Writer(s): Ramsay and Rory Stewart Kinnear, from a novel by Lionel Shriver
Starring: Tilda Swinton, John C. Reilly, Ezra Miller, and Jasper Newell
Films about evil children are nothing new—in fact, such stories tend to be a fallback for the horror genre, with one, it seems, opening in theaters every month, or going direct-to-video every week. It's a popular storytelling device, perhaps mainly because of the success of The Omen franchise, but also because there's immediately a built-in relation for the audience: parents can imagine if their child(ren) acted this way, how they would cope; expectant mothers can get a tinge of fear just from the mere thought that the child they are carrying may be the devil himself; even those without children can still identify, because we were all children once, and generally put our parents through moments of sheer hell without being the spawn of Satan...imagine how much worse it would be if we were! The whole mother-child bond is the strongest in the world, with the father-child bond generally close behind, and so there's the automatic potential for response from the audience, because we've all experienced it in some way or another.
It is also the focus of Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin. But while it may deal with very common themes, it is not your typical “evil seed” film; in eschewing the “normal” causes of fictional wicked boys, Ramsay has created a chilling work that lays much of its foundation in reality. An exorcism won't save Kevin, because he's not possessed by anyone, or anything; he's just inherently evil, and makes it his life's work to psychologically torture his mother any possible chance he gets.
The film is interestingly told in a freewheeling, almost dreamlike manner; the effortlessness with which it works makes me wonder why more films, especially horror ones, don't attempt it more often. We cut back and forth in time frequently, with “present” events involving Eva Khatchadourian (Kevin's mother, and the object of his hatred) giving way to specific, painful memories of her past. It is in this fashion that the entire story is told. It might sound confusing, and it is at first, but it's done in such a manner that within just a few minutes, it becomes second-nature, as clear and concise as a standard narrative.
Through fragments, we follow Eva and her husband, Franklin (journeyman John C. Reilly, who can't seem to turn down a role) as she learns she is pregnant with Kevin, a development that she clearly isn't interested in. Is it because she has a feeling that her son will be an emotionless ball of hate, or is her reservations toward motherhood partially responsible for making him the way he is? Once he comes out into the world, things do not get better for poor Eva: her (forced) attempts to bond with him are met with disinterest, even from a very young age. As Kevin gets older, his “disinterest” grows with him, into complete contempt: his mother may tend to be the focus of this, but it is also clear he has a disregard for just about everyone around him.
Then Eva learns she is pregnant again, and this time, with a girl. The hope is that having someone to play with will turn Kevin into a good person, but the new family member seems to have no effect on his mean-streak—within moments of her birth, he's sprinkling water on the newborn baby's face, making it cry. Time does not seem to tame his violent tendencies, and he makes life miserable for his sister, culminating in a tragic “accident” that leads to her need for a glass eye.
Now a couple of the holes start to show in an otherwise tight script, because Franklin continues to side with Kevin at all costs. In the beginning, it makes sense, as Kevin does go out of his way to show his father he loves him, while remaining cold toward his mother. But fifteen years later, and the father still can't see the evil that surrounds his son? This gives way to another tired contrivance: Franklin thinks all of Eva's complaints are in her head. If we, as the audience, are also supposed to question her sanity, the film never bothers to make that clear for us—what is made abundantly clear is that Kevin really is a contemptible child, and despite her best (half-assed) attempts, Eva can never penetrate through the emotionless shell that is her son.
These individual scenes lead up to one catastrophic event that ruins everyone's lives; it is an event so horrific, that random passersby still randomly smack Eva out in public, and vandalize her property, excoriating her for something that she had nothing to do with. I understand in this society, parents are generally blamed for the actions of their children—sometimes accurately, oftentimes not—but the level of scorn that she faces is completely over-the-top. At first, it creates sympathy for Eva, which I think is the point, but as the ridicule continues, she just comes off as an idiot for not escaping a town that makes it painfully obvious that she is unwelcome there.
When all is said and done, We Need to Talk About Kevin is nevertheless an effective slice of evil child horror, offering up a difficult scenario that offers no easy answers. It is frequently confrontational and more than a little disturbing, relying on solid writing and a dread-filled atmosphere to keep the viewer interested, rather than resorting to gore or cheap shocks. It also functions as an eye-opening counterattack to those that frequently hold parents accountable for the violent actions of their children, positing the uncomfortable notion that some children, despite their surroundings, are simply born to hate.
RATING: 7.5/10
As a side note, the film version curiously seems to want to make Kevin's crime a secret—if you want it to be, don't read the single-sentence synopsis for the novel, which plainly states what it is. I made that mistake during a break in the movie (dog had to be let out), and while I can't say it ruined anything for me, I would have rather found out during the course of watching it.
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