In a small Louisiana town, a prosperous, charismatic doctor risks losing
a lush estate and a beautiful wife because he can't stop providing intimate
house calls to many of his young female patients. Meanwhile, his sister, a
psychic counselor who dabbles in voodoo, has just buried her third husband
and is about to spread her black-widow curse to a fourth. Then there are
the doctor's children--bespectacled, 9-year-old Poe, flowering 14-year-old
Cisely, and the middle child, Eve, whose narration of her family's story
begins, "The summer I killed my father, I was 10 years old."
Eve's Bayou, the filmmaking debut of character actress Kasi
Lemmons, has all the trappings of a classic. The scenario calls to mind
Southern coming-of-age novels by the likes of William Faulkner, Toni
Morrison, and Harper Lee. Terrance Blanchard's haunting score echoes the
emotional sweep of Hollywood's golden age. The acting--particularly by
Jurnee Smollett as Eve, Debbi Morgan as fortune-telling Aunt Mozelle, and
Samuel L. Jackson as likable bastard Dr. Louis Batiste--is strikingly
nuanced.
That the film does not quite achieve classic status is due mainly to
Lemmons' own script, which overemphasizes long speeches at the expense of
more telling conversational give-and-take. Eve's Bayou is, on the
whole, a little too blatant about its themes. As such, it's on the level of
a Hallmark Hall of Fame special, albeit an exceptionally good one.
The story opens at a party, where Eve is once again blocked from her
father's attention by her more graceful, Shakespeare-quoting older sister.
She retreats to the garage to wallow in self-pity, and there she spies her
father enjoying a quickie with a voluptuous family friend. The doctor
downplays the awkward moment by striking a unspoken deal with his
daughter--he'll spend more time with her in exchange for her silence.
Soon after that fateful evening, Aunt Mozelle has a vision--someone is
going to be struck by a rapidly moving vehicle. Her sister-in-law reacts by
grounding her three children for the summer. Cooped up in the house all day
and all night, the sibling rivalries threaten to reach a melting point,
especially since Daddy seems to be coming home later and later, and the
whole family falls apart without him. Finally, a stormy evening of family
arguments--and one shady, ambiguous encounter between Cisely and her
father--leads Eve to concoct an unsteady black-magic plan of revenge.
Eve's Bayou is enjoyably episodic, with fascinating digressions
into the romantic history of Aunt Mozelle and into the wisdom of Eve's
Creole grandmother, whose warnings about overindulging the whims of
children turn out to be truer than she imagined. For a long stretch, the
movie is merely a well-observed character study, centered mainly on the
fascinating Dr. Batiste, a well-loved provider whose powers as a giver of
life nurture a self-destructive arrogance.
But the film builds slowly to a true emotional crescendo, and a final
voice-over speech by an adult Eve gives the movie broader, jaw-dropping
implications. It snaps the story's puzzle pieces together but leaves the
final picture open to several interpretations.
Ultimately, Eve's Bayou is a sensitive, well-crafted drama about
coming to a very adult realization. If it seems too overwrought at times,
the richness of character and setting keep the story intricate and worthy
of reflection. And the film has something important to say about the way we
understand our past and predict our future. Aunt Mozelle's visions have
several meanings, and Dr. Batiste's seemingly reprehensible acts can be
seen in more than one light. Kasi Lemmons tells us that memory, like
prescience, can have an agenda.