Home Invasion 101

I recently watched two home-invasion horror/thrillers that focused on homeowners with significant sensory impairment: "Don't Breathe," about a blind military veteran who lives alone in a broken-down part of Detroit, and "Hush," about a deaf author (who also can't speak) who lives in the woods with only a cat and a few neighbors for company. "Hush" is the superior film, not least because it doesn't go for over-the-top shockeroos but instead focuses on the basics of a prolonged but suspenseful cat-and-mouse pursuit.

That said, "Don't Breathe" boasts sharp performances from "13 Reasons Why" star Dylan Minnette and Jane Levy, who went from the smart sitcom "Suburgatory" to the grisly horror of Fede Alvarez's "Evil Dead" remake without missing a beat. Alvarez also directed "Don't Breathe," and the newer film shares the remake's willingness to take the audience to uncomfortable places. As the vet, whose mind has been twisted by sorrow, Stephen Lang gives a chilling and very physical performance. It's tautly directed and well acted, and not too predictable, but its secrets end up being perhaps a bit more unsavory than they needed to be.

The twist of making the homeowner in a home-invasion thriller the villain and the invaders the protagonists is interesting. Nonetheless, as a Detroit-area native, I was sad to see yet another stereotypical depiction of urban rot. Detroit seems to have been chosen as a setting (I doubt the film was shot there), as it has been so many times before, to convey blight and emptiness. Within the horror genre, "It Follows" used (actual) Detroit locations in a more nuanced and less cliche way.

"Hush" may or may not be writer-director Mike Flanagan's best film so far. You could make an argument for "Ouija: Origin of Evil," which is much more lavishly produced than the bare-bones, pedal-to-the-metal "Hush," which looks like it was filmed on a budget of about a buck twenty-five, some fake blood, and a few donated prosthetic and makeup effects (albeit very good ones). As others have noted, Flanagan knows two things that are key to making good horror: 1) Developing actual characters, about whom we have actual feelings, matters; 2) It's a very good sign if partway into the movie we'd be enjoying it even if it weren't a horror movie, and if it's actually hard to tell what genre it belongs to. (Another good example of both points: Ti West's "The Innkeepers.")

"Hush" thumbs its nose at some horror and home-invasion conventions while adhering, in a lively and imaginative way, to others. Two moments in the film are standouts for me. In the first, John Gallagher Jr.'s truly upsetting psycho killer threatens the life of a cat, with delightfully unexpected results. In the second, the killer thinks he has Kate Siegel's deaf fiction writer, Maddie Young, right where he wants her: His hands are, at long last, around her throat. Though we pretty much know what the outcome of the scene will be, Flanagan uses a flash of images to suddenly add great poignancy and weight to what might otherwise have played out as a routine thriller finale.

Siegel took on a great challenge in playing a deaf woman who also can't speak, due to an adolescent case of bacterial meningitis. She co-wrote the screenplay with Flanagan, her partner in life as well as filmmaking. So this is very much the story both of them wanted to tell, told in the way they preferred. "Hush" has much in common with "Wait Until Dark," "The Strangers," "You're Next," and other noteworthy home-invasion films, but it avoids falling into some common traps of the subgenre. For one thing, it doesn't treat human lives as worthless, as many movies with much higher body counts do.

"Hush" also refuses to turn the main character's mistreatment at the hands of a monstrous villain into an excuse for all-out, stomach-turning gore -- the kind of thing we saw, or maybe turned away from, in "The Last House on the Left," "I Spit On Your Grave," and other such bloody revenge fantasies. Maddie needs to defend herself, and that does mean trying to harm her assailant, but she isn't a merciless sadist (unlike her attacker). She's just a traumatized woman trying to survive.

At first I questioned the calm note the film ends on, thinking that someone who had been through what Maddie had would be hypervigilant, unable to relax for even a moment, and would make a beeline for the approaching police cars. But, after some reflection, I'm not sure I know what the survivor of such an ordeal would think, feel, or do in its immediate aftermath. I do know that "Hush" provides well-matched opponents, a consistently tense mood, and a resolution that's considerably more satisfying than those of many thrillers that operate on a similar premise.

The contrarian

It's easy to rag on Detroit, but my good friend Rachel Lutz refuses to do so, as a great Q&A in the city's LGBT newspaper, Between the Lines (which I used to write for), reports. I should add that Rachel's knowledge of Detroit history is formidable, and she gives a fantastic tour that would make anyone see the place in a very different light.

Say nice things about Detroit

My sister once had a shirt that said: "Detroit: Where the weak are killed and eaten." I've also seen one with a smoking gun on it that declared: "Thanks for visiting Detroit; sorry we missed you." Now, thanks to a Facebook sidebar ad, I've finally found Detroit T-shirts with a positive spin. The Chet Lemon shirt is the best, not only because of its hip, clever pictogram but also because you really do have to be a longtime or lifetime Detroiter to know who Chet Lemon is. (He's a former Tigers outfielder.) I might buy one at some point, if only to mystify Seattle friends and start conversations.

Welcome to the 21st century, Michigan!

It's nice and cozy here, and smoke-free.

"Time" on Detroit

One of my high school classmates posted Time's frank assessment of our hometown on Facebook. It's funny: Looking at the photo, I feel nostalgia for my childhood and affection for the city. People who aren't from Detroit probably just see a gray, generic downtown landscape.

Actual Detroit radio ad

I was driving to Ann Arbor and listening to 96.3 FM, Detroit's equivalent to Seattle's KNDD (The End), when I heard an ad for a station promotion/contest thing called -- I kid you not -- "Breast Christmas Ever!" The lucky lady who wins first prize receives free breast augmentation surgery.

I love you, Detroit, but it's good to be back in crunchy-granola Seattle, where such a thing would be unheard of.

Dinner in Greektown

As usual, click to enlarge 'em. (They're ginormous because I uploaded the wrong files, but whatever. Enjoy the microscopic detail!) They were taken in and around Pegasus on Monroe Street in Detroit's Greektown.






The author of No One Cares What You Had for Lunch would hate me for posting these.

Thanksgiving dinner in pictures

Click on 'em to make 'em bigger.







I might upload more (including some of actual people) when Blogger stops taking forever to do it. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Tomorrow my mom and I are off to Greektown for lunch, and then to Happy-Go-Lucky, our annual holiday movie excursion. She's likely to enjoy it a lot more than I'm Not There, which was last year's. Oh, and tomorrow night I'm off to my second high school reunion in as many years -- I just can't get enough! I know a decent number of the Class of '98, so it ought to be fun (and a bit less anxiety-producing than my own). I wonder how many people throughout the night will say: "Weren't you in the Class of '97?"

I made it to Motown!

The married military man and the elderly lady in the seats behind me on the plane talked for three and a half straight hours, preventing me from sleeping (though admittedly I spent at least an hour of that time reading The New Yorker, and another half-hour listening to the Avenue Q soundtrack on my iPod), but I'm here! And my mother's dog is as cute as ever, and my mother herself is mildly obsessed with Trader Joe's (the fridge is filled with TJ's stuff, and it's almost frighteningly well organized), and I'm making stuffed mushroom caps for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and all is right with the world. Oh, and Calvin Trillin's piece on barbecue in the New Yorker food issue is every bit as good as Michael claimed it was. Mimi Sheraton's ode to brodetto is great, too -- makes me want to go back to Italy. (I still remember meeting Ms. Sheraton at Salumi, with Roger Downey providing the introduction. Those were the days...)

Where I am going, for sure, is the Inauguration! I'm very excited. I'll probably spend about ten days on the East Coast in total -- several days in New York before Jan. 20, and several days after. I can't wait!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Okay, so I'm a few days early. I'll be leaving for Detroit around 10 p.m. Tuesday night, and I'm not sure how much I'll be blogging from Motown this year -- though last year I posted on Turkey Day, so who knows? In any case, I figured I'd better wish you all a happy holiday in advance. May your meal be filling and delicious, may your dinner conversation be sparkling and witty, and may you spend enough time with every family member and friend you've been dying to see. (Expect a photo-packed post upon my return.)

The perfect Detroit day

Recently picked up a book (at Bailey/Coy, I think) that listed 50 cities and described a perfect day in each, according to travel writers who know those cities well. I think I experienced my perfect Detroit day today. Got up late, ate breakfast, and played Scrabble with our geeky new Onyx Edition board, then went with my mother to Greektown, where we had a fabulous lunch at New Hellas (the perfect lunch: saganaki, Greek salad, and Hellas' unbelievable spinach pie. Honestly, far too many Greek restaurants, including basically all of them in Seattle, seem to consider spinach pie an excellent way to get rid of a lot of excess phyllo dough. But you know what? Here's what a spinach pie should really be about: spinach and cheese. (And, yes, lots of oil and salt.) And New Hellas, and most every other place in Greektown, knows this. And acts accordingly. So the spinach pie has a delicate, slightly soggy (from all the oil!) layer of phyllo on top, and another even soggier one on the bottom. And between them, nothing but delicious spinach and cheese. Mmmm...

After this heavenly lunch, we went to the Detroit Institute of the Arts' Grand Opening Weekend, which was amazing and very inspiring, considering how far the museum has come. The main lobby was full of glittery paper circles hung from the ceiling, and people were fencing in front of an audience. (They weren't dueling over a lady; presumably they were paid to be there.) We checked our coats and went to the Julie Mehretu exhibit, which was cool and involved one of the biggest canvases I've seen in a long time. Then it was on to the modern and contemporary sections, which were fantastic -- especially the modern stuff, including a beautiful Georges Seurat piece with a painted frame and lots of Spanish works, including Picasso and Miró. After seeing a fair bit of art and inspecting the gift shop, we headed to Kresge Court to sip mint-tarragon tea and listen to a jazz trio perform. The whole place was lit with candles. Just lovely. Finally, we left the museum and drove home... for two more games of Scrabble! And here I am now. If there's a more perfect Detroit day out there, I'm not sure I want to know about it.