This Holiday’s Movies: “Right at Your Door”

Right at Your Door is a great example of what happens when a clever idea is acted upon by a dumb filmmaker. The dumb filmmaker in this instance is writer/director Chris Gorak making his feature film debut as a writer/director after years of toiling in the trenches as an art director and production designer. I don’t know what those things are, but they obviously don’t require a whole lot of higher-brain activity. Gorak has a simple but effective hook—L.A. is hit with a series of dirty bombs, and the film follows the next few days from the claustrophobic confines of small home in the hills—and a clever twisteroo ending. Give Gorak points for those two elements. It’s everything else that he gets wrong.

 

First off, it should be noted that this is the movie Tom Ridge will have playing in a continuous loop in his bomb shelter once the terror alert reaches indigo or teal or whatever the bad one is. Miles upon miles of duct tape are featured here as the protagonist, Brad, and the neighbor’s handyman (a character meant to be a Latino immigrant who inexplicably communicates only in English and has no trace of an accent) seal their house with plastic as per the instructions coming over the radio (Brad and his wife Lexi have just moved in and the cable hasn’t been installed yet). Pretty soon they have a house that John Travolta’s character in that movie about the Bubble Boy would live in if he had moved out of his parent’s biosphere and got his own pad.

 

Soon, a gray ash from chemical fires caused by the IED’s scattered throughout L.A. begins to fall, and the authorities are warning everyone to stay inside and not to let anyone exposed in the blast zones contaminate their duct tape refuge. This becomes a problem for Brad, as Lexi, last seen heading downtown for work, arrives at his vacu-sealed door. Brad, being the good citizen he is, leaves her out there. Days pass. Neither knows what’s going on. Tempers flare. Nerves fray. Lexi develops a fake cough. Just as Brad and Lexi give their tearful farewells, the government shows up and drags Lexi off to a decon van. They then inform Brad that his airtight home has actually incubated the toxin to critical levels and for the good of humanity (or this particular corner of it) his home has to be isolated and decontaminated. They then seal Brad inside and pump in toxic gas to, uh, kill the toxin. And Brad. Cue Rod Serling to say a few words about the vagaries of life.

 

It’s a nifty story that might have worked had it been pared down to a rapid 80 minutes or so. Instead the movie drags on for close to 100 minutes, giving us endless padded scenes of Lexi and Brad bickering, expressing their mistrust of the government, and exchanging meaningful glances through the shrink wrapped house. A shorter run time might also have distracted the viewer from the fact that Gorak doesn’t seem to know all that much about…well, anything except maybe art direction and all that it entails.

 

First off, the radio reports Brad listens to that provide much of a sense of what’s happening throughout L.A. don’t sound at all realistic. This is rather perplexing, since Gorak could have easily looked at reporting on 9/11, Katrina, or the East Coast blackout for examples. Instead, reporters deliver dialogue that seems to have been lifted from any generic sitcom: “We go live to Jane Doe at the blast site. Jane?” “Tom, I’m here at the blast site…” The officials interviewed and making statements are never identified as anything other than “authorities” or “City Officials” (has anyone ever been identified as a “city official” during a press conference?) Hey, Gorak, look at the footage from the aforementioned disasters. Every City Hall errand boy takes the opportunity to make sure their title is prominently reported.

 

Secondly, Gorak doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of how actual disaster relief unfolds. Again, perplexing since there’s a wealth of research material. The radio reports never mention action by local disaster responders, FEMA, or the Centers for Disease Control. As a matter of fact, in a move straight out of a ‘50s giant-monster movie, the only response to toxic contamination is the activation of the National Guard. Because legion of weekend warriors are the most effective way of dealing with a rabid pathogen.

 

Finally, the greatest problem with the movie is that the nature of the attack just doesn’t make sense. The explosions release toxic chemicals and a toxic ash. They’re also referred to as “dirty bombs” (which generally refers to radioactive materials, but that’s clearly not the case here) The problem with this that the movie keeps emphasizing the fact that people exposed to these dirty bombs must be kept quarantined. Hey, Gorak, newsflash—you don’t quarantine people exposed to a toxic chemical. You DE-FREAKING-CONTAMINATE THEM! This is actually a fairly easy process (I once spent a miserably hot afternoon dressed in a Tychem suit and gas mask practicing this very thing). All you need are some showers and a water/bleach solution. Then you rinse everyone off and dispose of their clothes. New York City’s Office of Emergency Management sets up decon sites around the city every New Year’s Eve in case of just such an attack. One would think that a major metropolis like L.A would have a similar plan.

 

Later, news reports identify the toxin as respiratory pathogen. In other words, a biological agent. Okay, Gorak—you listening? There are chemical agents and there are biological agents. The two are not the same thing. A series of explosive devices that cause chemical fires will not release a biotoxin. Fire pretty much has the opposite effect on biological agents. That’s why the corpses of the victims of disease are burned. And a chemical ash sure as hell isn’t going to release a biotoxin. And while it’s true you’d want to quarantine victims carrying a pathogen, you’d do so only if there was a sense that the pathogen was highly communicable, like smallpox. Otherwise, back to decon showers and Cipro all around. Remember the Anthrax attacks of 2001? Remember all those exposed victims quarantined in government-issued plastic bubbles? Neither do I. There weren’t any. Also, the areas of greatest exposure are repeatedly referred to as “the red zones,” when the correct terminology is “the hot zone.” Why I’d expect Gorak to get this terminology right, when he can’t even figure out the basics of his movie’s MacGuffin probably says more about me than him.

 

On top of Gorak’s ignorance about…well, everything, his characters are something less than compelling. Lexi seems nice enough—a driven career woman shackled to a boat-anchor of a husband—but Brad is a tool. This is a bit of a problem, because Brad is the guy we spend most of the movie’s run time with. An out of work musician, we first see Brad making a breakfast Latte for Lexi and smelling the flowers by their driveway. Pussy. He then serves Lexi her latte with a flower in bed and tries to initiate sex. Lexi rebuffs him, saying she has to get to work. Brad looks dejected. Pussy. Later, when the crisis builds and the neighbor’s handyman (someone he’s never met, and takes it on faith he’s a handyman and not, say, a Medallin cartel drug mule) breaks into his house for refuge. Brad immediately lets the guy run the show in sealing up the house, instead of, say, shooting him and dumping the body in the front yard as a warning for looters. Pussy. Later, while Lexi is still unaccounted for, her family calls. Brad tells them that, yeah she’s fine, she’s okay. When her mother asks to speak to her, he hangs up on them. Tool. And finally, there’s his whole decision to remain safe in his biosphere, while his wife sits alone and afraid in the ash-strewn front yard, rather than letting her in and going through the potential illness or contamination (or whatever) together. Jackass.

 

So there you have it, a clever concept ruined by a clueless director. If we’re lucky, maybe Gorak will stop making movies and go back to art direction. Whatever that is. Hopefully its fetching lattes and flowers for more talented, intelligent filmmakers.

 

PUBLIC SERVICE NOTE: Actually, a good fast-and-dirty way to decontaminate people exposed to a biotoxin utilizes something ubiquitous in L.A.—swimming pools. Biological agents really don’t like chlorine. All Lexi would have to do is take a dip in the neighbor’s pool and she could join Brad in the plastic house. So if you receive an envelope full of white powder, just go to your local YMCA and take a swim.

from GunMonkey

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