Music, Style & Culture

We Need To Talk About Kevin

A beautifully crafted but deeply upsetting drama that is hugely ambitious and utterly magnificent.

Released in cinemas 21st October 2011.

Scottish director Lynne Ramsay (Movern Cellar, Ratcatcher) returns with a beautifully crafted but deeply upsetting drama that is hugely ambitious and utterly magnificent.

Together with her husband and co-writer Rory Kinnear, she confidently adapts Lionel Shriver's best-selling novel of the same name. While I have not read the book, it's worth pointing out to those that have that the structure has been drastically altered. The novel is actually a series of letters from a woman to her estranged husband, regarding motherhood, which ends with a killer sting.

Ramsay's approach sees Tilda Swinton in her most approachable, empathetic role yet as Eva, a woman ostracised in her community. She wakes up every morning to red paint on her ramshackle house and beat-up car, and when she's not being verbally and physically abused, is the focus of both harsh and troubled looks. Why doesn't she just leave town? The reason is weekly visits to her teenage son Kevin (Ezra Miller), incarcerated for an unspeakably wicked crime that reveals itself in sickening crumbs dropped throughout the entire film.

It switches back and forth through time, as the red wine-sodden Eva exists solely to reflect. We learn Eva was an adventurous travel writer and successful publisher, whose life was upturned by pregnancy and marriage to Franklin (John C. Reilly). From a glorious opening shot at the Valencian festival La Tomatina that is terrifying out of context, to the hazy love scene between a carefree Swinton and Reilly, softly assuring him that it doesn't matter if it's "not safe", Ramsay then covers 18 years of motherhood, dramatising fears and guilt every woman must secretly endure.

The story is told through Eva's eyes, through her memories, and we must rely on her narrative to ascertain if her firstborn really is something out of The Omen. As flashes of hysterical schoolchildren and flashing ambulance lights break Eva's thoughts, the film shows her son Kevin at many stages, all with startlingly memorable scenes. The moment where Eva stops her pram next to a pneumatic drill for some peace from the baby's screams says a thousand, exasperated words. The silent, uncommunicative toddler listens to Eva telling him she was happy before he was born, before the perceived lack of maternal bond manifests itself in the surly, diaper-wearing, manipulative child Kevin (a terrific young Jasper Newell). Ramsay's film is so rich in detailed, telling moments too numerous to write about (and spoil), not a second goes by without a dreadfully worrying matter presenting itself.

By the time Kevin is played as a teenager with chilling intensity by Miller, he's successfully pitted mother against father, and has a lack of empathy for everyone, including his adorable little sister Celia (Ashley Gerasimovich). Kevin has that cocky charm that only teenagers can get away with, so is the apple of his daddy's eye. Miller is tremendous as the whipsmart, cynical teen with an evil streak, terrifyingly convincing while spouting arrogant rhetoric.

There is a perpetual feeling of dread throughout We Need to Talk About Kevin that would rival the greatest horror movie, as we know it's leading to a terrible revelation. One stunning, nightmarish sequence shows modern-day Eva driving home on Halloween night, stricken with guilt and fear as she has a cupboard filled with medication, not candy. This alone would make for an effective thriller, but Ramsay's film is beyond categorisation, being so deeply layered - it's mainly a character study of a guilt-stricken, broken shell of a woman, but is also a visual feast.

Swinton owns the film in an unforgettable performance. She manifests every feeling with subtle physicality and humility, from the sensual, confident, spirited traveller to the haunted and humbled Eva, shocked to the core when someone throws her a bone. This nuanced, perfectly pitched turn compensates for the film's only fault, namely Ramsay's over-the-top metaphors. She loads the film with so much blood red it becomes almost a running joke - Eva is forever scrubbing red paint, Kevin is forever making messy jam sandwiches. It's literally everywhere, making an Almodovar film look sepia. A film already so bold in its performances and themes doesn't need to be so heavy-handed.

The confidence of Ramsey's vision more than makes up for it, aided by Atonement cinematographer Seamus McGarvey's divine photography, Joe Bini's masterful and brave editing choices, and Jonny Greenwood's understated but skin-crawling score, which wisely never threatens to overpower the force of nature that is Swinton. Unmissable, but incredibly traumatic.

Rating: 9/10