SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done

Film: My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done
Release date: 27th September 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 93 mins
Director: Werner Herzog
Starring: Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, Chloe Sevigny, Brad Dourif, Udo Kier
Genre: Drama/Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Scanbox
Format: DVD
Country: USA/Germany

This is an English-Language release.

Germany’s Werner Herzog (Aguirre, Wrath of God, Fitzcarraldo) teams up with David Lynch to reunite many of his cast and crew from 2009’s Bad Lieutenant to produce My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done. Grossing just £6815 in the UK, and opening on only two screens, is the film an experimental psychological profile of a real crime or a Lynch wannabe that misses the mark?

After returning from a tragic white-water rafting trip in Peru, Brad McCallum’s over-reliant relationship with his mother ends in violence as he murders her with a sword in a neighbour’s home. Homicide detective Hank Havenhurst (Willem Defoe) arrives on the scene with his partner Detective Vargas (Michael Peṅa). They carefully scrutinize the crime scene before realizing Brad has holed himself up across the road with two hostages and a shotgun.

Shortly after, Brad’s fiancée Ingrid (Chloe Sevigny) arrives, along with Lee (Udo Kier), the director of a play the couple have been starring in. The police interview the pair and delve into Brad’s past in an attempt to ascertain his motivation, while trying to maintain control of a dangerous situation that can only get worse…


After the unpredictable brilliance of Bad Lieutenant, Herzog’s second character study of 2009 has a lot to live up to. It is, of course, an entirely separate entity, despite sharing members of the cast and crew, as well as thematic similarities. Unlike Bad Lieutenant, however, My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done struggles with poor characterisation, lacklustre performances, a lack of originality, and the unavoidable expectations that accompany the Lynch attachment.

Herzog’s focus on character development relies heavily on the actors’ performances, which in this case are, unfortunately, severely lacking in depth. Shannon’s dull performance in particular belies the tension and shell-shock his character is supposed to be experiencing. The monotony of his performance permeates the film with a feeling of flatness, accentuated by the stark, digital video used to frame the production. The flashbacks of Brad in Peru show a man with a severe lack of emotion, which continues throughout his supposed breakdown, and culminates in his mother asking the titular question. This emotionless tedium could be construed as characteristic indifference, but it is at odds with how the rest of the cast react to him.

Ingrid, Brad’s mother and Lee all seem to accept his bizarre behaviour as acceptable, only picking up on key points when probed by Defoe’s detective. Defoe offers a slightly better performance, although his grizzled cop has little development other than acting as the audience’s anchor throughout proceedings, asking the questions that the audience needs to know in order to advance the plot. Brad Douriff’s Uncle Ted brings a much needed comedic character to lighten the tone, as the eccentric ostrich farmer struggles to understand Brad’s interpretation of Sophocles and the flamboyant Lee’s motivation behind his amateur play, a Greek tragedy where the lead kills his mother with a sword.

It is impossible to ignore the inspiration Herzog has taken from the directorial output of executive producer David Lynch, which, in this instance, occasionally borders on parody. The main narrative focus of the police investigation into the murder is based firmly in reality, framed by stark digital camera work and minimal flair, while the flashbacks offer a richer palette of colour and thematic development. The absurdity and uncanny nature of Lynch’s work is mirrored in the dinner scene when Mrs McCullum forces a serving of jelly on Brad (much to Ingrid’s distaste) and the accompanying silences, and too when she continually barges in on Brad and Ingrid in the bedroom. The positioning of the actors in a faux freeze frame feels so forced and awkward that it is impossible not to feel like Herzog is merely trying to mirror Lynch’s style instead of conveying an artistic message.

The heavy symbolism throughout Mrs McCullum and Brad’s home is impossible to ignore. Pink flamingos are prevalent (forming the basis of the film’s twist, glaringly obvious from the beginning) standing tall in the garden and ornamentally throughout the house. These ornaments are to American lawns what the garden gnome is to the UK, but the extreme to which they are used in the house only exacerbates the sense of surreal Herzog adds to the grittiness of the main story, while placing the characters perfectly at odds with the ‘white picket fence’ ideal of suburban America.

Ernst Reijseger’s eerie, foreboding score is the perfect foil for the fractured character of Brad, and is a highlight throughout. The dark music successfully offsets the film’s eccentricities, such as the laughable amateur dramatics of the play, and Brad’s insistence that he has found God - and that he is the man on the porridge oats can. These juxtapositions add to the sense of division between Brad’s mental state and the real consequences of his actions.


Herzog combines a psychological profile of a broken and desperate individual with absurd, Lynchian surrealism to create a film which, unfortunately, fails to deliver. The performances are too weak and the characters too one-dimensional to really allow the audience to sympathise with them, and it is this sense of apathy that dominates the film. The pairing of two legendary filmmakers of this calibre should have been something truly special and unique, but this falls rather flat. RB