Cillian Murphy has played revolutionaries, gangsters, and physicists. In Steve , he embodies something quieter: exhaustion. The Oscar-winner reunites with his Small Things Like These director Tim Mielants, who adapts Max Porter’s 2023 novella Shy into a Netflix reform-school drama. A story of people and institutions on the edge of collapse, Steve draws its power from the quiet intensity of its performances.

Unlike Max Porter’s novella, the film, scripted by Porter himself, shifts the focus squarely onto Steve, played by Murphy. In 1996, he and his exhausted staff struggle to run Canton Wood, a boys’ reform school for those society has cast aside. Forced to be both wardens and parents, they do their best to hold the place – and the boys – together.

Unsurprisingly, the boys are a rambunctious lot, picking fights, lashing out at one another and the teachers, and bonding over sports and music. Among them, Shy (Jay Lycurgo) stands apart: quiet, sensitive, and consumed by loneliness. Though the novella centers on him, the film shifts its gaze to Steve, with Shy serving as both his mirror and his most fragile connection.

Steve unfolds over a single, fateful day at Canton Wood, when a television crew arrives to film the school. Documenting the behind-the-scenes running of the school by Steve and the deputy head (Tracey Ullman), the crew interviews the students and the staff, asking them to describe themselves in three words. For all the joke answers, it is Shy’s “depressed, angry, and bored” and Steve’s “very, very tired” that seem the most truthful.

A simple tale told well, Steve ’s success hinges on its powerhouse performances, anchored by Murphy and Lycurgo. Steve’s weariness is worn all over Murphy’s face, his ice-blue eyes full of concern and fatigue. He must walk the line between friend and authority figure, all while balancing precariously on the edge of his own abyss. Murphy has always been one to shine in indie dramas, and Steve is no exception. Lycurgo, meanwhile, is dynamite as Shy, his explosive energy forever threatening to crack through the surface. The supporting cast, in particular Ullman, are wonderful. Mielants and Porter’s story fully shows how the reform system doesn’t just wear the students down, but also those trying to save them. Stretched thin, there is an ever-present weight on their shoulders, but some are more visible than others.

Mielants’ construction of the narrative can feel a little theatrical, as if Steve might easily be mounted on stage. The story unfolds in mostly linear fashion, with an onscreen clock marking the passing hours of the school day, but it’s punctuated by cuts between the crew’s Betacam footage and Mielants’ own lens. The traditionally staged documentary footage allows the characters to connect directly with the audience, painting a full picture of their experience. The doc footage captures the reality of the rambunctious boys and adds some levity to the drama, including an ill-advised visit from a local MP (Roger Allam, also in The Choral at TIFF).

It’s these fleeting moments, captured by the documentary crew, that resonate most deeply. We are witness to a phone call between Shy and his mum that paints his interactions with staff and students in a new light, just as we see stoic Steve digging into his secret stash of alcohol he’s hidden around the school. The culmination of their story arcs in the film’s climax is where things fall apart slightly. What has been a no-nonsense drama ends on a more saccharine note that is meant to evoke a sense of peace and hope, but ultimately feels tacked on and unearned.

At 92 minutes, this small but powerful drama may not be flashy enough to capture audiences at TIFF, but it will reward those who seek it out when it lands on Netflix in October.

Steve screened as part of the 2025 Toronto International Film Festival.

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