Speak No Evil, the disturbing Danish original that James Watkins’ American remake is based on, made my Top Ten when it debuted in 2022, in part because of how deeply affecting its unique brand of cringe-inducing psychological horror was. Part of what made Christian Tafdrup’s mannered but murderous satire on the social niceties we extend to strangers so sinister was its lack of physical violence. In its place was an escalating pattern of coercion that pushed boundaries further and further until suddenly: a ledge. The victims in the story were victims of their own complacency as much as the malice of their tormentors. The price they pay is high.

Watkins’ film, for the most part, misses the point entirely. It preserves Tafdrup’s initial setup: the mostly-polished Dalton family befriends a quirky but refreshing couple, Paddy and Ciara, and their mute son on a European holiday. Over wine and off-color banter, they become fast friends. Later, the Daltons accept an invite to visit their new friends’ home, only to find their hosts’ unusual lifestyle—and failure to conform to social norms—to be more than a bit peculiar. They drink too much. Their overt affection towards each other borders on pubescent PDA. Their house is a mess. Paddy’s lack of patience with his son teeters on the edge of abuse. The couple crosses boundaries over and over again, revealing antisocial tendencies that may run deeper than them just being uncouth. At every would-be exit point, the Daltons find themselves giving the couple just one more chance.

Watkins, who wrote the adaptation in addition to directing, largely mimics the best bits from the first two acts of Tafdrup’s Speak No Evil while adding in a bit of new color. In this take, Ben Dalton (the always reliable Scoot McNairy) and wife Louise (Mackenzie Davis, strong here as well) are grappling with their own marital issues, the latter busted in a sexting scandal with another school parent. Their relationship is fraught before it’s outright tested with the arrival of Paddy (James McAvoy in full vascular beast mode) and Ciara (Aisling Franciosi) in their lives. This helps underscore the macho attraction that Ben feels towards Paddy’s old-fashioned philosophy: in Paddy, he finds a desire to rekindle his own masculinity, a need to reclaim his own power in his relationship. Paddy’s forthright chauvinism doesn’t register as repellent; it’s a breath of fresh air.

If the original film is inspired by the works of Michael Haneke and Lars von Trier, Watkins’ version is a standard-issue Blumhouse effort. The decision to erase the Dalton family’s fate—and with it, the entire bite of the original satire—isn’t shocking given the source material’s brutality, but it’s still deeply disappointing. American audiences, frankly, wouldn’t be able to handle Watkins’ more stomach-churning original thesis. In Watkins’ hands, we’re treated to a formulaic and tidy conclusion, trading an introspective treatise on what we allow others to do to us out of some ill-informed sense of societal expectation for a not-so-earned happy ending. Which is a shame because the performances across the board are quite good.

McAvoy, in particular, steals the scene. His Paddy oscillates between a barreling hug and a super-wide grin and a barely-masked twitch of rage. He expertly leans into the discomfort of the character, his increasingly erratic behavior leaving audiences questioning if he’s just strange or actually sinister, until his ultimate intentions are revealed. He rightfully earns top billing and leans into the most unhinged aspects of the character with committed aplomb. Scoot McNairy and Mackenzie Davis are great straight man/woman counterpoints, puzzled, perplexed, and put off by Paddy’s behavior, but so fearful of revealing their disgust that they continue to ignore the warning signs that something is amiss.

They swallow their repulsion, opting to slink away in the night after facing Paddy down and saying something to the effect of, “You make us very uncomfortable.” After all, what is more uncomfortable than telling someone else that they make you uncomfortable? And that is this remake’s greatest sin: rather than leaving its audience uncomfortable, it provides them a sanitized conclusion that’ll let them sleep easy. Which, of course, is exactly what the original refused to do.

CONCLUSION: James Watkins and Blumhouse have rejiggered one of the decade’s most impactful horror films for an American audience, with mixed results. The cast—James McAvoy, Mackenzie Davis, Scoot McNairy, and Aisling Franciosi—fires on all cylinders, but this remake deliberately sidesteps the excruciating core of the original’s torment, settling instead for a conventionally tidy ending.