Film Review: Becky (2020)

Not exactly based on the Kevin McCallister Home Invasion Chronicles of the 1990s, this year’s Becky might appear to take leaves from that book, but rips them up as riotously as an uncensored wildlife broadcast. Directors Johnathan Milott and Cary Murnion inflict a hare-footed vision of childhood trauma (of sorts). And screenwriters Nick Morris, Ruckus Skye, and Lane Skye form a tight structure of cat and mouse – if at times the dialogue comes across a little hackneyed.

The energy is there from the opening moments of Becky. What with the criss-crossing of various handmade drawings of the title, edited with a zip-zap MTV feel. Accompanied by the searing sireny music. Before paralleling a prison brawl with kids scrapping in the school hall. The set-up of the adult world colliding with the child world punctures its audience.

Our heroine Becky (the electric Lulu Wilson) might not even appear so wholesome as we meet her. New to the teen years, Becky could easily fall into grumpy brat territory, but there’s a real anxiety to grasp of a child having recently lost her mother. Her father Jeff (Joel McHale) is trying to do the right thing while at the same time making a hash of it. He struggles to get her attention, and en route to their family cabin with newish girlfriend (Amanda Brugal) and her son, he takes more steps backward than he does forward.

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That said, Becky already has an autonomous, untamed nature. With her Doc Marten-esque boots, florescent shades and funky headphones – not to mention that hardened glare across her face – Becky might be an outcast in her own pre-adult realm. She certainly doesn’t approve of her father calling her chipmunk. Though she later dons a cute animal knitted beanie as gallantly as a soldier putting on his helmet before battle.

The ongoing father-daughter friction has to take a backseat for the time being, when escaped prisoners / neo-nazi gang head their way to recover a prized possession. Something they have been working towards for years while stuck inside. And they mean business, as an earlier confrontation with a dad and his little kids demonstrates.

The head of these goons is Dominick. And it is not just the I-did-serious-time beard that makes Kevin James a sinister presence here. His seamless footsteps into dramatic waters will make you wonder why he hasn’t trod here before. With him are two parasites, that narratively pave the way for more slimmer pickings, and the Goliath Apex (Robert Maillet).

When I say slim-pickings, I’m referring to Becky’s impulsive rage and manic Tiger-like roar. Which one would surely expect when you’re grieving your mother, utterly frustrated with your father, and then barbarously besieged by a clan of knuckleheads. Becky’s response to the threat could imply she was raised by wolves. Armed with sporadic quips that your child would utilise had you let them watch those 1980s action flicks with Schwarzenegger and Stallone.

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The filmmakers, though, do not forget that Becky is still just a kid. Sprinkled in, without ever overdoing it, are scenes of Becky watching videos of her bed-ridden mother. Raw enough to truly feel compassion for this girl. The mother struggles to hide the pain she is in, even while putting on a brave face for her daughter. Not as poignantly depicted as when Becky sings to her mother at bedside. Some might just find this pandering.

Within its bursts of energy or the more emotive snippets, Becky also relies on the motifs of such an honest point of view. Not exactly cliches as we know them, but familiar elements all the same. Like her mother’s painting of the family sitting waterside. Or the illusive key the crooks are looking for. Even the giant with a soul and a conscience is easy to call.

That said, even if the plan doesn’t, well, go to plan, the bursts of violence produce genuine surprises. No matter how methodical you are, kids have a knack of bamboozling you in an instant. The brutality is unflinching (perhaps too much for some) and often spontaneous – coming from places of nurtured menace or pure, frenzied survival instinct. You hardly have time to catch your breath at times.

Of course, you root for Becky throughout, bolstered unanimously as the steaks get higher and higher. The well-equipped kid setting traps for her enemies does echo a kind of away-from-home-alone plot-line, sure. But thankfully, this is not slapstick. Ask Becky’s dog Diego for a second opinion. Or experience the savage use of a ruler or freshly sharpened pencils for yourself.

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Blood is inevitably spilled. Lots of it. And Becky has to have her wits about her while she thinks fast in her woodland fort. This is a girl of thirteen. But one who can make chewing on jelly snakes a tool of parental distraction, and later like a cowboy smugly gnawing on beef jerky. Those human bears that are not afraid to end a child’s life will do what it takes to have her in their claws. This is no picnic.

The fear for Becky’s life though might not be as elevated as the euphoria you get from the gratuitous self-defence. A timely issue from both sides of the coin given the historical, and extremely current, climate. A conversation of media influence on real life that we will simply never stop having. And films like this unfortunately succumb to those stones being thrown.

These horrors portraying a child on adult’s land are done so through some striking cinematography from Greta Zozula. As well as that unhinged, electro music from Nima Fakrana. At one mortifying moment, the erosive score replaces Becky’s wide-eyed scream as she suffers the ultimate fall.

As she is wreaking havoc on these criminals, Becky’s outrageous and overly crazed persona could actually give her bouts of assault some weight. Depends on your levels of suspension disbelief. Or indeed how much you are willing to accept the complexities of a young soul in such horrific circumstances. The casting of the terrifically aggressive and grounded Lulu Wilson appears a genius move now.

How do you read those terror-stricken girl’s eyes as her dad attempts to make peace via a toy walkie talkie, while he still has breath in his lungs? And ultimately the bare-bones fight is between the ruthless, swastika-tattooed brute and the angsty girl in the black and yellow striped jumper. Its a gruesome, tough ride, but one you can embrace if you surely let it.