‘SPEAK NO EVIL’: When Politeness Kills
James Watkins’ ‘Speak No Evil’ is a devastatingly effective psychological horror film that explores the fine line between civility and survival.
The story follows an American couple, Louise (Mackenzie Davis) and Ben (Scoot McNairy), along with their daughter, Agnes. After a chance encounter during a holiday in Italy, they accept an invitation to visit the countryside farmhouse of another family: Paddy (James McAvoy), Ciara (Aisling Franciosi), and their son, Ant. Louise and Ben are quiet and reserved, while Paddy and Ciara exude loud, free-spirited energy and have a tendency to overshare—a striking contrast to their son Ant, who remains unsettlingly silent.
What begins as an ordinary social visit soon spirals into a waking nightmare as their hosts’ behavior grows increasingly disturbing. The pacing is effective, with tension building slowly but inexorably. Watkins allows moments of levity and charm to lull the audience into a false sense of security, only to yank the rug out in the most jarring ways.
McAvoy is nothing short of terrifying as Paddy, a character who is simultaneously disarming and deeply unsettling—a master manipulator who draws you in with charm while cloaking sinister intentions. As a viewer, you feel caught in the same trap as the characters: ignoring the red flags, quieting the alarms screaming in your head, all for the sake of decorum. By the time you realize the danger, it’s too late.
This dynamic is captured perfectly in the film’s haunting theme: the fatal consequences of politeness. Early on, Louise’s repeated admonition to her daughter—"keep your voice down"—during their holidays takes on a dark resonance as the story unfolds.
It’s a quiet, insidious warning about the cost of deference and the human tendency to rationalise discomfort to avoid confrontation. When the host father, Paddy, is asked why he is tormenting his victims, his bone-chilling reply—“because you let us”—becomes the film’s cruel thesis.
Watkins skillfully builds tension in subtle, deliberate increments—an uneasy silence here, a disquieting glance there. The fear doesn’t strike all at once; instead, it creeps in like icy, piercing jets of water. The cinematography amplifies this sense of claustrophobia and unease, employing long takes and tight framing to draw the audience deeper into the mounting terror.
While some elements of the story may feel predictable, they don’t detract from the experience. We become willing participants, drawn in by the strong foundation Watkins lays and the expertly executed action that follows.
The predictability itself becomes part of the terror, as we watch characters make choices we know will doom them, powerless to intervene. The performances are all excellent, with each actor contributing to the oppressive atmosphere of dread, and the dialogue feels authentic, with apologies and rationalisations that are heartbreakingly familiar.
It isn’t just about the violence or the fear—it’s about the quiet compromises we make every day and how those can spiral into catastrophe. Politeness can indeed be deadly, a rarely explored truth that this film drives home with devastating clarity.
AFTERTASTE
4.5