Brooklyn (2015)

New York State of Mind: Saoirse Ronan stars in "Brooklyn"

Exquisitely emotional, visually lyrical, and meticulously well-observed, “Brooklyn”—directed by John Crowley, written by Nick Hornby and adapted from the novel of the same name by Colm Toiben—is easily one of the best movies about leaving home to start a new life to come along in a while.

The film, set in 1951, follows the path of a young Irish woman, Eilis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan), from her roots in a small town in Southeast Ireland to the densely populated New York borough of the title, where opportunities exist—she has a room at a boarding house and a job waiting, courtesy of the kindly Irish priest, Father Flood (Jim Broadbent), who has sponsored her—that otherwise didn’t back home.

Across the ocean, fresh experiences, tentative friendships and eventually a sweet romance with a short, affable Italian man (Emory Cohen) develop, but not before Eilis, having left her mom and sister behind as well as the comfort of familiarity, deals with crushing spells of isolation in this strange, beautiful, crowded new world.

Intricately and ingeniously multilayered, “Brooklyn” is part love story, part coming of age chronicle and in many ways a subtle, stunningly well-realized essay about the sting of homesickness, a malaise the affects of which aren’t limited to the main character.

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the best scene takes place when Eilis, helping to serve food to a group of elderly Irish immigrants during Christmas, stands by when one of them sings Casadh an Tsúgáin (The Twisting of the Rope), a traditional Irish lament that brings the old men to tears with sad reminders of being young, falling in love, and dreaming of home.

“These are the men who built the bridges, the tunnels, the highways,” Father Flood says. Although it focuses on one Irish girl moving to New York, since many others were doing the same thing in the 1950s, “Brooklyn” is also a remarkable cinematic document, a nostalgic glimpse of how America began.

Material this compelling is capable of overwhelming an indiscriminate director. But Crowley, who is also Irish, brings a firm grasp and personal vision to the proceedings with a style—long takes, loose framing, luminous lighting, stirring establishing shots—that gives the actors room to breathe while lending the film a distinctive sense of immediacy, honesty and warmth.

Saoirse Ronan and Emory Cohen in "Brooklyn"

When Crowley does use a close-up, “Brooklyn” soars because it’s usually the highly expressive Ronan—brilliantly conveying Eilis' combination of vulnerability and strength with her thoughtful eyes and soft smile—dominating both the lens and our emotions.

“Brooklyn” is another triumph for Hornby, who also adapted the screenplay for the masterful “Wild” with Reese Witherspoon. Both stories are about young women on epic, individual journeys. And even though they have substantial differences, some fascinating parallels remain.

Where the introspective protagonist of “Wild” takes on a grueling, thousand-mile hike up the Pacific Crest Trail with only a backpack, a notebook, and a head full of painful memories, the heroine in “Brooklyn” leaves her homeland to be surrounded by denizens in a noisy milieu swarming with action and life. Along the way, each character confronts different kinds of loneliness, profound sadness, and finally resolve.

There are some twists and surprises, some welcome and others superfluous, but it’s not enough to compromise this moving, exquisitely melancholy piece of work. As much as “Brooklyn” is a story about coming and going, it's also a lyrical metaphor for navigating the undulating, wildly unpredictable vicissitudes of growing up.