Dutch sur – Newspaper Kommersant No. 183 (7384) dated 10/04/2022

The Danish-Dutch horror film Speak No Evil by Christian Tafdrup was released. After watching Mikhail Trofimenkov seriously wondered if he should, when – and if – the opportunity arises, visit his beloved Holland.

On a blissful vacation in Tuscany, by chance, thanks to the lost plush rabbit Ninus, two thirty-year-old couples meet: the pretty and weak-willed Danes Björk (Morten Burian) and Louise (Sidsel Sim Koch) and the assertive Dutch Patrick (Fedya van Heyt) and Karin (Karina Smulders). The Danes have a daughter Agnes (Liva Forsberg), the Dutch have a son Abel (Marius Damelev), who suffers from congenital aglossia – an underdevelopment of the language. Word by word, glass by glass, and now the Danes are in a hurry to visit the unfamiliar Dutch, not suspecting, unlike the audience, that this trip will be the last in their life.

We’ve seen horror films that warn viewers against traveling to post-communist Czechoslovakia, which was seen on screen as a hell of sadomasochistic dismemberment. We also saw the “Shopping Tour” by Mikhail Brashinsky, who begged Russian tourists to avoid Finland: they supposedly have such an ancient folk holiday there, during which every Finn, even a vegetarian, is obliged to eat a foreigner. But in these films there was some, but a metaphorical component: they say, the directors had in mind the culture shock that covered Europe after the fall of the Berlin Wall. But such a movie, in which one prosperous European nation bristled at another, has not yet been seen.

To be fair, friends of Björk and Louise, having learned about the invitation from Dutch acquaintances, were somewhat tense: was such a trip prudent. But this can be attributed to the sexual mythology associated with the Netherlands. Say, are not these same Patrick and Karin going to paint sex for four. No, no, what are you, because Patrick worked as a “doctor without borders.” For some reason, this fact removes all fears: well, if so, you can go.

Upon arrival, everything in the country life of Patrick and Karin begins to cause vague misgivings among the guests. In their honor, Patrick roasts the side of the boar and makes Louise taste the best piece, forgetting that she doesn’t eat meat. By inviting dear Danes to a restaurant, he forces Björk to pay a huge bill. Cheeky makes out in dance with his wife. Gets behind the wheel drunk and plays music too loudly. Even the picturesque windmills in the director’s optics resemble fake Christmas decorations from the notorious anecdote: they look just like real ones, but they do not bring any joy to the kids.

Considering the unhurried, everyday intonation that Tufdrup maintains throughout almost the entire film, it is easiest and most logical to think that “Tell No One” tells about the misadventures of overly polite people who landed on a visit to an ordinary boor. But according to the logic of the genre, even Patrick’s attachment to some lyrical Dutch group cries out that he is an undoubted maniac, from whom one must run as soon as possible and further. Moreover, Agnes is already late for classes at a music school.

Alas, the casting itself initially emphasizes that Bjork and Louise have nowhere to run: Burian and Sim Koch initially put on masochistic masks of not only potential, but inevitable victims. And they themselves asked for the finale of their lives, which would be disgusting if it were not so ridiculous.

The funny thing is that the conversation about the deep inner relationship between the Danish and Dutch nations brought the two couples together. First of all, they noted in unison, both peoples have a common sense of humor. Unlike, for example, from – brrr – the Swedes, who are the most boring people in the world. The Danish-Dutch team working on the film showed such a delightful lack of both humor and irony, which, given the hairpins against the Swedes, should have made Don’t Tell Nobody a hit at the Swedish box office.