturbs and provokes reflection. Viewers praise its authenticity, atmospheric tension, and refusal to offer easy resolutions or heroic triumphs. The story’s power lies in its ambiguity — the knowledge that one man’s stand may come at great personal cost, yet doing nothing would be far worse.

Critics echo this sentiment, hailing it as a “crushing” yet essential drama. Its near-perfect Rotten Tomatoes score reflects widespread admiration for its craft, performances, and timely reminder of history’s long shadows. In an era of flashy blockbusters, Small Things Like These reaffirms the value of quiet, character-driven storytelling that trusts its audience to engage with complex moral questions.

Why It Resonates Now

Streaming on Netflix brings this story to a global audience at a moment when conversations about institutional accountability, historical reckoning, and personal responsibility remain urgent. The film’s exploration of complicity feels universal — applicable not just to Ireland’s past, but to any society where power hides behind respectability.

For Cillian Murphy, the project represents a return to his Irish roots and a commitment to meaningful cinema. As both star and producer, he has helped create a film that honors survivors while challenging viewers to consider their own “small things” — the everyday choices that define character and shape communities.

Small Things Like These is not always an easy watch, but it is a necessary one. It lingers long after the screen fades to black, prompting viewers to sit with its questions about silence, courage, and the hidden truths we choose to ignore. In its restraint and humanity, it achieves something rare: a drama that feels both intimately personal and profoundly important. Whether you seek outstanding acting, thoughtful historical reflection, or simply a film that moves you on a deeper level, this is one worth experiencing — and remembering.