Compassion… an act of defiance

Small Things Like These tells the quiet yet profoundly unsettling story of Bill Furlong, carefully portrayed by Cillian Murphy, a coal merchant whose seemingly mundane life is disrupted by dark revelations at the local convent. Adapted from Claire Keegan's novella by the same name, this film draws on the same author who inspired the Oscar-winning Irish-language film An Cailín Ciúin (The Quiet Girl).

Set in the lead-up to Christmas, circa 1985, in the small town of New Ross, County Wexford, the story unfolds in the rhythm of Bill's everyday life as he balances the demands of running a business during tough economic times with caring for his wife Eileen Furlong (astutely portrayed by Eileen Walsh), and their five daughters. As the film unfolds, Bill wrestles not only with the decision to confront the town's most powerful institution but also with the weight of his own past, ruminating on his childhood and the future of his daughters in light of what he uncovers.

The film opens with a young woman being forced into the convent against her will, a scene that draws on the real-life history of Ireland's Magdalene Laundries. Part of a broader network of institutions that included Mother and Baby Homes, industrial and reformatory schools, psychiatric institutions, and prisons, these laundries were originally established as asylums for so-called 'fallen women'– those who had children outside marriage or were otherwise deemed morally deviant. As such, these institutions became mechanisms for punishing women who were seen as transgressing the social order.

During a routine delivery to the convent, Bill is drawn inside to resolve a business matter but is unsettled by the sound of babies crying. Inside, he encounters two young women in drab uniforms, silently polishing the floor in their bare feet, an image that speaks to the harsh and often abusive conditions these women endured. While they received no pay for their gruelling labour, which included washing clothes for businesses, schools, and hospitals, the institution profited.

As Bill takes in the unsettling scene, he notices a nun carrying a pair of scissors, evoking the brutal practice of forcibly cutting the women's hair. The young women appear both terrified by their surroundings and visibly startled at the sight of an outsider who represents a fleeting hope of escape from their indefinite confinement. One of the girls frantically begs Bill to help her escape to the river, a hint that suicide may be her only way out. The nuns silence her, and Bill is swiftly walked out. The door is locked behind him, ensuring that no one else sees what happens inside.

This encounter stirs something deep within Bill. Memories of his own childhood – marked by the stigma and shame of being an illegitimate child – begin to resurface. His own mother, an unmarried pregnant woman, would have been subjected to the treatment had it not been for the compassionate intervention of Mrs Wilson (Michelle Fairley), a wealthier woman who offered her a home.

The film subtly depicts how class played a defining role in shaping a woman's options – or lack thereof – during this period in Irish history. Women from poorer backgrounds were particularly vulnerable to institutionalisation, lacking the resources or social standing to evade the punitive reach of institutions like the Magdalene Laundries. 

In contrast, wealthier women often had means to bypass these institutions, highlighting how gender intersected with class to reinforce social divisions. This divide is evident in Bill's own story, as his mother narrowly avoided institutionalisation due to Mrs Wilson's support, sparing both Bill and his mother from a life within these institutions.

At that time, Irish society leaned heavily on Catholic values to shape a distinct national identity separate from Britain after gaining independence. The church held a quasi-governmental role in Ireland, overseeing healthcare, education, and social welfare, giving religious institutions significant authority over communities. This influence perpetuated a culture of misogyny, where women and children were pushed to the margins of society.

Pregnancies outside of marriage carried a tremendous stigma, casting shame not only on the woman but also on her family. Though institutions like the Magdalene Laundries existed in other countries, the number of people admitted in 20th-century Ireland is believed to be the highest in the world (Department of Children, Equality, Disability, Integration and Youth, 2021). The sheer scale of institutionalisation created a culture where conformity was essential for survival.

In the small tight knit community of New Ross, the culture of silence perpetuated by the power of the church is apparent, as very little is spoken about what goes on within the convent. Conversations are limited to hushed whispers that occur only twice in the film. In one of these exchanges, when Bill confides in Eileen what he witnessed, her response – 'what do such things have to do with us?'– is emblematic of this era in Ireland.

At that time, it was considered wise to keep one's head down, stay on the good side of people, and avoid making a nuisance of yourself, especially in matters involving the church. This is reinforced in a later interaction with Mrs Kehoe (Helen Behan), the proprietor of the local pub, who warns Bill that the nuns 'have a finger in every pie', and that disrupting the status quo could jeopardise his family's place in the community. In this way, Bill's compassion for the women is equated to an act of defiance.

Despite being women and mothers, Eileen's and Mrs Kehoe's reactions to Bill's concerns are shaped by a culture that positions the women in the convent as different from 'us' and from our own daughters. For Eileen and Mrs Kehoe, this social dynamic becomes self-preserving; but in distancing themselves from the institutionalised women, they implicitly reinforce a system that sees these women as 'other' rather than recognising the shared precarity of their gendered experiences. This othering narrative constructs a divide that justifies their exclusion and neglect by society (Muldoon, 2024).

One night, on another delivery to the convent, Bill finds a young pregnant woman locked in the coal shed, covered in dirt, cold and terrified. Bill brings her inside, but the nuns quickly take the girl away and hush everything over. The culture of silencing is laid bare as Mother Superior, played with chilling intensity by Emily Watson, threatens Bill under the guise of polite small talk to ignore what he has seen. His silence is palpable, as we can hear in his breath the urge to speak up – an urge repressed by the knowledge that speaking out could risk everything for his family.

As he exits the convent, Bill catches a glimpse of the severe conditions the girls endure-a stark contrast to the Mother Superior's grand room, warmed by a fresh fire. This juxtaposition illustrates how the stigma of illegitimacy permitted these women and their children to be treated with such cruelty. For Bill, this is a haunting reminder of the fate his mother narrowly escaped, allowing him to imagine an alternate life path, one where he too, could have been institutionalised and separated from her. So having experienced both sides of the convent walls, both literally and figuratively, Bill finds it increasingly difficult to ignore what he has seen.

Indeed, Bill's instinct to help these women arises from seeing them as people – as his own mother and daughters. In particular, the pregnant girl, whom he calls Leanbh (Irish for 'child'), reminds him of his mother, and he desperately offers her help as he is escorted out of the convent. Unlike much of Irish society, Bill feels a sense of shared identity with the institutionalised women, recognising that they are just like him and everyone else. By viewing these women as 'one of us', he feels a greater responsibility for their welfare, highlighting how we are more inclined to intervene and help others when we perceive a shared identity (Levine et al., 2005).

As the town gathers for Christmas celebrations, these 'small things' – Bill's childhood colliding with his troubling encounters at the convent – culminate in an act of bravery to protect the young pregnant girl. In a culture shaped by silence and complicity, however, this gesture of kindness is viewed less as compassion and more as an act of insanity.

The film's ambiguous ending is a deliberate provocation, inviting audiences to reflect on the culture and social dynamics that govern our relationships within society, especially the ways in which certain people are marginalised or treated as 'other'. While Ireland has since evolved into a more open society, the story resonates deeply, reminding us that historical injustices cannot be forgotten without acknowledgement and meaningful change. With its nuanced performances and a deeply atmospheric setting, Small Things Like These is a powerful watch. Perhaps the real ending of the film lies in the conversations it sparks.

If you, or anyone you know, has been affected by Ireland's Mother and Baby institutions, we are conducting a survey to better understand these experiences and identify areas where help is needed. Your story matters, and you can share it via tinyurl.com/3rzhrdsw  

Reviewed by Catriona Shelly, Dearbhla Moroney and Orla Muldoon

References

Department of Children, Equality, Disability, Integration and Youth (2021). Mother and Baby Homes Commission of Investigation. 
https://tinyurl.com/4kyhv987 
Levine, M., Prosser, A., Evans, D., & Reicher, S. (2005). Identity and emergency interventionr. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 31(4), 443-453.  
Muldoon, O.T. (2024). The Social Psychology of Trauma: Connecting the Personal and the Political. Cambridge University Press.