John Crowley’s Brooklyn is a moving, carefully acted romance about the effort of settling far from home. Saoirse Ronan makes its homesickness painfully convincing, even when the supporting characters and later complications feel a little too neatly arranged.
Brooklyn is a fine romance because it takes homesickness seriously. John Crowley’s adaptation of Colm Tóibín’s novel understands how leaving home can make an ordinary conversation feel like a test, and gives Saoirse Ronan time to show the strain. Eilis Lacey is trying to build a life away from Ireland; the film stays close to her uncertainty about what she has gained and what she has left. We recommend it, with a reservation about how conveniently the later drama falls into place.
Nick Hornby’s screenplay gives Eilis Lacey feelings that do not conveniently take turns: she can be drawn towards her new surroundings and still ache for the old ones. That is a sound basis for a love story, since affection need not cure the loneliness that preceded it. The dialogue has humour without continually demanding a laugh, and the courtship is allowed some hesitancy. Emory Cohen makes Tony Fiorello appealing without seeming to ask for our approval, which helps the attraction feel like something she discovers for herself.
Saoirse Ronan does the harder work of showing how much effort it takes to seem at ease. Her watchfulness matters: a held look lets us see her character considering what to reveal before she reveals it. We were moved by those attempts to look composed, because the homesickness remains visible even when she is trying to spare everyone else the bother. The close-ups let us follow these changes without a speech explaining each one.
Yves Bélanger’s close-ups let us study those small changes without making the image more important than the actor. Production designers François Séguin and Tania Bijlani make the period easy to believe, although the tidiness can make starting again look rather comfortable. Odile Dicks-Mireaux’s costumes reinforce the pressure to look respectable. We can read the social expectations in the clothes, but sometimes wanted more of the disorder that comes with settling somewhere unfamiliar.
Jake Roberts’s editing gives the quieter exchanges room, an important choice in a film where a quick response would often tell us less than a pause. The pace seldom feels sluggish, although the measured progression can leave us anticipating an emotional change before it arrives. Michael Brook’s music is sympathetic to the romance, but occasionally too ready to tell us how much something matters. The performance seldom needs that help.
The larger weakness is in the writing around Eilis Lacey. Some supporting characters have a clear purpose and too little life beyond it, and a few later complications feel contrived. Nick Hornby is more persuasive when people are uncertain about what to say than when the plot begins arranging their decisions for them. We wanted a little more awkwardness that could not be dealt with quite so neatly.
As a period romance, it is reassuringly willing to care about people trying to behave decently. It also knows that good manners do not make a difficult decision painless, and Saoirse Ronan keeps that discomfort present beneath the polish. There is enough humour to prevent the sadness becoming an obligation. Give it an evening when nobody is in a hurry.
