Introduction

Some films disturb us not with monsters or supernatural threats, but with a simple truth: we are often too polite to save ourselves. Speak No Evil (2022), directed and co-written by Christian Tafdrup, is a film that stares directly into that abyss, leaving us shaken and contemplative long after the credits roll.

Plot Overview

During a sun-soaked vacation in Tuscany, Danish couple Bjørn (Morten Burian) and Louise (Sidsel Siem Koch) cross paths with Dutch couple Patrick (Fedja van Huêt) and Karin (Karina Smulders). Their encounter feels like the kind of serendipitous friendship we all imagine on holiday—warm, effortless, and destined to continue. Weeks later, when the Danes accept an invitation to their new friends’ countryside home in the Netherlands, the story begins its slow descent into psychological horror.

What begins as a reunion filled with charm gradually curdles into something sinister. Politeness becomes a prison, as Bjørn and Louise ignore increasingly unsettling behavior. The price of silence grows unbearable until the hosts’ true intentions are laid bare—ushering in a final act that is as brutal as it is unforgettable.

Performances and Direction

Tafdrup’s direction is unrelenting in its restraint. His minimalist style amplifies the tension, and the slow pacing allows dread to seep into every frame. The performances are equally committed. Morten Burian and Sidsel Siem Koch embody the paralysis of fear and social discomfort, while Fedja van Huêt and Karina Smulders deliver a chilling portrait of charm as a mask for cruelty.

Themes and Symbolism

• The Tyranny of Politeness: The film dissects how social niceties can become fatal weaknesses when pushed to the extreme.
• Conformity vs. Survival: By choosing to avoid conflict, Bjørn and Louise embody the danger of sacrificing instinct for acceptance.
• A Nihilistic Finale: The closing act strips away any illusions, offering a stark meditation on power, manipulation, and helplessness.

Critic’s Perspective

Like the most effective psychological horrors, Speak No Evil thrives not on gore or spectacle, but on the unspoken anxieties we carry into everyday interactions. Watching it feels like being caught in a nightmare where you can scream but choose not to. It is, in its bleak way, a mirror to the compromises we make in the name of civility.

Roger Ebert once said that no good movie is too long and no bad movie is short enough. This film, at just under two hours, earns every moment. It lingers, it festers, and it dares us to examine the quiet ways we surrender to danger.

Conclusion

Speak No Evil is not entertainment in the conventional sense—it is an experience, raw and relentless. It asks unsettling questions about human behavior, about the price of politeness, and about the darkness lurking in the guise of hospitality. For those willing to confront its horrors, it offers something rare: a film that will haunt your thoughts, not just your dreams.