In its attempts to bring contemplation of tragedy and loss to the screen, We Need To Talk About Kevin resembles a cinematic version of Tennyson’s great elegy In Memoriam. Like the poem, Lynne Ramsay’s third feature finds that sorrow is not bound to linear time, revealing itself out of order in spasms almost as disjointed as the eclectic mix of Eastern lutes, gospel and pop songs which make up the soundtrack. Both works also focalise their events through a grief-stricken victim: in this case, Tilda Swinton’s masterful turn as the mother of the psychotic Kevin (Ezra Miller), who is repeatedly implicated in the forming of her son’s monstrous psyche, being shown at one point with blood quite literally on her hands. Unlike In Memoriam, however, Kevin is a tragedy of the home and, in picking up the pieces, viewers are forced to their own disturbing conclusions as to the source of Kevin’s evil in an otherwise well-adjusted family unit. Kevin himself is a truly horrifying creation, up there with Damien from The Omen and Ju-On’s Toshio in the cinematic tradition of unnerving children. His twitching lips and unremitting glare repel, yet Ramsay’s greatest achievement is how Kevin gets into the mind with his manipulative, wheedling actions, abusing his parents’ love for his own perverse amusement. He is the film’s second triumph: as well as providing a penetrating study of the mourning process, We Need To Talk About Kevin stands toe-to-toe with the very best of the thriller genre for sheer petrifying power.
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