Please be aware, this review contains spoilers.
One of the most anticipated literary adaptations of the year is finally here. I watched it in a packed out preview on Thursday evening at Cornerhouse, and the experience was an inherently strange one. The atmosphere in the room before the film began was one of anticipation and excitement – many had read the novel and were discussing between themselves what they would include in a film. As was I. Others had read the five star reviews swimming around on the internet and were inherently intrigued; a few, having come in a group of people, had no idea what to expect. And when the end credits began to roll and the lights came on as the film finished, there was a collective realisation that the same had been true for all of us…
I left the theatre, as many did, not knowing what to think. A lot of things about the film had impressed me – but having loved the book so much, the film had confused and even annoyed me at times. When I read the novel over the summer, I realised there was a hell of a lot packed into its 400 pages. Not everything could possibly make it onto the big screen. But there were scenes that seemed to lend themselves so perfectly to the cinematic format, that were so subtle and shocking, that I took it for granted that any director in their right mind wouldn’t dare miss such a wonderful opportunity to include it in their adaptation. Yet I was wrong, not just about which scenes were kept and which left out, but of how the film would be structured in its entirety. During the journey back home from the cinema, I thought to myself how much more compelling the novel was to the film. Of course, having read the novel beforehand, I reasoned that this was always going to be the case. But it wasn’t just that…
The truth was that I had made a criminal error, as many will, when I watched the movie for the first time. I compared it with the book constantly – my expectations of the film were that concrete. But Lynne Ramsay has done something very strange in her adaptation. She has taken Lionel Shriver’s novel, stripped it bare, and then twisted and contorted it in strange ways, moulding it into something weird and unique, so that it bears resemblance to its source material, but is, in its entirety, a completely different organism (and should be judged as such). Past midnight, I was wondering about those glaring omissions, and the reasoning behind them, and suddenly, I finally began to understand the genius and insight behind Lynne Ramsay’s film; whole new interpretations of what I had seen began to reveal themselves to me; I believe that I was thinking about the film as I would have had I not read the book at all, and, at about one o’ clock in the morning, it hit me that, in fact, We Need To Talk About Kevin is something of a masterpiece, an instant classic that isn’t only one of the best films of the year, but one which will be remembered and talked about years from now.
Of course, the film has strengths which everyone picked up on instantly. The first, most obvious point to make concerns the cinematography, editing and art direction; to be concise, it is sublime. Ramsay has enveloped the film in a fleshy red membrane, at first seeming to symbolise happiness and passion, the colour of the squashed tomatoes that Eva Khatchadourian (mother of Kevin) wallows amongst in the famous Tomatina festival at the end of August in Buñol, Spain. But then it transforms – it is the colour of the paint splashed over her patio years later, in an act of hatred, it is the colour of the police lights that penetrate the darkness one night at Gladstone High School, it is the colour of blood… Ramsay shows, in a series of ingenious shots, how Eva’s idyllic romance with Franklin, later to become her husband and who she will have children with, and her adventurous travels the world over, become lost and shelved in some back corner of her memory, marred and overshadowed by an act of nightmarish violence which she didn’t see coming, which has left her confused, frightened and alone, and which, in a flash, has destroyed her life. This film, for everything else that can be said for it, offers a master class in editing and cinematography – Ramsay seems to create atmosphere effortlessly, a nauseating, icy finger of dread slivering its way through each shot. As with The Skin I Live In, there are moments that will take your breath away with their grotesque beauty; sometimes the same ones that will send a shiver shooting at the speed of an express train down your spine.
As I am sure you have now guessed, Lynne Ramsay, with her adaptation, has made a horror film. And it is a great horror film – not of the kind with silly ‘jump’ moments and knife wielding maniacs, but of the kind that Polanski used to excel in during the 60s. Red has been a favourite of many directors of horror – Nicolas Roeg, another great British filmmaker, used it to stunning effect in Don’t Look Now, but far more sparingly. We Need To Talk About Kevin is an altogether different experience. Ramsay focuses her attention almost exclusively on the home in the earlier time frame, leading up to Kevin’s crime (whereas the novel adds other scenes). This is the key. She focuses on the mind games, the little betrayals, the sinister nuances in a conversation, the lies, the guilt and the isolation. This is only Ramsay’s third feature length work, and her first in almost ten years; yet she is now, at a stroke, one of the most important British directors working today.
The other obvious piece of excellence lies in the acting. This film belongs to Tilda Swinton, who plays Eva. She might not win the Oscar for Best Actress next year, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve it. You do not need me to tell you how exquisite an actress she is – only to tell you that this is yet another triumph for her, proving her versatility and the incredible quality of her acting style. You wouldn’t think this was the same woman who, 2 years ago, played Emma Recchi in I Am Love. The viewer can feel the pain, anger and confusion behind those large, black eyes of hers when she goes to visit her son in prison after the massacre at his high school; they make a stark contrast to the sparkling happiness that pervades them in the opening scene, as she is doused in squished tomato.
Ezra Miller is perfectly cast as Kevin. To say Kevin is a ‘troubled’ teenager is an understatement – but troubled about what? One of the most puzzling things about this film, and one of my biggest reservations about it immediately after seeing it, was how this adaptation deals with his motives. The novel, while always maintaining ambiguity, offers some insight into Kevin’s mind, about how he looks at the world. The book’s psychological realism and intuition is what made it so scary. Ramsay takes a different approach. She makes the odd decision of keeping Kevin’s superficial explanation – the one which he tells himself is what made him do it, the one that offers a degree of ‘cool’ to his actions in his eyes. There is a stunning scene, right before the massacre, where Kevin bows theatrically to an invisible audience in the gymnasium. But then, the audience are abandoned to their own thoughts. Is that the real reason? No; there is something else, something sadder, and darker, going on. The novel’s depth here is sacrificed by Ramsay – it is a deliberate, artistic choice. Her film asks the age old question of ‘Nature vs. Nurture’, asks us who is to blame – Eva, her husband, the two of them, Kevin alone, society… and why did he do it? But she refuses to give answers; far from making it easier for us to decide where the blame lies and what we should think, the film actually blurs the lines far more than the novel does. And that, I now admit, showed incredible insight, and was the right decision for Ramsay’s film. Kevin Khatchadourian, as played by Miller, is one of the creepiest teenagers in cinema history. His gloating sneer and black eyes will stay with you long after leaving the theatre.
The film is not flawless. There are niggling little things, short scenes slightly out of place, and small improvements that could be made. Little things could still be added. John C Reilly is outshone as Franklin – I got the feeling that he wasn’t really given enough screen time. But these are little things. There is so much to admire in this film, I could ramble on forever. What I will say, in hindsight, is that as far as what Ramsay has kept in her adaptation, the film is actually pretty faithful to the book. One of the most interesting scenes as far as this is concerned is the final one. See what you make of it. It cements the film as one of the scariest, deepest cinematic experiences we will have all year. For those who have read the novel, try and compare the film after you’ve seen it (especially that final scene). Don’t spoil your enjoyment. For those who haven’t, I envy you the viewing experience you’re about to have!
Review by LiveWire Young Film Critic, James Martin (October ’11)