WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SPEAK NO EVIL (2022). At the time of writing this post, I've not seen the 2024 Blumhouse remake but I hear it's similar to the original Danish version so be wary of potential spoilers for that film, too...
That said, we'll be talking about some pretty grisly things in this post as they appear in the film. TW for gore, violence, child abuse, and murder.
You'll see me describe my historical romance WIPs as "slow-burn-until-it's-NOT."
By this, I mean that things generally start off slower in my protagonists' romance, building up gradually until something happens to nudge them so far off the proverbial precipice that they cannot keep themselves from falling fast.
But if there is any place I love to see slow-burns more than in a romance, it's in a horror movie.
Slow-burn horrors have a unique tension. You know something is coming but you don't know what, and you don't find out until it's far too late in the story for the characters to save themselves. That spark of abject realization as it dawns on you that everything was laid out well in advance but you were as helpless to see it as the characters resigning themselves to their fate? That's what makes any horror movie stick in my mind long after the end credits roll.
Weirdly, I don't get too freaked out by horror. Don't get me wrong, things can get me. I am deeply disturbed by ventriloquist dummies and want nothing to do with those little bastards (but at the same time I periodically scroll through eBay listings for haunted dolls and will be purchasing the one when I find them). If you read my review of Resident Evil: Village, you already know how I feel about House Beneviento and the mutant-demon-slug-fetus-abomination lurking in its bowels. To say I fucking hate that thing would be an understatement.
Typically speaking, I'm a copacetic viewer. And even when I am spooked by the very specific things that do it, it's not enough to make me turn it off.
But then, there's Speak No Evil, a 2022 Danish psychological horror film that had my heebies jeebie-ing the entire time. Within the first fifteen minutes, I was already getting icked out and just knew I was in for a time.
The film centers around a Danish couple Bjørn and Louise and their daughter Agnes as they visit the Dutch family they met on a summer holiday in Italy. But from the moment the Danes set foot in their acquaintances' home, things seem unnervingly amiss...
That's about all I want to say at the top of this post. Speak No Evil is a movie I highly recommend going into blind because, as you'll learn, not knowing what's going on is half the fun.
So go ahead, bookmark this post, and come back after you've watched the film. I will warn you, it's not an easy watch, but it is oh so worth it.
But if you're ready to unpack the uncomfy thrill ride and introvert's nightmare that is Speak No Evil, scroll past the pic and dive in!
Speak No Evil opens with a car parking in in the middle of the night before flashing to the bright scenery of an Italian villa where Danish couple Bjørn and Louise are vacationing with their daughter, Agnes. Bjørn is lounging by the pool when he is approached by Patrick, a guest from the Netherlands, and asked about the chair beside him. Though his daughter's stuff is on it, Bjørn clears off the chair and allows Patrick to join him.
At a family-style dinner with all of the tourists, Patrick makes a toast, mentioning that he and his family arrived late last night but are glad to be there and that he can't wait to get to know everybody. It's also worth noting that as Louise and Bjørn were getting ready to leave for dinner, they're discussing their annoyance with a guest going on and on about the cooking classes he's been attending while in Italy; this guest subsequently invites them to join him for the next class and they agree—and this passivity plays a significant part in everything going forward.
While exploring the city, Agnes realizes she's misplaced her stuffed bunny.
Bjørn, though a little annoyed, goes back to find it. Remember this bunny for later.
Bunny in hand, Bjørn returns to his family, finding they've met up with their fellow tourists Patrick, Karin, and Abel. The Dutch couple mentions their son is a little shy and "has difficulties speaking." Patrick also praises Bjørn's willingness to retrieve his daughter's toy, calling it heroic.
Patrick's compliments don't end there. The two families decide to grab dinner together, and upon finding out that Louise is vegetarian, he commends her for her principles and how not eating meat is better for the environment.
Some time passes, with both families going back to their regular lives. Bjørn is kind of out of it, zoning out at his daughter's school concert for example. It becomes clear that he feels like something is missing from his hum-drum life.
Coming home one night, Bjørn gets the mail and discovers a letter from their Dutch acquaintances, written on the back of a group photo they took together in Italy and inviting Bjørn and his family to visit them in the Netherlands. Bjørn and Louise are a little hesitant but decide to go (after it comes up at dinner with some local friends who persuade them to go because what's the worst that could happen?).
Closing out the next scene is one of my favorite shots in the film. Similar to one of my favorite films Midsommar, in which the camera pans upside down as the characters drive under a welcome banner to signify their entering another world, the camera focuses on the wake of the ferry the Danish family is traveling on. And as is the case with Midsommar, the drab and dull colors of the protagonists' homeland is replaced by a brighter palette in what I've seen called The Wizard of Oz effect.
But despite the warm tones on screen, things are about to get real dark for the Danes.
Upon arrival at the Dutch family's remotely situated home, the families exchange the typical pleasantries and platitudes one may expect when reuniting with people you've only interacted with briefly, but the vibe is still amicable.
But it doesn't take long for the cracks to emerge.
The Danish guests have brought some gifts that they feel represent their culture, but there's an awkwardness as while the gesture is appreciated by their hosts, they seem kind of underwhelmed and feigning politeness. Patrick also offers a bite of the roasted boar he's been cooking to Louise, insisting several times over and telling her it's his favorite cut.
Although she's a vegetarian, Louise doesn't turn down the offer and takes a bite of the meat.
As the family is being shown around, Agnes is shown to the bed that's been set up for her on the floor of Abel's room. She shows a little apprehension but before she gets a chance to speak, Louise cuts in and tells Karin she likes it and says to Agnes in Danish, "We'll figure it out, sweetheart."
Bjørn takes a walk outside and is soon found by Abel. After an awkward silence, the boy opens his mouth and allows Bjørn and the audience to get a good look at his tongue—or lack thereof.
Following dinner, the adults are chatting in the living room, and Abel can be heard crying in the distance. Patrick and Karin assure their guests it's nothing to worry about, and it's related to his congenital aglossia, a condition that results in a person being born without a tongue or a much smaller one than is normal.
While out exploring the next day, Agnes asks if they can tell Abel to move from the bottom of a slide so she can go down it. Patrick gets physically aggressive with Abel, pulling him out of the way and prompting a dispute between the hosts and their guests.
That night, Louise confides in her husband and admits she wants to go home, saying she finds Karin and Patrick aren't "pleasant to be around." But before any decision can be made, Karin invites their guests to a restaurant in town.
Agnes is excited to go but is confused by Abel walking around in his pajamas. Just as she asks if Abel's going, Karin goes to greet the babysitter and informs Louise and Bjørn that Agnes will be staying at the house and acts surprised that they didn't already know that.
Louise has some understandable concerns here. Being told to leave your child with a total stranger who doesn't speak your language, something that could pose a problem in an emergency that requires communication, not to mention you're in an unfamiliar country and staying in a house that's in the middle of nowhere? It doesn't matter if the whole neighborhood uses this guy as Karin assures her. The red flags are whipping fore and aft!
And yet, Louise doesn't protest, all while Patrick is constantly honking the car horn off-screen, making it even harder to raise an argument.
Things continue to get uncomfortable throughout the evening. As they drive to the restaurant, Patrick and Karin are having their own conversation in Dutch while Bjørn and Louise exchange nervous glances in the backseat of the car. Over dinner, Patrick proceeds to nitpick exactly how vegetarian Louise actually is. Though he praised her dietary choices in Italy, he now argues with her over learning she eats fish and how the fishing industry works and its ecological impact. Patrick also orders for Louise and Bjørn, which doesn't feel done solely because of a language barrier with the server.
After a few drinks, Patrick and Karin get up to dance, but it transitions into sensual PDA that makes things awkward for their guests.
At the end of the meal, Patrick cracks a joke about the pricey bill. Bjørn offers to chip in, but Patrick proceeds to "misinterpret" it as his offer to pay for everything (something I'm sure many of us have experienced in some capacity).
The car ride back doesn't go any smoother. Patrick's still intoxicated as he takes the wheel and cranks up the radio. An argument ensues as his backseat passengers ask him to turn the music down. Wanting to avoid further confrontation, the Danes stand down.
Shortly after checking on the kids, Louise takes a shower, and is unnerved by someone entering the bathroom. She doesn't call out to this individual, instead standing in silence as she waits for them to finish brushing their teeth and leave.
(I also want to point out the frosted glass shower door and the probability that she was being stared through it at while nude, which will become apparent in a moment).
Louise doesn't mention this encounter to Bjørn when she returns to their bed, and he doesn't remark on how shaken up she seems. Nestling closer to him, things start to get intimate. As they're caught up in the heat of coitus, Agnes can be heard calling from outside the door, asking if she can curl up with them since they arrived in the Netherlands, but they ignore her.
Meanwhile, Patrick can be seen staring at them through a window (I'm personally guessing he was the one in the bathroom while Louise was in the shower, but I digress). Bjørn notices but says nothing.
Sometime later, Louise goes to check in on Agnes again, finding she's not in her bed. Instead, she's been taken into Patrick and Karin's, and they're nude.
That's enough for Louise to grab her, get Bjørn, and get gone ASAP. They sneak out of the house and hit the road. That is, until Agnes realizes she's misplaced her stuffed bunny.
Louise tries to comfort the distraught girl, but Bjørn gives in to her sobs and turns the car around.
He makes his way back into the house, telling his wife and daughter to wait in the car. But, as luck would have it, Agnes glances down and finds her bunny was under the seat the entire time. All I could do was laugh at the irony while I got that sinking feeling in my stomach.
Louise heads inside to give Bjørn the update on the bunny, and she finds him in the kitchen being confronted by Patrick, who is offended that their visitors felt they needed to leave without saying goodbye. When he asks why, Bjørn starts fumbling through his answer, trying to remain polite and not come across as ungrateful in spite of the weekend's events and transgressions, before asking his wife to tag-team the apologies with him. There's a dash of second-hand embarrassment that comes with this scene because of the awkwardness between these couples and, as a viewer, you're just begging them to get back in the car and hightail it out of there.
But there's a difference between being a spectator and being at the center of this.
And as someone who deals with anxiety and dreads confrontation and the mere thought of disappointing anybody, I get it. The way they apologize for their feelings as they try to stand up for themselves and their needs is all too relatable.
Karin tries to break the tension by addressing their concerns. She passive-aggressively apologizes for the sleeping arrangments, reminding their guests that they have a small home without much room to spare. She points out that Louise could have reminded them that she doesn't eat meat and they would have gladly accommodated her needs.
And once Louise asks them about taking Agnes into their bed, Bjørn seems perplexed by this revelation but doesn't act on it. Karin then calls them out for not answering Agnes when she was looking for her parents. Mom-shaming, even. But Louise is uncomfortable admitting it's because she and her husband were having sex. Nor does Bjørn bring up the fact that Patrick was clearly observing them.
Patrick suggests that they leave it all in the past and move on, as there's nothing they can do about it now, and encourages their visitors to stay through a little guilt-tripping. As he tells them, "no one's forcing you to stay."
And stay, the Danes do.
Karin and Louise do a little yard work while the kids play, and the men go out for a drive. Bjørn admits he's been feeling like something is missing from his life, that he's grown wary of being the guy who drops his kid off at school in the morning, and he admires how carefree Patrick is.
Patrick brings Bjørn over to a quarry and lets out a scream, inviting Bjørn to do the same. It's a strange bit of levity in the grim film, and when they get back to the house, everybody seems to be back on good terms after what seem to be treated as harmless misunderstandings over cultural differences.
But, as you may expect, that doesn't last. Louise cuts herself while chopping vegetables and when Bjørn asks Patrick to look at it, he shrugs off the fact that he's not actually a doctor as he claimed back in Italy, chalking it up to being nervous around new people and wanting to make a good impression.
Karin asks Agnes to set the table, proceeding to correct her placement of the utensils. At dinner, she instructs her to eat her vegetables and dotes on her, prompting Louise to tell her to back off.
The kids want to perform a dance routine for the adults, but the cuteness goes cold as Patrick berates his son for messing up the steps. Agnes says she no longer wants to dance but Patrick insists, as it's a duet. Louise tries to intervene, but Bjørn tells Agnes to give it one more shot. But this only furthers Patrick's vexation with the boy and sparks a heated debate between the parents.
Louise steps out to get some air, followed by her family, but she asks Bjørn to take Agnes back to the house so she doesn't see her mother upset. In other words, hiding her true feelings once again.
That night, Bjørn struggles to fall asleep and overhears a fight between Patrick and Abel. He gets out of bed, and it's obvious that he's being lured around the house. First, the living room TV is on, then he finds the tap running in the kitchen, and you can make out Patrick creeping in the shadows outside the dining room.
Looking at the fridge, Bjørn notices that the only photo displayed on it is the group family the families took on vacation. You'd think that there would be reminders for doctor appointments or maybe something Abel drew. But there's nothing else. It's barren.
The alarm bells were already ringing, but this set off the sirens.
Bjørn does a little snooping around the poolhouse and finds an unnerving collection of suitcases. Far more than a family of three would need. But in the loft hides the secret their gracious hosts have been keeping...
He finds a picture of Abel and his parents in Italy, but something is wrong. The couple he is standing with are not Patrick and Karin. And he seems to be having a good time (and also has a tongue?). But the child Patrick and Karin are posed with, a downtrodden-looking little girl, is nowhere to be seen.
In the next photo, that little girl is with another different couple, and Karin and Patrick are with a different child.
Karin and Patrick are serial killers who target families on vacation and invite them back to their place in the middle of nowhere so they can murder them, and then "adopt" their victims' children after cutting out their tongues so they can't report on their horrid deeds. And there is no doubting who is next on their list...
As Bjørn starts putting the horrifying pieces together, he hears the sloshing of water and goes downstairs to find Abel's dead body in the pool. He hurries back to Louise and Agnes and tells them they have to leave NOW but doesn't give specifics. However, despite their efforts to do so quietly, the lights in the house come on, meaning Karin and Patrick know they've left.
In Bjørn's efforts to evade them, he takes a sharp turn that sends the car over some rocky terrain and gets them stuck. And of course, they have no phone service. He tells his family to stay put and lock the doors while he looks for help and as he runs off, Patrick stands by in wait.
Having no luck, Bjørn goes back to the car, finding only Agnes's bunny there.
Eventually, Patrick and Karin pull up with Louise and Agnes in tow, and Patrick says he's glad Bjørn called him.
Bjørn begs Patrick to not hurt them but, not wanting to raise a fuss that could make things so much worse, he gets in the car with Patrick.
The niceties Karin and Patrick showed their visitors-turned-victims are gone. The drive is tense. We can insinuate confirmation that Bjørn didn't tell Louise about the severity of the danger they're in, which makes it worse for me because it makes her and Agnes lambs to the slaughter.
They pull over, and a flicker of headlights summons the "babysitter" who had watched Agnes and Abel while the adults went out to dinner. Louise comforts her terrified daughter, and Karin gently tells her to let go of the girl.
Not to break the immersion like Kuzco popping up in the middle of The Emporor's New Groove, but you should know that this is the scene I looked away from during my first viewing of Speak No Evil skimmed over when going through it a second time to grab screenshots for this post. My heart is racing as I'm revisiting this part and typing everything up and I'm actually feeling queasy all over again in a way that's worse because I know what happens next. It is gruesome and horrific. Proceed with caution.
Karin retrieves a pair of scissors as the "babysitter" opens the car door and restrains Louise, and she cuts off Agnes's tongue. The "babysitter" then carries her away while her parents watch in abject horror, helpless to do anything but scream as Patrick drives on.
They arrive at the quarry, and all four passengers exit the vehicle.
In any other film, this might result in a final confrontation. A big fight in which the protagonists of our story get up the courage to take on the villains and escape by any means necessary. But this is Speak No Evil and, as Louise and Bjørn already know, there's no way out for them.
Bjørn simply asks, "Why are you doing this?"
And Patrick responds with the four most poignant words of the film. "Because you let me."
That is the final gut punch. There were so many times Louise and Bjørn could have gotten away from this fate. Had they just spoken up even once, trusted their instincts to leave, things may have been different. But like Patrick said earlier, no one was forcing them to stay. They could have left at any time.
Patrick was even able to pull over for a bathroom break before they arrived at the quarry. They could have attempted to steal the car and drive off, or maybe even made a makeshift weapon to fight their captors off, but they did nothing. On the one hand, you could argue that they are so grief-stricken over Agnes that they were immobilized, but they had so many opportunities to act on their gut instincts and flee before that. Heck, they didn't even have to come on this trip in the first place and could have turned down the invitation they were so iffy about! Their fate was sealed long ago. Their fear of confrontation was their ultimate downfall.
In one final act of humiliation, Patrick orders Louise and Bjørn to remove all of their clothes and they do so, trembling all the while and resigned to their demise. They walk down into the pit and hold each other in a tight embrace, both sobbing as Bjørn apologizes for getting them into this mess, and are brutally stoned to death by Karin and Patrick.
The film closes on a shot of Patrick and Karin driving through the Italian countryside, likely on their way to find their next prey. Agnes, now mute, sits in the backseat, clutching her bunny and fully aware of what is to come.
Suffice it to say, the last thirty minutes of Speak No Evil are freaking wild and stomach-churning, but there is so much to unpack throughout its 97-minute runtime.
The cyclical nature of this film enables its brilliant slow-burn. Everything we need to know is laid out before our very eyes. We know something is off, but we can't quite put our finger on it until it's too late.
There's a lot of foreshadowing in this film that is obvious. Agnes losing her bunny. The classic line of "What's the worst that could happen?". The way the camera focuses on Karin's scissors for just a second too long in the gardening scene. The cathartic scream sesh taking place at the quarry hinting that no one will be able to hear screams for help later on. And if you know anything about cinematography, you may have picked up on the shift in color palettes between the dreary gray comfort zone of Denmark and the bright allure of the Netherlands.
But there's also a lot that slips under the radar. Abel being described as having difficulties speaking to new people, when that's actually because his "parents" cut out his tongue. Every child taken by Karin and Patrick had a favorite stuffed animal like Agnes's bunny. The mug Patrick throws at Abel during the dance sequence is part of the set Louise and Bjørn gifted their hosts. Patrick also comes into the bathroom to urinate while Bjørn is brushing his teeth, testing him in a way that's similar to his pulling over to relieve himself before their final stop at the quarry.
And I think that since we're so conditioned as viewers to spot the more blatant foreshadowing in a movie, we fixate on those while smaller pieces of the puzzle slip under the radar until the big reveal when it all comes crashing down.
The feeling of isolation throughout Speak No Evil instills its own dread. One might surmise this is in part due to restrictions and precautions, as production was temporarily halted during the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic and resumed with new social distancing measures in place to protect the actors while filming. But visually, it's unnerving to know that there is no one around who could help the Danish family if they were to ask for it. They're really on their own in this.
This is a good enough segue to talk about a subtle aspect of the film that I really appreciated, especially in hindsight: both families speak English, and the majority of dialogue in the film is in English, but side conversations between the individual families are in their own language (Danish for Bjørn, Louise, and Agnes and Dutch for Patrick and Karin). As you may expect, the Danish dialogue us subtitled so English-speaking audiences can follow along. But anything Patrick and Karin say is only ever subtitled as, [SPEAKS IN NATIVE LANGUAGE].
This not only aligns us with the Danish characters because we can understand them through the translations and subsequently puts us at odds with Patrick and Karin because non-Dutch-speaking audiences might struggle to follow along, it adds to that feeling of not knowing what's going on. We can assume they're talking about something, and it's probably as mundane-sounding as scissors being dull—but if you know how this movie goes, you know that there's something sinister lurking behind their hospitality.
There's also another layer here that wasn't unveiled until the final half-hour of the film. We find out that Abel was the son of Patrick and Karin's most recent victims, when they had visited the resort with a different child we can assume was also kidnapped, mutilated, and ultimately killed. And if his family was like this Danish couple, there's the likelihood that they didn't speak Dutch. So even if Abel were still able to speak, he might not be able to understand his captors and communicate with them (or Bjørn and Louise, for that matter). Maybe he only spoke English, or limited English but primarily German or Spanish or Russian. We have no way of knowing. All we can know for certain is that his inability to speak, combined with the possibility that he cannot understand his "parents" isolates him in a way that only becomes apparent when it's too late.
And to make matters worse, that's Agnes's fate at the end of the film. With Abel and her parents murdered, Agnes is forced to take his place in the Dutch couple's scheme. And the next family? They might not speak Danish, so Agnes would be unable to communicate with them as easily.
Just brings a whole new meaning to the title of Speak No Evil, doesn't it?
The title itself also goes back to the idea of speaking ill of someone or offending someone, which Bjørn and Louise are reluctant to do. The antagonists, however, are much more apt to nitpick and say unkind things towards them.
I made the mistake of watching Speak No Evil right before bed, so I spent some time after the film checking out behind-the-scenes videos and reviews; it's what I do when something about a horror film successfully gets under my skin to remind myself that it's a work of fiction (eg, the practical effects used in the Ättestupa scene from Midsommar)—so you can imagine my need to look into so when everything about Speak No Evil gave me the heebie-jeebies!
One of the prevailing criticisms I saw of Speak No Evil was the lack of apparent motive from Patrick and Karin. What drives them to commit these murders and take the children they orphaned as their own, only to turn around and kill them when the next one comes along? It never gets addressed. When Bjørn does ask, minutes before his death, Patrick puts the blame back on him. It's because he let Patrick do it.
Some viewers expressed that this serial killer reveal came out of nowhere. And it did, in some regard, though I think that's enabled by the fact Bjørn doesn't figure it out until much later on because his not wanting to ruffle any feathers inhibits any possible investigation, just as he won't grant himself the permission to act on his feelings of unease and instinct to leave. Even if he did have the urge to snoop around the house, would he actually do it?
The ambiguity works for Speak No Evil in a way that it wouldn't in other films. The reasons Karin and Patrick do what they do doesn't matter. The story's purpose is not to offer a mystery for viewers to solve or a villain to take down. It's a cautionary tale about how tamping down your instincts in order to appease others can become uncomfortable or, in extreme cases, dangerous.
The moral of Speak No Evil is simple: it's better to be rude than dead.
I don't think Speak No Evil will change my people pleaser ways in the same sense that Padak opened my eyes to the increasingly toxic nature of the retail job I had at the time and was the first of several catalysts for me eventually quitting, but my own hesitations to stand up for myself and my needs compared to Louise and Bjorn's hit home.
Speak No Evil made me feel things as a viewer in a way no other film has, crawling under my skin and haunting my thoughts for days, and so much of that has to do with the brilliantly executed slow-burn. The way it gradually doles out details, more often than it appears, and builds up to its big reveal is not easy to pull off.
And as a writer who enjoys hiding bits of foreshadowing in my own work, I'm interested to see how Speak No Evil influences my own writing going forward.
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