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Eve's Bayou

"That's how it always is. Blind to my own life."

Even now, Louisiana must surely be a hot, slow place, and it was even hotter and slower in 1962.

Kasi Lemmons’s debut film captures the sticky heaviness of summer afternoons in the South, especially for a child—Jurnee Smollett’s sparky, willful Eve Batiste is ten years old—with few places to go, a child who must come back again and again to the same people, places, and ideas. But this isn’t a movie where the heat weighs anyone down. Instead, subtly, it shifts to what that heat means: all the particles vibrating, moving faster than they were a few weeks ago, agitating everything. The humidity makes the air dense, a kind of unseen connective tissue between the past and the present. Scents linger longer in hot weather. Everything just sort of hangs around.

Eve, whom Smollett plays with an unmistakable alertness, hangs around too, and she soaks it all in. Lemmons (who also wrote the screenplay) has a novelistic sense of childlike POV here, easily crafting the feel that Eve is experiencing all this totally but understanding it only completely.

That applies even to her flashes of the second sight, a family gift she’s starting to grow into. The closest practitioner is her beloved aunt Mozelle (Debbi Morgan), a bruised romantic with a string of dead husbands and a lively business doing readings for friends and neighbors; Eve takes in Mozelle’s ways as a kind of informal apprentice sprawled out on the sofa, half-listening to adult stories she doesn’t understand. When the lessons get closer to home1, that ambient quality vanishes, and Eve locks in. Still, there’s only so much she can grasp.

Eve’s Bayou has much more compassion for its child protagonist than, say, Atonement ever does. If Eve is hasty, or if she misunderstands … well, those ideas remain ifs. We wouldn’t have done any better as children, all this implies, and we might not even do better now. Lemmons has a hard-edged kindness even beyond that, constantly reminding the audience that any kind of perception is unreliable: “The truth changes color, depending on the light.”

Mozelle can see the truth for others, but she can’t see it for herself, and the one vision we know she has for her family is such a confused, terror-filled mishmash of images that it’s almost useless: on the strength of it, Eve’s mother, Roz (Lynn Whitfield), confines her three children to the house for weeks, until everyone is so bored and frustrated and paranoid that another child’s death, which may be what Mozelle glimpsed after all, comes as a kind of toxic relief.

What Roz misses in all this is what I began to worry about almost from the start, when Eve is driven away from a party to sulk because her father, community physician and heartthrob Louis (Samuel L. Jackson), always dances with her fourteen-year-old sister, ladylike Cisely (Meagan Good), and never with her. Always? I wondered. Is the danger too close in, where Mozelle can’t see it, where Roz’s protective imprisonment will only make things worse?

Lemmons isn’t interested in answering questions, though. She cares about Eve’s understanding—and, to a lesser extent, Cisely and Mozelle’s and Roz’s and Louis’s—but not her audience’s, and the growing-up process she charts here is one of realizing that sometimes the easy, definitive satisfaction never comes. Life is a text that never yields up everything, no matter how much you see.

The past is simply there, unyielding and ever-present as the humidity. Eve breathes it in and exists in it, as much as she does the present and the future. That sense, more than anything, is what makes this a necessary part of the Southern Gothic film canon.

Eve’s Bayou is streaming on Kanopy, Peacock, and YouTube TV. Thanks to C.M. Crockford for the recommendation.

  1. An especially compelling, well-staged scene involves Mozelle telling the story of one husband’s murder into the mirror, where it plays out for us: I love how this smudges the boundaries not only between past and present (a familiar enough trick) but also between our perspective, Mozelle’s memory, and Eve’s imagination/second sight. ↩︎