It has been a while since the last instalment. I turned 30; went through another August schlepping to and from Edinburgh to catch as much as I could at the Fringe, International Festival, Book Festival, and Film Festival; went on holiday to Barra (cold! lovely! only seasick on one ferry ride!); and am gearing up for a very busy time at work. I’ve not yet killed a houseplant, though we’ll see how they survive the upcoming autumn and winter with a lack of light and warmth. I’m looking for new slow cooker recipes – all cuisines, no dietary restrictions – and if anyone has favourites please drop them in the comments!
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Yesterday I double-billed Speak No Evil (2022, directed by Christian Tafdrup) and its US remake of the same name (2024, directed by James Watkins). I experienced an overwhelming urge to go on holiday to Italy and also to never again attempt to make a new friend as an adult.
Americanised remakes are, as a concept, a bad idea. The original Danish film achieved strong word-of-mouth at festivals and, while it didn’t receive the biggest release in the US or UK, it was soon available to watch at home. Also, this film is approximately 80% in English, as the common language of the Danish and Dutch families who meet on holiday and, before long, end up sharing a weekend at the latter’s remote house (the cultural difference in the US remake is achieved with an American family recently relocated to London and a post West Country family). It speaks to little faith in the US moviegoing public if the execs at Blumhouse felt they couldn’t handle a handful of subtitled scenes!
But Speak No Evil Electric Boogaloo is the dumbed-down, futile remake expected. James McAvoy, who eschewed a career as a romantic lead or superhero hunk following Atonement and X Men First Class to collect all of cinema’s greatest little freaks, is having the time of his life, and some script additions around his character and his line readings thereof are chilling.
The original remains unmatched in pure awkwardness – truly, the horror of saying no, turning down an invite, or asking awkward questions outweighs the horror of shadowy figures or secret rooms. There is a heavily uncomfortable sequence involving an ignored child and the most inopportune eye contact that the remake almost completely cuts, softening the escalating turn of events rather than turning them to terrifying heights of cringe (the less said about the original’s “lost” item, the better). The 2024 version leans into the creepy and unnerving rather than the hell on earth that is sharing a home, a meal, a dance, and a drive with people you met once and to whom you half-heartedly, noncommittally said “we should do this again sometime!”.
Yet the ending of the second, despite being a typically American sanitised showdown, might just beat the original in pacing. The shock and extremity of the 2022 original is cushioned by some momentum-killing scenes, whereas the more deliberate pacing of the remake and a different series of reveals lets a brand new conclusion steadily escalate, involving every character thus far seen on screen. And, in its final seconds, Speak No Evil (2024) introduces just enough doubt that, perhaps, ghosts and monsters aren’t so easily fought off.
The scores to both – by Sune Kølster and Danny Bensi / Saunder Jurriaans respectively – are markedly different, but both are equally effective in establishing the evil at play either as an unperceived malevolence or a creeping, doubt-filled dread. It is rare that a remake matches the original, and Speak No Evil (2024) does not top its inspiration. But it finds its unique strengths and puts its own spin on the premise, making both versions worthy of checking out.
What I’m reading
Misery by Stephen King: so, so grim! I do not think I’ve ever read a nastier book! I do not know who is more terrifying, Writers™ or Fans™. I read this on holiday on the very remote Barra, which I think qualifies this as an immersive experience.
Food for the Dead by Charlotte Shevchenko-Knight: dipping my toe in modern poetry, this is a haunting little collection about the legacies of cultural/historical hunger in Ukraine.
The Time It Takes to Drown by Rachel Krumenacker: My childhood best friend is a poet! This is a lovely vulnerable collection about a very weird time and place to be growing up.
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon: I’m about halfway through, and after the over-saturation of Marvel and DC in the cinematic/cultural marketplace, I’m starting to rediscover my love of comics and how people connect them to their own histories. I can see why this one ended up in the NYT Top 20 of the 21st century (both official and reader-chosen versions!).
Martyr! by Kaven Akbar: The forms this story takes (poems, diary, dreams, first-person, third-person, news reports) makes it one of the most formally inventive and exciting reads of 2024 for me. Add in one hell of a good yarn and it’s unforgettable.
Wind, Sand and Stars by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: the first of three survival narratives read this month (at least in part) – some bits very very beautiful, some bits dense, some bits wise, some bits cracked. All in all, a fantastic read!
Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler: the second of the three survival narratives – a tale of despair and hope, horrors and unlikely solidarity. There are so many elements of this novel that I do not think could be written today due to internet discourse around similar features in other books, which is a huge shame. This is well worth seeking out.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy: the third of the three survival narratives – I am halfway through, and it is battling Misery for the grimmest read of 2024. “…there is no other dream nor other waking world and there is no other tale to tell.”
What else I’m watching
After only half a year of everyone telling me to watch Shōgun, I finally did. It's as great as everyone says, though I am sceptical about the announcement of a second and third series when the first was a perfect miniseries that spanned one novel. Hopefully the showrunners have solid plans for what comes next (and history might provide a handy guide). I am thinking of ways to get John Blackthorne to a new locale to repeat his unwitting involvement in new historical power struggles. If he left Japan at the close of Shōgun series one and went west, he would end up in Russia during the Time of Troubles with all those pesky False Dmitriis and Russian Orthodox Christians ready to do theological battle with his Protestantism. If Disney+/Hulu want to give me the money, I’ll write the initial treatment.
I went to the Edinburgh International Film Festival and saw mostly good things! Among the films that I have reviewed, the lowlight was possibly The Outrun (rote, though Ronan shines) and the highlight was A Shrine (simple, funny, tragic, magnificent).
Sing Sing was another EIFF viewing experience, though I’d recommend seeing it in a beautiful cinema rather than a cramped lecture hall with portable speakers. Prison theatre is so, so important, and this film beautifully captures the essential human need for creativity, imagination, and reinvention.
Beetlejuice and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice: I might actually get Tim Burton now!
The Guest: possibly the only good film about the US invasion of Afghanistan / the self-perpetuating US military industrial complex
Cuckoo: it does not make much sense and it really does not have to. Ingenious fake-outs around its jump scares, and Dan Stevens’ wardrobe is extraordinarily 70s-pervert coded.
The Critic: just don’t. A film that does not like theatre or theatre people (its writers, creators, critics, and devoted fans) and has nothing meaningful to say about art during the rise of fascism is a waste of space. I reviewed for Take One Cinema if you want my full unhappy thoughts.
What I recommend
Do you know who the composer Alexey Shor is? I didn't, but it turns out he’s everywhere! Thank you VAN Magazine for doing the most vital work in classical music journalism.
The Sondheim Hub is a fantastic semi-scholarly newsletter that I’ve been subscribed to for a few weeks and devoured each issue immediately upon reception. The Wednesday free newsletter is an interview, the Sunday is a deep-dive into a song or show.
This interview between Julia Armfield and Eliza Clarke, two of my favourite current authors.
Shameless plug for my own work: I wrote about why The Third Man (a film with perhaps the finest Orson Welles performance) remains so painfully recognisable today.
I feel so honored to get a guest spot on your reading list, especially amongst such impressive company!!