This weekend, Universal drops the latest contribution to the home invasion horror (and thriller) subgenre with Breaking In, in which Gabrielle Unionâ€™s character defends her progeny while letting her intruders know that they chose the wrong damn house to invade. Given that the film arrives on Motherâ€™s Day weekend (and has been promoted as a Motherâ€™s Day movie), it should be safe to assume the bad guys get what they deserve, even if the film apparently uses the â€śmomâ€ť label to simply pat women on the head for doing it all while being able to whoop bad-guy ass. A more nuanced treatment would have been delicious in a year where women have been taking back the power in so many other ways.
A home invasion film would actually be a great vehicle to serve such an ultimate purpose, since the subgenre has been used as cultural commentary for several decades â€” beginning with D.W. Griffithâ€™s The Lonely Villa in 1909. Since folks apparently canâ€™t get enough of the stranger-in-oneâ€™s-home archetype, the decades following have seen endless permutations in multiple mainstream films arriving each year. The concept somehow remains so ripe with potential that, at times, itâ€™s a joy in and of itself to see what type of spin will arrive with the next member of the subgenre.
Yet despite the imaginative nature of suspense writers, it seems that their treatment of women in home invasion films rarely changes. Yes, other forms of cultural commentary persist with the attempting of righted wrongs. Just to name a few well-treaded examples, recent years have brought impressive twists that have been particularly unsettling with the panic-inducing Donâ€™t Breathe setting up audiences to root for the invaders in a crudely effective refashioning of the formula. That film, along with The Purge, drips with thematic currents that skewer Americansâ€™ racism and outright xenophobia.
In Donâ€™t Breathe, a blind veteran must fend off his intruders, but heâ€™s certainly not a hero â€” and thatâ€™s where the film gets dicey with its treatment of women. The vet had already impregnated one captive, and after accidentally shooting her, he tried to rape Jane Levyâ€™s Rocky (while claiming, â€śIâ€™m not a rapistâ€ť) with a turkey baster in a scene so controversial and notorious that, years later, one really wonders what director Fede Alvarez aimed to do. He succeeded at turning several horror tropes on their heads, but still, the female lead (who is rescued by a guy who wants to bang her) remains the target of gendered violence, all because sheâ€™s a woman and, therefore, capable of being a mom.
These filmsâ€™ presumed grounding in reality (even though examples like Rosemaryâ€™s Baby include supernatural elements) make them all the more horrifying, and their take on gender is, unfortunately, often very realistic. And the invaders, as fellow humans, resemble ourselves with rationales that wildly vary. While some intruders carefully choose their victims as a means of revenge or in pursuit of something in particular, the selection process can be random (or, at least, it initially appears that way), which only adds to the helplessness felt by audiences. And rarely are victims as well-equipped as Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone (obviously a rare comedic variant on the archetype) â€” it happens, but seldom is the premise set up well.