If the late, great George A. Romero has an heir apparent, James DeMonaco has a serious claim to the throne. His film series “The Purge,” about a yearly American holiday where murder is legal, is — much like Romero’s zombie movies — a blistering critique on modern America’s decay, which shines a light on the fragility of social structures we take for granted. Except in DeMonaco’s world people have not turned on each other because civilization collapsed. In “The Purge,” civilization collapsed because people wanted an excuse to turn on each other.
So a brand new DeMonaco film is always an exciting prospect. Or at least, it was until “The Home.” “The Home” is yet another angry film. The target of its ire is relevant and it warrants skewering. But for some reason DeMonaco, who’s usually so eager to confront his audience, pulls his biggest punches. “The Home” hides its searing commentary behind a generic, insular plot. The audience can probably relate to the themes, but we can’t relate to the protagonist or the rote, silly events. So in other words, the problem with this story is the “story” part.
Pete Davidson plays Max, who spray paints beautiful and opinionated graffiti, but gets caught in the act one too many times. His foster parents pull some strings, and now he’s doing community service at Green Meadows Retirement Home. He takes out the garbage, he mops up the floors, and of course, he investigates a deadly conspiracy.
Oh yes, there’s devilry afoot at Green Meadows. Nobody is allowed on the fourth floor, where the patients scream in agony and spend all day in a liminal space, spaced out and watching crappy television. The other citizens are implausibly cheerful, and boinking up a storm. Lou (John Glover), the de facto leader of the community, tells Max the worst part of growing old, and the thing that really kills you, is the boredom. So they do what they can to amuse themselves. When one of them doesn’t participate, and especially when they hint to Max that he’s in danger, that person winds up gruesomely dead. Which is a wee bit suspicious, I’m sure we all agree.
The conspiracy in Green Meadows soon spirals into utter nonsense, and although the screenplay — written by DeMonaco and Adam Cantor — eventually offers some excuses, that’s what they really are. Excuses. The story doesn’t function, and that is a function of the story, which is a generous way of saying it wastes our time. “The Home” might have gotten away with all this if it was riveting, terrifying or even funny, but the best it can muster is “mildly tense.” Stories about people in a strange place where all the locals are weirdos and everything feels vaguely, then specifically, sinister are a dime a dozen. We know what type of movie we’re watching, so the audience is way ahead of the protagonist. Not in a scary way, but a “get on with it” way. This story won’t turn out to be a big misunderstanding. Something bad must be happening, or about to.
So that thing had better be worth the wait. But when all is revealed, it’s not. DeMonaco waffles back and forth for most of the film, leaving the audience unsure if he’s making a movie about how old people are scary or how scary it is to feel old. The biggest clue, or possibly the biggest red herring, is a series of shoehorned news reports about unseasonable hurricane activity, in which talking heads debate whether boomers are responsible for destroying the world. The issue of older generations clinging to power at the expense of their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren is rife for exploration in the horror genre. The problem is, DeMonaco’s film doesn’t have much to say beyond hey, that sure is happening. “The Home” doesn’t point many serious fingers. The story is too absurd to make a point all on its own, and Davidson just doesn’t add much to it.
Look, Davidson is an extremely likable performer. That’s actually part of the problem. Max, who’s treated like he’s ten years younger than Davidson looks, isn’t a dangerous problem child. He’s a graffiti artist. Spider-Man is guilty worse sins in the “Spider-Verse” movies. When Max arrives at Green Meadows he’s nice to everybody, and everybody is nice to him. He can’t lose his job or he’ll be thrown in prison, which is a source of tension DeMonaco’s film doesn’t capitalize on. Davidson just meanders throughout the film, acting like a nice guy to whom bad stuff happens. The character is not allowed to be fascinating and Davidson doesn’t add much texture.
It’s unfortunate that “The Home” arrives only a few months after the superior, scarier, acting tour de force that is “The Rule of Jenny Pen,” another thriller set at a home for the elderly. But even if it came out first “The Home” would not make much of an impact. A few odd touches and one impressively, cathartically violent sequence don’t compensate for the film’s resistance to its own ideas. “The Home” yearns to be political, to get on a soap box and defy the audience to disagree with its horrifying thesis. But instead it keeps mum and goes through the motions, riffing on other, better, similar films, like “Get Out” and “Society.” When the main takeaway from a movie is that other movies feel more relevant — movies which are, respectively, eight and 36 years old — that’s … Well, that’s bad, isn’t it?
