REVIEW. "SMALL THINGS LIKE THESE Speaks Volumes About Catholic Abuse."

Since the late 18th century, a network of "asylums" for fallen or penitent women was run by Ireland's Magdalene sisters. Later known as the Magdalene Laundries, these institutions were ostensibly places where young women (unwed and pregnant, victims of physical abuse or rape, or simply social misfits), could find sanctuary and support. But underneath the veil of spiritual nourishment, these places quickly became cloisters of iniquity where families quietly forced unwanted females into a life of servitude, their children given to "good families," their fate sealed by youthful mistakes.

In 2021, Irish writer Colleen Keegan published a short novel about the supposed abuses carried out by the Magdalene sisters, Small Things Like These, which was recently adapted into a film and premiered last February at the 2024 Berlin International Film Festival. The story, set in New Ross, Ireland around Christmas 1985, follows one Bill Furlong, a local coal man who is happily married to Eileen and the father of five daughters. Bill provides for his family: they are not wealthy, by any means, but their family life is happy, if not abundant with material riches.

One day on a delivery to the local convent, Bill witnesses an unsettling scene: a local mother physically forcing her unwed pregnant daughter into the convent. The sisters appear and whisk her away, leaving Bill to ponder what he's just seen. And ponder he does. Bill just cannot shake the horror of this involuntary admittance to a place of restoration, and the incident serves as the spark that ignites long-buried memories of Bill's childhood with his own mother. Little by little, these recollections creep in to his daily routines, his sleepless nights, leaving him torn and troubled by his own past and his seeming inability to alter the present.

Bill's childhood recollections range from happy moments reading Dickens to more troubling events: a disappointing Christmas gift, the sudden death of his mother. Mostly, Bill is comparing his own life as the child of an unwed mother, who was taken in by her employer, Mrs. Wilson (Michelle Fairley), to those of the faceless children born at the Magdalene convent. Mrs. Wilson introduced Bill to the works of great authors (Dickens became a favorite), and encouraged his love of jigsaw puzzles. Both of these interests return during the film in small, but significant ways.

BIll never faced the abuse and indignity he witnessed at the convent. Instead, Mrs. Wilson's handyman Ned befriended Bill and became a source of comfort and friendship. But Bill's own rituals - notably, the nightly handwashings he practices when he comes home from work - tell a tale more deeply embedded in his psyche, one which his daily cleansings cannot erase or recitfy. He simply cannot wash away the memories of his childhood, the plight of his mother, or the place he came to call home.

It is here, in his telling of Keegan's small, concise and very personal story that Belgian director Tim Mielants uses stunning cinematography, evocative lighting and precise framing to expose Bill's inner turmoil. He is as efficient in his minimal use of dialogue, camera shots, and expository scenes as Keegan was in her writing, letting internal feelings surface through the actors' facial expressions and movement.

And what a ensemble he has. Fresh from his Oscar win for Best Actor in last year's blockbuster, Oppenheimer, Cillian Murphy shows why his performance was no fluke: his Bill may be even more conflicted than Robert Oppenheimer, if that's possible, though both Oppy and Bill are consumed by moral dilemmas, past experiences, and long-suppressed traumas. Murphy is strongly supported by Eileen Walsh as Bill's stoic and very practical wife Eileen and, most notably, Mark McKenna whose character Ned holds a very important place in Bill's past, and British actress Emily Watson as the corrupt Mother Superior at the convent, Sister Mary.

In one of the movie's most powerful scenes, a very cold, controlling Sister Mary calculatedly explains to Bill that he must have been mistaken about the circumstances that led him to find one of the convent's residents, a young pregnant woman named Sarah (Zara Devlin). trapped in the coal shed. Watson's face never waivers, so deliberate is her stare and so uncomfortable is Bill's gaze. Sitting in the Mother Superior's office at night, the only light shining from the fireplace flickers on the faces of Sister Mary, Bill, and Sarah, underscoring the tension among them, and punctuating the emotions that emerge as each illumination from the fire reveals something deeper about each of them. It is a powerful scene in which Watson's face at once embodies all the power, authority, hypocrisy and abuse that have driven many Catholics from the Church. It is an understated tour de force as both Watson and Murphy engage in a moral pas de deux, each fighting to maintain their dignity and their soul.

This is a movie that, despite its brevity (98 minutes), develops rich characters and follows an intricate narrative that delves deep into Bill's childhood without reaching glib or trivial conclusions. The construct of one how one fleeting image can trigger profound recollections that challenge our individual existential raison d'etre is realized here with stunning impact. I couldn't take my eyes of this film: every frame, every detail Mielants so planfully utilizes here. From the exquisite lighting that moves easily between the present and Bill's past reveries, to the understated elegance of southern Ireland's bleak winters, and the amber glow that emphasizes the warmth of Bill's time with his family, Small Things Like These is must-see movie going.

In contrast to Conclave, another excellent movie about the Catholic church currently playing in theaters that focuses on the magnitude of electing a new pope, as one Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), struggles with doubt and uncertainty, Small Things flips the opulence and pageantry often associated with Catholic ritual and instead uses the typically unnoticed mundane habits to unmask larger issues about morality, authority, and abuse disguised as penance. Though the Catholic church has denied allegations about the Magdalene laundries, independent investigations (and two previous documentaries, including 1998's Sex in a Cold Climate), as many as 56,000 young women have been identified as having been residents of Catholic asylums in Ireland, and as recently as 1996, with the Church reportedly having paid over $3.8 million in reparations to date for those who have waged legal action against it.

In focusing on one fictional story, Small Things Like These is able to raise up larger issues about sexual abuse in the Catholic church and, more importantly, about the impact of such behavior on the survivors. During one pivotal conversation, Bill's wife Eileen tells him, "In order to get on in life, we must sometimes ignore things." Bill's reaction is a kind of horrified resignation that his own personal struggle may be inconsequential. Fortunately, the same childhood memories that have forced his internal conflict ultimately move him to make a small, but bold choice that is entirely consequential, giving the movie a glimpse of hope at the end.

Small Things Like These may not be for everyone: it doesn't boast grandiose special effects or over-the-top debauchery or violence. It is a movie filled with sadness that doesn't let up from the first shots of Ireland's desolate landscape until the final gesture, a moment so tiny you'd almost miss it...except that it explains everything.

Do try to add Small Things to your fall movie list, even if you must wait for streaming to see it. It's a lovely little independent film of the best kind: it lifts up the human spirit and raises questions about how we treat each other.