Depending on which point in its runtime you examine, Brooklyn can appear to be about various different things. It begins as an immigrant’s tale, but that gives way to romance, and that too ultimately slides into the background to highlight the feeling of returning home. However, despite the shifts in focus, Brooklyn never feels schizophrenic or overlong, as all three acts are deftly grounded by an overarching theme of belonging.

It also helps that all three acts are so masterfully executed. There are templates for how these stories are supposed to work, and while Brooklyn never strays too far from them, it tweaks each one to feel specific to its narrative. When main protagonist Eilis leaves Ireland to come work in Brooklyn, the film makes it clear that she doesn’t really feel at home in EITHER location. In Ireland, she is a shy wallflower with no real profession, unlikely to marry into a happy life or provide one for herself. But in America, she faces the same feeling of alienation that many other immigrant stories chronicle. She gets homesick, but as an audience we are aware that she has little back home to return to.

The romance arc, on the other hand, stands out from the ordinary for how consistently pleasing and charming it is. Eilis’s love interest in this sequence, Tony, is so sweet and seemingly sincere about his feelings that you’re constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. In a genre in which immigrants almost always learn to be cynical and less trusting, this plotline is refreshing just by being straightforward. The lead actors, Saoirse Ronan and Emory Cohen, share a terrific chemistry, and it’s hard for me to remember the last time an on-screen romance was so effortlessly enjoyable.

I’ll touch on the last act briefly, but will try to stay vague to avoid spoilers. This act, too, is familiar yet unique. It constitutes what is essentially the “return” portion of Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, and as the return often does, it serves to highlight the changes that Eilis has undergone via her experiences abroad. But what impressed me about this portion of Brooklyn was how unafraid the script was to make Eilis look bad. Typically, a character will be revealed to be a negative influence, or some kind of external factor will be to blame for a character doing the “wrong” thing. But Brooklyn never pins Eilis’ problems on somebody else. The world is filled with people who are sometimes flawed, but ultimately good at their core. When Eilis puts herself in a difficult position, bound to hurt somebody, it is completely her own doing.

Such a move could be narrative suicide without a strong performance to ground it, but Saoirse Ronan is up to the challenge. After honing her craft as a child actor since the age of nine, Ronan has really come into her own here, putting in a performance that relies more on subtle gestures than overt actions or proclamations. Her character rarely speaks in the first third of the film, yet the audience’s understanding and connection with her character is never in question. This bond allows us to empathize with her, even when she makes decisions which we may not like.

I make no claim that period pieces and immigrant stories are brand new, or that Brooklyn is one of the most inventive films of the year. What it is, though, is a marvel of execution, an immensely charming story that tweaks conventions just enough to feel unique. It deserves its recognition as one of the best films of the year, and marks a career-making turn for director John Crowley.