Speak No Evil (2022) Review

While on holiday, Danish couple Bjørn (Morten Burian) and Louise (Sidsel Siem Koch) strike up a friendship with Dutch couple Patrick (Fedja van Huêt) and Karin (Karina Smulders). Patrick is particularly impressed with the tenacity shown by Bjørn in the retrieval of the missing cuddly toy of Bjørn and Louise’s daughter Agnes (Liva Forsberg), calling his dogged pursuit “heroic”.

Patrick invites Bjørn and his family to stay with them in the Netherlands because they got on so well during the holiday and that it would be good for Patrick and Karin’s son Abel (Marius Damslev), who seems to like Agnes very much and who doesn’t socialise with other children much because of a condition called congenital aglossia, which results in only partial development or complete absence of a tongue.

Arriving at Patrick and Karin’s impressive place in the countryside, the Danes settle in for what should be a relaxing few days with their new friends but it isn’t long before their Dutch hosts begin to display behaviour that was only hinted at previously. Is it just a case of cultural differences or is something far more sinister at play?

Director Christian Tafdrup lets the viewer know that they’re in for an hour and a half of extreme unease from the very start as the ominous, jarring score by Sune Kølster burns through otherwise innocent, often joyful scenes of a blissful holiday chill out. The screenplay, by Tafdrup and brother Mads, skilfully plunges his Danish protagonists into a nightmare of their own making, always far too polite and hemmed in by their own decency to voice their concerns – or just get the hell out of there – when matters turn increasingly odd.

This would work well enough as a pitch black comedy of social mores but what takes Speak No Evil up another level is the constant fear that something thoroughly awful could happen at any moment. This is cranked to the point at which there’s a deliberate confusion as to where the ultimate threat is coming from, if there is indeed actually any kind of threat at all. On top of this, there are points where the voice is the audience’s head will be screaming “Just leave!” as Bjørn and Louise are unfailingly pleasant in the face of provocative behaviour.

Given the building tension and all the nervous laughter associated with it, the question that may be asked of the story is “How dark is this going to get?” and, without wanting to venture too far into spoiler territory, it gets astonishingly dark, pulling out a reveal that is both jaw dropping and genuinely repellent. It’s also perfectly in keeping with everything leading up to that point. The clues are there and the gut punch of a resolution provides an opportunity for deeply chilling reflection afterwards.

As the world’s most reasonable husband and wife, Morten Burian and Sidsel Siem Koch are at once immensely sympathetic but also effectively frustrating, displaying a level of tolerance that will leave you thinking “I’d have said something about all of this now”. From early on, Louise is the one that believes things are off and wants to leave, even getting to the point where the car is packed and they’re ready to drive off, but…

This is one of the clever ways in which this film operates, asking you if you would have behaved differently in the same situation. The idea that unrelentingly good manners can possibly land you in danger is a fascinating one and, although the concept is arguably stretched to beyond breaking point come the last ten minutes, how many times have you thought “I’d better not cause a scene?” and allowed matters to take their course?

Burian also shows the more complex side of his character, a man who is both happy with his lot but also strives to rebel. Egged on by Patrick, Bjørn is allowed to vent his primal rage but this is all part of a wider, psychological game being played out by his host. As Patrick, van Huêt has the tricky task of portraying a character who is clearly hiding something but is still charismatic enough to get away with it. Van Huet and Smulders are married in real life so the interactions between them have an added spice, as Karin oscillates between reining in and enabling Patrick’s increasingly erratic conduct.

As much as I’m focusing on the adults in this movie, the work of the younger performers will linger too, both Forsberg and Damslev playing their roles in an unshowy, powerful way that hits hard and resonates, regardless of the believability of the closing stages. Each has a vital role to play in how the movie pans out and their very presence feeds into the disquieting tone. Sure, put the adults in the way of potential harm, but kids too?

Speak No Evil, for the most part, keeps its horrors hidden, making the eventual payoff so much more grim and disturbing. As the credits roll, you may conclude that you’re never going to watch it again but it’s an undeniably bold, unflinching piece of work with detailed characterisations and fine performances, the discomfiting humour serving the tale perfectly in terms of setting up the watcher for a memorable, marrow-freezing shock. It’s challenging, it’s unpleasant and you may decide to give up on it the second you’re confronted with exactly what’s going on but it’s also brilliantly made, morbidly amusing and impressively bleak for those who stay the course.

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