We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

Tilda Swinton tries her hand at parenting

We Need to Talk About Kevin is exactly what an independent film should be: interesting, smart, compelling, original, unpredictable, creative, memorable, effective and unlike any other film in recent memory. The film sets lofty goals in examining a complicated relationship between an unsure mother, and her difficult son. It is punctuated by several instances of ironic, anachronistic, incongruous music. Remarkably, it doesn’t look or feel like a low-budget film. Its storytelling, insight and acting all hit the mark. 

Written and directed by Lynne Ramsay (Morvern Callar), “Kevin” stars Tilda Swinton as Eva, an ambivalent mother struggling to keep her marriage afloat, while enduring the torments of an insolent, abusive young son, Kevin.

The film has several time strands, and is told largely in flashback. Without explanation, we see Eva alternately in an opulent (yet strangely barren) new house with her husband (John C. Reilly) and Kevin, then suddenly a run-down, depressing cupboard-bare starter home. She awakens dead-eyed and alone on the couch in the latter, to discover both the entire front of the house, and her car windshield, splashed in red paint. She drives a canary-yellow Mercedes-Benz station wagon, but is shown taking a menial job at a depressing, bland, lifeless strip-mall travel agency. In these scenes she seems to be alone, without husband or son. Where are they? What happened to them? She has run-ins with people on the street, who seem to know her, but who are inexplicably hostile for no apparent reason. Eva is obviously struggling in the aftermath of something tragic and life-changing, but what?

Later we’re shown Eva and Franklin in their happy, heady days, newly married, enjoying carefree nights on rainy city streets. They are a successful couple, living in a comfortable flat in New York City. She’s a travel writer. While it’s not clear what he does, later in the film one of his children asks if he “took any good pictures today,” (so perhaps a photographer?), though it’s not important to the story.

What is important is Eva’s conflicting emotions about her son. In a locker room filled with other pregnant women, she doesn’t seem to share the joy and excitement witnessed by the other bulging, soon-to-be moms. Shortly after giving birth, we see her in the grips of depression, sitting expressionless on her hospital bed, while Franklin lovingly bounces newborn Kevin on his lap. She tries to do what she imagines are motherly things with Kevin—helping with homework, reading books, playing catch, taking him on walks, mini golf, out to dinner—but they don’t seem to take. Later we see her, miserable, surrounded by a flock of young, pink-tutu-wearing little girls. Whatever bond is supposed to be shared between parent and child, Eva doesn’t have it.

Back to Kevin. What’s with this odd, angry, reclusive, glaring, devious little boy? As an infant, he tests his mother’s patience by crying nearly nonstop—in his stroller, as she bounces him around the house, in his bed, everywhere. After his constant shrieks, Eva finds the jarring sounds of a jackhammer, noisily chewing up a concrete sidewalk, a relief. She takes comfort in the moments when Kevin’s finally asleep, as if they’re a reprieve.

Once a toddler, he’s noticeably slow to both talk, and potty train. He interacts only in belligerent shouted commands and demands, all while staring out menacingly from beneath heavy eyebrows. How can a child this young feel so cold, hateful and intimidating? He bullies his parents, and exhibits compulsive behavior, such as balling up his food, and lining up countless chewed fingernails. Though he’s far too old to, he still wears a diaper around the house. When his mom tries to play ball with him on the floor, he’s not only disinterested, but also outwardly mocking of her efforts. He’s punishing her, for what we don’t know.

Interspersed throughout the film are scenes of Eva staring blankly at herself in mirrors, driving her car through what appears to be a frantic accident scene, exiting a courthouse through a throng of people with an attorney, and visiting Kevin during almost entirely silent visits inside a detention center. The people in Eva’s community clearly regard her with scorn and contempt, mostly keeping their distance, but occasionally lashing out with unexplained anger. Director Ramsay plays cards close to the vest as to why.

As Kevin ages and becomes ever more cruel towards Eva, the boy curiously feigns benevolence and fondness towards his father. Kevin at once tortures Eva with knowing glances, while playing innocent for his dad. This causes Franklin to explain away his son’s periodic episodes as Kevin “just being a little boy, doing little-boy things.” Frankin’s in willful denial, ignoring the dysfunction he’s living through every day. Eva’s sanity is tested by not only her truculent, insolent son, but also her seemingly unawares husband.

Pushed to her absolute limit by Kevin’s insubordinate behavior, Eva eventually lashes out physically once, breaking Kevin’s his arm. Rather than feeling emotionally wounded and physically hurt (as any normal kid would do), Kevin sees his ability to manipulate his mom to such extreme behavior as a victory. Returning from the hospital, Kevin protects his mom by lying to his dad about the cause of his injury. Suddenly he begins using the toilet, rather than his diaper. Has he turned a corner? We soon find out, when he uses the resulting scar to repeatedly blackmail his mom.

Kevin’s brutality, vulgarity and ruthlessness increase with age. By the time he’s a teenager, he’s graduated from simply glaring at and making fun of his mother, to angrily challenging her at every moment. He is confident, cruelly clever, and wise beyond his age. Their family house feels like a war zone, where Eva’s every move is scrutinized, motive judged, and weakness exploited. Kevin’s influence on his family is conspicuous and terrifying. He is truly a parent’s nightmare scenario.

We Need to Talk About Kevin has a momentum similar to Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas: The characters understand more than they are willing to share with each other, and are all hurtling ever faster towards something ominous, inescapable and ugly.

Ultimately, most is revealed, and we finally understand the incomprehensible ordeal Eva has endured. By film’s end Kevin is nearly 18. His head shaved, looking gaunt and older, he has a brief but important scene where he displays, for the first time, a glimpse of humanity. Does he feel empathy, and possibly even fear and self-doubt? What made him the way he is? Perhaps there is no rational, concrete explanation for why we, or our kids, are the way we are?