Review: SPEAK NO EVIL is an American Remake Done Right

James Watkins' Speak No Evil comes with the undetachable baggage of remaking Christian Tafdrup's Danish day-ruiner from only two years ago. Blumhouse's initial announcement made me balk — Tafdrup's Speak No Evil is a modern feel-bad destroyer of souls. Thankfully, Watkins handles this Americanization with the utmost "justification" (in remake terminology). It's Blumhouse's best movie this year by a country mile, evoking the essence of Tafdrup's vacation nightmare while swerving into a climax that aggressively differentiates itself. Watkins understands cinematic misery (see 2008's Eden Lake) but doesn't care to replicate Tafdrup's seismic shocks — 2024's Speak No Evil is its own dreadful beast.

Ben Dalton (Scoot McNairy), his wife Louise (Mackenzie Davis), and his anxious daughter Agnes (Alix West Lefler) are American transplants soaking in poolside sunshine away from their soggy London residence. Ben's been laid off recently, and Louise can't reestablish her public relations career — they're in a transitional rut. Adventure presents itself when a fellow vacationer, free-wheeler Paddy (James McAvoy), introduces his wife Ciara (Aisling Franciosi) and nearly mute son Ant (Dan Hough). Paddy and Ben hit it off, which leads Paddy to invite Ben's clan to their rustic countryside estate for a few days off the grid. The Daltons arrive and are struck by Paddy's quaint lifestyle, but simplicity isn't all that's hiding in the western English woodlands.

If we're playing the comparison game, Watkins' Speak No Evil is a de-fanged remix — but that's not enough to claim failure. Blumhouse's domestication is toothless when stacked against Tafdrup's brazenly bleak original, but that makes sense for the alternate story Watkins explores. Would you rather copy-and-paste remakes like Funny Games or Cabin Fever? Watkins rightfully charts a unique creative path like the second option in a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Speak No Evil avoids pesky redundancies, adhering to stateside horror configurations that might not be as unforgiving, but still confront the psychological ugliness present in Tafdrup's traumatizing achievement.

The film's splendid ensemble drives suspense as conversations teeter closer to dangerous discoveries. James McAvoy oozes charm as the devil Watkins' concept requires, pulling from two-faced Split personalities. He's in the driver's seat as socially magnetic Paddy, the musclebound alpha to Ben's wimpier beta. McNairy does a tremendous job selling his meek desk jockey insecurities, accentuating Ben's gullibility in Paddy's presence. Despite hospitable pleasantries and adhering to houseguest manners, scenes are at risk of imploding with one wrong statement. Tension is strung tight as Mackenzie Davis tries to assert Louise as a voice of reason, or as Aisling Franciosi preys on suckers who'll swallow any sob story.

Watkins understands the pitfalls of our societal landscape, rendered untruthful and submissive by social media’s perfection disease. Paddy's weed-tinted monologue about how Instagram fakeness has replaced honest realities retains the original's behavioral frustrations. Speak No Evil treats pleasantries like ruses, depicting how far people are willing to let others bulldoze because being "nice" is more important than standing one's ground. The deeper Paddy and Ciara prod, the more uncomfortable Ben and Louise become. Watkins may not push as hard as Tafdrup, but McAvoy still relishes every unpredictable outburst from Paddy. He's an actor possessed, exceptionally unwound like a wolf playing with its food.

By the end, Speak No Evil fills our plates with everything we might want from the standardized version of Tafdrup's meaner ideals. The dynamic between Ben and Louise permits Davis a few empowered moments where she must snap McNairy's spiraling softy back into focus. Alix West Lefler and Dan Hough score points on their investigative quest, using adolescent ingenuity when one character doesn't even have his tongue. Through it all, McAvoy is magnificent as the prankster, the drunkard, and the bastard — even owning one of 2024's best needle drops (The Bangles' "Eternal Flame"). Act III's diversion to more survivalist combat versus what already exists might not be as compelling, but fits Watkins' reassessment of Speak No Evil. There's an undeniable gameplay element that's deliciously sinister from the minute we meet Paddy, and that discomfort rarely eases. You'll still be frustrated by the same escape failures, MIA stuffed bunnies and all, but Watkins avoids making another English-language remake with zero individuality to boast.

Speak No Evil is a cat-and-mouse chiller that was never going to challenge Tafdrup's tonal darkness, so Watkins doesn't try. Where 2022's Speak No Evil is a gut-puncher that doesn't want you to pull yourself back together, the 2024 remake values a more "hopeful" approach. Don't worry: McAvoy shines as a sociopathic chameleon who can drift through private dinners and hiking trips. Watkins honors the awfulness, unpredictability, and predatory undertones that put Speak No Evil on the map by making a movie that's complementary, not combative to the original. Blumhouse desperately needed a win this year — they were right to trust in James McAvoy.

Movie Score: 3.5/5