Brooklyn

I finally got around to rewatching Brooklyn, despite every fiber of my cynical self pushing back — how much emotional sincerity can I handle in one sitting, right? Turns out, enough to sit through two hours of Saoirse Ronan making me root for her with every gorgeous frame. The story, based on Colm Tóibín’s novel, is set in the early 1950s and follows Eilis, a young Irish woman who immigrates to Brooklyn in search of a better life. She gets caught between two countries and two loves, which sounds like sentimental territory — and yeah, it is, but it’s done with a delicate hand.

Saoirse Ronan does most of the film’s emotional lifting. She’s understated but constantly radiates everything her character feels. If you’ve ever made a huge life change and felt paralyzed by homesickness, watching Ronan will probably punch you right in the gut. The way her expressions flicker across uncertainty, loneliness, and longing is so subtle that you might miss it if you blink. She dominates every scene without ever feeling showy or over-the-top.

The movie rides this soft-spoken wave — not once does it tip into melodrama. Even the romance between Eilis and Tony (the very endearing Emory Cohen) manages to feel authentic and honestly sweet instead of cloying. There’s this wonderful dinner scene where Tony introduces Eilis to his chaotic Italian family, and the awkwardness is so genuine that it almost feels improvised. The chemistry isn’t firework-sexual, but more like the warmth of standing in the sun.

What really stands out is the cinematography. Director John Crowley and cinematographer Yves Bélanger paint New York and Ireland in completely different palettes, so you’re always aware of where Eilis’ heart is being pulled. Brooklyn’s colors are vibrant and bustling, hinting at opportunity, while Ireland sits in soft, grayish light that tugs at nostalgia. This makes transitions between settings feel extra meaningful, and visually makes the choice between home and away more palpable.

For a film that deals with big emotional stakes, the pacing is patient. Maybe too patient for viewers who are itching for dramatic twists. But I found that the quiet, slow build gave the characters room to feel real, instead of bending to whatever plot contrivance comes next. The film also doesn’t vilify anyone — choices feel complicated, rooted in circumstance, not just sweeping declarations of love or identity. That nuance is rare in love stories, and it’s why Brooklyn stuck with me after the credits.

That said, it’s not a perfect ride. The supporting cast is sometimes a little thin, especially the folks back in Ireland. I get that the film is Eilis’ story, but a bit more time with her family would have made the pull between her two lives more believable. There are also moments where the film leans almost too hard into quaint period detail — it can occasionally feel like a well-polished museum exhibit. If someone told me they found it visually stuffy, I’d get it.

The emotional weight is definitely there, but if you’re looking for wild passion or anything subversive, Brooklyn probably won’t do much for you. It’s deeply earnest about love, loss, and what it means to belong — and while that makes the quieter second act richer, it also means the film sometimes pulls its punches when you wish it’d go for the jugular emotionally. It’s a credit to Ronan that even the smaller, understated moments hit as hard as they do.

So, is Brooklyn a classic? Maybe not, but it’s beautifully crafted and so much more honest than a lot of modern romance movies. It reminded me that sometimes stories about good people trying to do the right thing can still feel urgent, especially when they’re told with this much skill and heart.