BY ROGER WATSON
Fast car chases, energetic sexual encounters, and bloodthirsty violence—none of these feature in Small Things Like These (2024), set in County Wexford, Ireland. Also devoid of humour, the film carries dark undertones, focusing on coal merchant Bill Furlong (Cillian Murphy) and his growing suspicion that something untoward is happening at the local convent.
Indeed, something untoward and evil is taking place. The film is a historical and social drama about the Magdalene Laundries—Catholic Church-run institutions that essentially imprisoned young women who gave birth out of wedlock. Their babies were taken from them and adopted without consent, and the women were enslaved by nuns whose treatment was far from Christian.
As a Roman Catholic and Irish citizen, I peek through the blinds reluctantly at portrayals of these events. I don’t doubt their veracity, but I am also acutely aware of the own goal scored by the Roman Catholic Church in Ireland through the appalling practices depicted in Small Things Like These. Equally appalling were the Church’s attempts—by clergy and religious orders alike—to deny and cover up the events.
I worked in Ireland in the late 1990s. By then, the Magdalene Laundries had been publicly known since 1993, but Catholicism still held power: masses were packed, and I heard barely a word of criticism of the Church. Shockingly, the laundries continued to operate until 1996. Following an inquiry, a state apology was issued in 2013 for their existence. The state had been complicit—referring women to these institutions and funding them.
Within three years, gay marriage was approved in Ireland—unthinkable a decade earlier. On more recent visits, I’ve noticed smaller congregations at Mass. The grip of Roman Catholicism on the Irish state and people has been broken, largely by its own actions.
The film’s darkness is reinforced by the fact that the main character works with coal. He returns home black with coal dust and is often shown scrubbing and washing his hands after work. These sessions grow more vigorous as the film progresses, seemingly reflecting Furlong’s desperate attempts to purge haunting memories.
Bill Furlong, who lives with his wife and five daughters, is a deeply troubled man. Flashbacks depict a happier childhood with his single mother and a man working for the kindly Mrs Wilson, who took in his disgraced mother. He also recalls discovering his mother collapsed, dead on the road. Though the cause of death is unspecified, he was taken in and raised by Mrs Wilson, whom he remembers fondly.
The film’s sparse action takes place in winter, mostly in the evenings, enhancing the chiaroscuro-like atmosphere. Set in the run-up to Christmas, the festive backdrop contrasts starkly with Furlong’s discovery at the convent while delivering coal. He finds a young girl, Sarah (Zara Devlin), cold, afraid, and bruised in the coal shed. When he brings her inside, he is scolded harshly by the nuns for entering uninvited. They appear to treat her kindly.
Furlong is invited to tea by the Reverend Mother, Sister Mary (Emma Watson). He is visibly uncomfortable in her presence. She feigns concern for his family, ensures he is paid, and hands him an envelope stuffed with money for his wife “for Christmas”—clearly an attempt to buy his silence. As he leaves, he sees Sarah again and tries to tell her to contact him if she is in trouble, but he is quickly dismissed by the fearsome Sister Carmel (Clare Dunne).
The nuns are poor at concealing their abuse. Furlong returns and again finds Sarah, cowering and locked in the coal shed. He takes her home to his family, and the film ends—leaving us with no insight into his wife and children’s reaction.
The film is not enjoyable—largely due to the exquisite discomfort it generates. In that sense, it is brilliant. As the film nears its end, you expect Furlong to expose the convent’s abuses, but he never does, heightening the tension and discomfort. As social commentary, the film is somewhat understated, but before the credits, a brief truth about the Magdalene Laundries appears onscreen. Surely, this represents one of the most sinister periods in the recent history of the Roman Catholic Church (thankfully, no other scandals have recently been associated with it!) and of the Irish State.
Roger Watson is a Registered Nurse and Editor-in-Chief of Nurse Education in Practice.