We Need to Talk About Kevin

We Need to Talk About Kevin was a horrible book and this is the horrible screen adaptation of that horrible book, and whether you will want to see it or not will, I suppose, depend on how much you are prepared to revisit that horror. At this point I’d love to say you needn’t bother, skip it, there is absolutely no reason why you should upset yourself all over again, but this has been so skilfully executed and Tilda Swinton is so superb I don’t know if I can. It may be one of those pesky films that is awful to watch but is worth watching all the same. Oh, dear. The trouble with cinema is that it can sometimes be quite challenging and may even force you to think, which is exhausting. As it is, I know that when I’ve finished writing this I will have to go for a lie-down and may only require something light for supper, like a boiled egg on a tray.

OK, let’s get it over with. This is the story of a mother, Eva, whose teenage son, Kevin, has committed one of those Columbine-style high school massacres. A spoiler? No, because much of the nightmarish power of this story comes from knowing exactly where we are heading, but not knowing exactly how we are going to get there. Foreknowledge is its driving force. Anyway, the book, by Lionel Shriver, takes the form of letters from Eva to her absent husband, Franklin, as she searches for some kind of explanation, and although the director, Lynne Ramsay, could have gone down the obvious voice-over route, she wisely and successfully opts for vignettes snapping back and forth in time instead. This gives the film an urgent feel for what is an urgent quest.