Murphy devastating in year’s best Small Things
Though is seems more pressing now than usual, the question regarding adhering to one’s personal principles in the face of differing societal beliefs and institutional oppression has always been with us. Right or wrong, each of us will eventually be faced with the choice of mindlessly going with the prevailing winds in order not to make waves or taking a stand despite the threat of ostracization or worse. The decision revolves around whether we can look at ourselves in the mirror or live our lives in quiet shame.
This is the choice facing Bill Furlong in Tim Mielents’s Small Things Like These, a haunting character study that, while taking place in Ireland during the 1980s, couldn’t be timelier. Based on the novella by Claire Keegan, it examines the country’s stain that was the Magdalene Laundries, Catholic-run asylums in which unwed mothers and other so-called “fallen women” were forced to live. An estimated 30,000 were institutionalized in them against their will, some never to leave.
Though he’s hesitant to admit it, in a way Furlong has a connection to the laundries, his own mother unwed when she gave birth. However, she was fortunate to avoid the fate of many of her peers, having been taken in by a rich benefactress (Michelle Fairley) who gave her a job and place to live on her estate. Being raised in this environment, Furlong was sheltered from these events, until his mother died when he was 10.
His mother has been much on his mind as of late. Furlong, who owns a coal business in New Ross, County Wexford, has been, what with being shorthanded, making deliveries. One of his stops is the laundry in the area. It’s overseen by Sister Mary (Emily Watson), stern as one would expect, adhering to the church’s doctrine, turning a blind eye to her charges’ suffering. After Furlong witnesses a young woman being forced to enter the asylum, this awakens long-dormant memories and prompts a crisis of conscience.
Things are exacerbated when he enters the building during a later stop and is accosted by a young woman who begs him to help her escape. And once he finds another of the girls, hiding in the coal bin where he makes his deliveries, he’s forced to come to terms as to whether he should intercede on her behalf or not.
Though sparse, the film’s narrative is layered, the many facets of Irish society and its attachment to the Catholic Church touched upon. Furlong’s wife, Eileen (Eileen Walsh), gently chides him about being too soft-hearted, offering the practical but impersonal notion that, “There are things you have to ignore.” She’s not without a heart but allows practical concerns to guide her.
That they have four daughters is a factor as well. Were Furlong to speak out, they would likely no longer be allowed to go to the church-run school they attend. Sister Mary implies this in not so many words. Sensing Furlong may do something rash, she invites him to tea, assures him nothing is amiss, and attempts to silence him with a Christmas card containing a few pound notes. He takes it, but doesn’t open it. As for his daughters, Furlong can’t help but imagine them in the same situation as the abandoned girls he’s encountered.
The film rests on Cillian Murphy’s shoulders, who delivers a heartbreaking performance. His turmoil internalized; through subtle gradations we see the weight of Furlong’s indecision take its toll. An ever-increasing sadness is prevalent in his downward glances, a hunch slowly overtakes his posture, the weight of his conscious slowly crushing him. It’s a haunting, devastating turn that’s impossible to shake. Watson is equally good, also taking a low-key approach, but to another end. The sense of menace she exudes is a tribute to the power of her steely screen persona.
One of the year’s best films, as well as one of the timeliest, Things cuts to the core. Mielents’ approach is deceptive, as he’s wise enough to step out of the way to allow the inherent power of the story and relatability of its theme directly impact the viewer. He makes Furlong’s dilemma our own, forcing us to ask ourselves what we’d do in his situation. The connection to the current state of things in the world is obvious, as we all must ask ourselves if toeing the line is worth the price of our souls.
Madison’s fierce turn makes Anora bearable
A ribald look at the Cinderella fairy tale, Sean Baker’s Anora is a film that, much like its main character, doesn’t know when to quit. Initially intriguing, the movie overstays its welcome, padding its threadbare story throughout until it wears out its welcome. However, its saving grace are the performances from Mikey Madison in the title role, as well as a roster of game costars that run with the absurdity of the premise, focusing on the humor of the situation to great effect.
Working in one of New York City’s gentleman’s clubs, Anora (Mikey Madison, in a star-making turn) has mastered the art of separating delusional men from their hard-earned money. Always on the lookout for a particularly foolish mark with copious amounts of disposable cash, she hits it big when she’s introduced to Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), a very young Russian man-child who flaunts his wealth. Lavishing her with attention and money at the club, he suggests she come to his posh suburban McMansion and be his “girlfriend” for the week. Negotiations ensue, a deal is struck, and Anora is suddenly immersed in a lifestyle she’s only dreamed of.
Turns out, Ivan is the son of a Russian oligarch with not a care in the world. An impulsive trip to Las Vegas with Anora and his crew results in even more debauchery, leading to an impulsive marriage proposal. Realizing her ship has come in, she says “yes,” a chapel is found, and the deed is done. However, their marital bliss is short-lived when Ivan’s parents learn of this turn of events and are soon on their way to the states to dissolve the union.
Much of the humor comes from Toros (Karren Karagulian), Garnick (Vache Tovmaysan) and Igor (Yura Borisov), who are dispatched by Ivan’s parents to get a handle on the situation. None are a match for Anora’s fury once she finds out her new in-laws’ intentions. Their flummoxed reaction to her brazen physical attacks and desperation to hold on to her meal ticket is worth the price of admission. The trio realize they must walk a fine line, having to keep a handle on their charge, without harming her, at the cost of their own personal safety.
Coming in at nearly two hours and 20 minutes, the film is far too long and flirts with tedium during its third act. Repetitive sequences showing Anora plying her trade, as well as she and Ivan “getting to know” each other add nothing to the story. Even more taxing is a sojourn through Manhattan in which Anora and the three lackeys search for Ivan, who’s abandoned her. It feels as if we are with them every minute of the long, long night that ensues, their search ending in the spot they should have gone to first.
Baker’s in-your-face aesthetic and turned-up-to-11 soundtrack quickly becomes abusive, viewers assailed rather than entertained for most of the running time. Yet, Madison is arresting throughout, delivering a fierce performance that demands our attention. Her over-the-top moments may be the ones that come immediately to mind, but the scenes where she’s required to show her character’s vulnerability is where she shines. There are many fans of Baker’s work, and they will be well-pleased by Anora. Those with just a passing interest will likely wonder what all the fuss is about.
Memoir a surprising tale of hope
Beneath the grotesque aesthetic of Adam Elliot’s Memoirs of a Snail lies a touching tale of resiliency and healing, one that slowly emerges from an ever-increasing series of tragedies that befall the main character. Despite incidents of abandonment, abuse and self-harm, the filmmaker manages to maintain a degree of hope. His vision of the world is one in which its inhabitants have come to expect fate to repeatedly knock them back on their heels. As such, Elliot’s characters are sympathetic and relatable, though their attitudes towards their troubles are unique and to be wished for.
Grace and Gilbert Prudel (voiced by Sarah Snook and Kodi Smit-McPhee, respectively) seem plucked from a Dickens novel, as one tragedy after another plagues them. Though twins, their differences are marked and plain from the start, she being the optimistic one, he always looking at the dark side of things. Born with a cleft lip, Grace is constantly picked upon, while Gilbert, despite his small size, always comes to her defense. What with their mother dying during childbirth, they’ve been raised by their father Percy (Dominique Pinon), a paraplegic alcoholic who was once a street performer in Paris. However, soon after their 10th birthday, he too dies and the twins are separated, each sent to live with foster families on opposite sides of Australia.
Gilbert gets the worse part of the bargain, as he’s taken in by a family of religious zealots and forced to work in their apple orchard. Resisting their efforts of indoctrination, his life is one of drudgery, though he finds some solace from the most unexpected of places.
Having found various snail trinkets among her mother’s things, Grace takes to collecting not only snails, but anything that might have a picture or image of the crustacean on it. This serves as a metaphor for the character, as she retreats further and further within her own shell. After being neglected by her swinging foster parents, enduring a marriage based on deception and losing her best friend, Pinky (Jacki Weaver), her response to retreat from a world that has done nothing but hurt her makes sense.
The stop-motion, claymation approach Elliot employs is astonishing. The attention to detail in the environments they inhabit is remarkable. The minute touches and the sheer number of small items that populate the settings make one wish a “pause” button were handy to take in and appreciate all each image has to offer. However, more vital are the emotions the filmmaker is able to convey with this technique, the expressions on the characters’ faces as well as the postures in their bodies reminds us of the ability of stop motion animation to move the viewer in ways animation employing computer-generated effects still can’t.
If the film has a fault, it’s with its ending, which is far too neat and not earned. Yet, it’s necessary to drive home Elliot’s conceit that life needs to be embraced and cherished despite its inherent difficulties. Memoir proves to be a major surprise, an out-of-left-field dose of optimism that’s much needed in the increasingly dire times we live in.
This article appears in This I believe Illinois.
