Speak No Evil (2022) Review: Disturbing Social Horror

The Danish Speak No Evil (2022) smartly utilizes dark social satire to slowly, quietly submerge viewers into genuinely disturbing horror.

While these hosts seem perfectly pleasant at first, a series of ignorant and passive-aggressive actions lead the invitees to grow increasingly wary of the two, as well as their suspiciously mute son Abel (Marius Damslev). From there, well … the evil alluded to in the title rears its ugly head.

If you told me this premise, I would say it could be fun enough, but probably not anything that special. But what I didn’t realize was how hard the 2022 Speak No Evil would lean not into the building horrors of the situation, but social discomforts of the situation that intentionally border on satire. Through a vast majority of Speak No Evil, there are plenty of signs that the host family are inconsiderate, gross people, but there are almost no signs that our protagonists are in outright danger. It seems like they’ll be totally fine if they stay the whole weekend, if somewhat repulsed. But they never commit to leaving, and it takes them a while to call out these two for any of their behaviors.

Because of that, Speak No Evil is less a straight-up horror film – until the ending – and more a dark riff on how much we put up a front of politeness and back away from calling out people who really should be called out. And not even necessarily for totally abhorrent actions, but even the smallest faux pas. Which, sure, it’s reasonable to let tiny problems slide, like Patrick’s first action of choosing to sit right next to a relaxing Bjørn when there were likely other options. But the film, little by little, keeps pushing that notion of flexibility as the transgressions get worse and worse, asking how far is too far.

Anyone can watch the film and possibly have a different point in time where they believe enough should be enough, which naturally gets the conversation going regarding their own tolerance levels. As a result, you’re not always sure when the characters themselves should finally speak up. Especially since Bjørn and Louise aren’t even on the same page in that regard, for reasons that add more to their characters and why they’re either in favor of or averse to putting up with the indecencies. Tafdrup lets a lot of the microaggressions play out in straightforward quietness, draining their inherently exaggerated nature and making you feel like you’re right there experiencing them yourself … which, to lesser degrees, you probably have.

There’s only one point where the suspension of disbelief is pushed too far for me, something Patrick does that would make any rational person say, “These people are sick in the head,” and never stick around. But even that may not be so much a case of overlooking something and more some backwards notion of courtesy and guilt. Or selfishness, in the case of what Bjørn specifically gets out of this visit. It helps that the performances of Fedja van Huêt and Karina Smulders are so outwardly pleasant and even charming, making you genuinely wonder how much of their behaviors are out of ignorance. That’s not to slight Morten Burian and Sidsel Siem Koch, both of whom subtly convey discomfort and joy that’s apparent to the audience but not necessarily to their hosts.

One big surprise for me was how much Speak No Evil hit me on a personal level. To keep things super vague, I recently went through a falling out of sorts, after spending months tolerating behavior that I really should have called out sooner. In a really dark, really selfish way, watching this movie was cathartic for me, reaffirming the self-protecting decision I’d made and my new commitment to not just letting things slide if they start to pile up. Obviously, my situation wasn’t even remotely close to being as extreme as the film’s, but Speak No Evil is still addressing that same core nature. It just pushes it to the extremes you’d expect in a horror film.

Because yes, Speak No Evil does eventually transition itself from comically tense to true, gut-wrenching horror in its finale. When the full extent of Patrick and Karin’s evil is not only revealed, but shown to us explicitly on the screen, it’s one of the few times where a horror film got me so upset that I was on the verge of tearing up. The scene’s content, the conclusion it leads to, and the nightmarish directing from Tafdrup, all transform Speak No Evil from a clever thriller to one of the most disturbing films I’ve seen in recent memory. I genuinely didn’t think it would actually go through with what it does, but it commits with a severe motif of eternal silence in the face of growing wrongdoings, with not a trace of even slight hope.

I’ll honestly be shocked if the American remake (which I haven’t seen as of writing this) has the balls to go as far as the original Speak No Evil does, or if the rest of it is as smartly directed and effectively believable. The 2022 Speak No Evil does what I want any film to do and goes all the way with what seems like a basic plot at a first glance. It captures social discomfort in both playful and unnerving ways to get under your skin, and then it keeps burrowing deeper and deeper until you’re gutted from the inside out. It’s sick, it’s patient, and if you dare to check it out, it may resonate with you in more ways than you’re expecting.

Speak No Evil (2022) is now available to watch on digital and on demand.

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