After her breakout film, Ratcatcher, Glaswegian director Lynne Ramsay has been in the wilderness for 9 years with only the collapse of an adaptation of Alice Sebold novel, the lovely bones (later directed by Peter Jackson) to her name. In 2011, she has made a big profile return to the director’s chair by adapting another equally difficult novel in Lionel Shriver’s we need to talk about Kevin. Told through non-linear means Ramsay’s film charts the before, after and during of Eve’s relationship with her son, Kevin, who eventually executes his high school peers in a brutal and bloody columbine-ian massacre.
Before gushing, there is one negative that needs to be drawn to attention. Well, negative is a strong word, what would be more accurate would be to describe this irksome feature as heavy-handed and lacking subtlety and deftness of touch. This is in reference to the symbolism and red, which is used to signify the impending danger, the blood that is eventually spilled and the guilt in the fallout of the violent centre piece. Everything that could conceivably be red is. From lingering shots of signs, Eve wearing red lipstick to hiding from a mourning parent along a wall of tomato soup. Such heavy-handed symbolism becomes distracting, especially when you consider that symbolism is a subtext, an extra depth to those that wish to seek it out. No such luxury is paid heed here, Eve, played by Tilda Swinton, literally bathes in the red of a tomato fight in the brilliantly shot opening scene.
That is the most immediately impressive thing about Kevin, the artistry and ability of those behind the cameras. The non-linearity of the narrative is taxing at first thanks to there being no discernible line drawn through the events; instead the film flows in a way similar to someone reminiscing and recollecting past events. The most important thing, which is achieved in spades, is the accumulation to a crescendo and as fans of the novel will be able to attest, we need to talk about Kevin builds up to an incredible climax.
Ramsay is an incredible artist, making great use of both visual and sound editing, taking something which is an act of necessity in developing cinema and turning into something of expression. Pictures, colours, people and sound bleed together for both dramatic and artistic ends. These flourishes transcend everything else through some of the very few fleeting moments where you can escape the tension thanks to intensely dark sense of humour, displayed no greater than the scene where Eve deals with Jehovah’s witnesses.
Aside from the directorial masterclass from the long absent Ramsay, the major plaudits belong to Tilda Swinton and Ezra Miller. John C. Reilly also puts in a great dramatic turn in spite of how sparingly he is wheeled out. Ezra Miller as the teenage Kevin exudes evil, as do his younger counterparts (Jasper Newell and Rock Duer) who all look like they could be the same person. Newell as Kevin in his childhood shares all the worst character traits with his older self but because he is “just a child” it’s much more daunting. Miller as the teenage Kevin displays great physicality. For an actor of such young age to be able to express such malevolence without the aid of screaming histrionics or even dialogue, just by looking at his eyes you can read his character, you can see through this what he’s capable of.
Tilda Swinton as Eve Khatchadourian, Kevin’s long suffering mother, puts in a flawless performance. She impresses through a role that pulls in many different directions without collapsing under its own weight. From her postpartum depression and her inability to cope with a child that is, in her eyes, evil, to the solemn attitude and the constant anxiety she suffers from in the presence at those who suffered at the hand of her son.
While far from accessible to mainstream sensibilities, we need to talk about Kevin is a rollicking success. It may roll around in its own delicious symbolism, but Ramsay’s return to the director’s chair has given the starved film public a film that shocks and absorbs in its descent to hell.
Filed under: World & Indie
