In the cold winter of 1985, in a small Irish town still recovering from economic hardship, a devoted father and coal merchant named Bill Furlong leads a simple, hardworking life with his wife Eileen and their five daughters. On the surface, everything appears ordinary — deliveries of coal, family routines, and the approaching Christmas season. Yet beneath the quiet rhythms of daily existence lies a profound moral reckoning that will forever alter Bill’s understanding of his community, his past, and himself. This is the quietly explosive premise of Small Things Like These, the 2024 historical drama that has quietly arrived on Netflix and left audiences deeply shaken, earning widespread acclaim as one of the most powerful and unforgettable films of recent years.

Directed by Tim Mielants and adapted by Enda Walsh from Claire Keegan’s acclaimed 2021 novella, the film centres on Cillian Murphy’s extraordinary performance as Bill Furlong. Murphy, fresh from his Oscar-winning role in Oppenheimer, steps into a markedly different character — a soft-spoken, introspective everyman whose restrained intensity carries the entire story. Critics and viewers alike have hailed his portrayal as phenomenal, with many calling it one of the finest, most nuanced performances of his career. The film currently holds an impressive 94% score on Rotten Tomatoes, with audiences praising its emotional depth, atmospheric tension, and unflinching examination of complicity and courage.

The story unfolds over a short period in the weeks leading up to Christmas in the town of New Ross, County Wexford. Bill, a fair and diligent coal merchant, makes regular deliveries to the local convent run by the formidable Sister Mary (Emily Watson). One day, while unloading coal, he discovers a terrified young girl named Sarah locked in a freezing woodshed behind the convent. Shivering and desperate, she begs for help. This single encounter shatters Bill’s carefully maintained equilibrium and forces him to confront disturbing secrets long hidden within the convent walls.

The institution is a Magdalene laundry — one of the infamous asylums operated by the Catholic Church in Ireland from the 18th century until the late 20th century. These facilities, ostensibly designed to “reform” so-called “fallen women,” subjected thousands of vulnerable girls and women to forced unpaid labour, physical and psychological abuse, and the traumatic separation from their children. Many were sent there by families or authorities for reasons ranging from pregnancy outside marriage to perceived moral failings. The laundries operated in near-total secrecy, shielded by the immense power and influence of the Church in Irish society.

As Bill begins to piece together the horrors occurring behind the convent’s doors, he also unearths painful truths from his own past. Flashbacks reveal fragments of his childhood — the loss of his mother, the kindness shown to him by a compassionate woman, and the silence that allowed suffering to continue unchecked. These personal revelations mirror the larger societal silence surrounding the Magdalene laundries, where entire communities turned a blind eye to systemic abuse in the name of respectability, faith, and fear of repercussions.

The film’s strength lies in its deliberate restraint and atmospheric minimalism. Rather than relying on sensationalist depictions of abuse, Mielants and Walsh craft a slow-burn narrative that builds tension through suggestion, silence, and the weight of unspoken knowledge. Long, wordless sequences allow Murphy’s expressive face to convey volumes — the flicker of doubt in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the quiet torment of a man wrestling with his conscience. Bill’s internal struggle is palpable: the pull between self-preservation and moral duty, between protecting his own family and doing what is right for a stranger.

Supporting performances elevate the material further. Eileen Walsh brings quiet strength and complexity to Bill’s wife Eileen, who understands the risks of speaking out yet grapples with her husband’s growing unrest. Emily Watson is chilling as Sister Mary, delivering a portrayal of institutional authority that mixes maternal concern with subtle menace and calculated manipulation. The ensemble, including Michelle Fairley and others, creates a vivid portrait of a town bound by tradition, economic dependence on the Church, and collective denial.

At its core, Small Things Like These is a profound meditation on moral courage in the face of overwhelming social pressure. Bill’s dilemma — whether to intervene and risk everything or maintain the silence that has protected his modest life — resonates far beyond the specific historical context. The film asks difficult questions: What is the cost of looking away? How do ordinary people become complicit in systemic evil through inaction? And what small acts of humanity can begin to dismantle long-entrenched injustice?

The story also explores themes of trauma, both personal and collective. Bill’s insomnia and haunted expressions reflect the lingering wounds of his own past, while the town’s uneasy atmosphere mirrors Ireland’s broader reckoning with the legacy of the Magdalene laundries. The real institutions operated until 1996, and their full horrors only came to light through survivor testimonies, government inquiries, and cultural works in subsequent decades. By setting the film in 1985 — when the laundries were still active but largely unquestioned — the narrative captures the suffocating power of institutional silence before widespread awareness and accountability began to emerge.

Visually, the film is striking in its understated beauty. Cinematographer Frank van den Eeden captures the wintry Irish landscape with a muted palette that reflects the emotional chill pervading the story. The coal dust on Bill’s hands and clothes becomes a subtle metaphor for the grime of moral compromise that no amount of scrubbing can fully erase. The score, sparse and melancholic, heightens the sense of quiet dread without overwhelming the intimate human drama.

What makes Small Things Like These so unforgettable is its refusal to offer easy catharsis or heroic triumph. Bill’s choices carry real consequences, and the film honours the complexity of living with moral ambiguity in a world that often rewards conformity. Viewers emerge shaken not by graphic violence but by the emotional truth of the story — the realisation that small, everyday decisions can either perpetuate suffering or plant seeds of resistance.

Since its premiere at the Berlin International Film Festival and subsequent theatrical release, the film has earned praise for its sensitive handling of historical trauma while avoiding exploitation. Many have noted its relevance in today’s world, where questions of institutional accountability, survivor voices, and individual responsibility continue to surface across societies. For Irish audiences, the film resonates as part of a broader cultural conversation about the Church’s historical influence and the long road toward truth and reconciliation.

Cillian Murphy’s performance stands as the film’s beating heart. In an era of larger-than-life roles, his portrayal of Bill Furlong is a masterclass in subtlety — conveying profound inner turmoil through gesture, posture, and silence. It is a performance that lingers, inviting viewers to reflect on their own capacity for courage or complicity. Many have described it as deeply moving, with some calling it the actor’s most powerful work to date.

As Small Things Like These finds new life on Netflix, it offers a timely reminder that the most haunting stories are often the quietest ones. In just under 100 minutes, it confronts viewers with uncomfortable truths about power, silence, and the moral weight of small actions. It is not an easy watch, but it is an essential one — a film that stays with you, prompting reflection long after the screen fades to black.

For those drawn to character-driven dramas that blend historical insight with universal human questions, Small Things Like These delivers a profoundly moving experience. Anchored by Cillian Murphy’s career-highlight performance and supported by thoughtful direction and writing, it stands as a testament to the power of cinema to illuminate hidden histories and challenge us to confront the secrets we keep — both as individuals and as societies.