Formative Fears is a column that explores how horror scared us from an early age, or how the genre contextualizes youthful phobias and trauma. From memories of things that went bump in the night, to adolescent anxieties made real through the use of monsters and mayhem, this series expresses what it felt like to be a frightened child – and what still scares us well into adulthood.
Death does not discriminate whether you are young or old. And, no matter your station in life, death can happen at any time or place. The main character in D.J. Caruso‘s 2007 thriller Disturbia knows this fact all too well. Having recently lost a loved one, the film’s teenage protagonist is understandably despondent. He’s no longer a child, but death is always confounding and upsetting, no matter the age.
Seventeen-year-old Kale Brecht (Shia LeBeouf) is robbed of a parent on one fateful day. A tranquil afternoon of fishing and bonding with his father goes to hell when their car collides unexpectedly with another. In the days that follow, Kale’s misguided choices end up costing him his entire summer. Biding his time until he’s no longer under house arrest, he spies on the world outside his bedroom window. It’s all fairly innocuous with the exception of Kale’s neighbor, Robert Turner (David Morse). Harmless speculation swiftly becomes sound suspicion. There’s something not right about the man living next door. Could he really be a serial killer, or has Kale’s grief only been replaced with rife paranoia?
Christopher Landon and Carl Ellsworth‘s script spares no time when it comes to dealing Kale a tough hand. His father’s untimely death comes fast and hard in the movie’s delusive opening. The two are first lazing about on a beautiful day outdoors, sharing a tender but never maudlin moment. Reassuring, fatherly advice (“You did everything you could”) can be applied to the next set piece. A startling double collision on the road closes with Kale escaping from the wreckage, only to find his father cannot do the same. His silent disappointment, framed by a static and haunting POV shot, is all it takes to know Kale is in for a long road of healing.
Some time has passed and the school semester is nearly over. The next two scenes, bathed in pallid lighting and all but devoid of color, show a very different Kale since the accident. Asleep, inattentive, and disaffected, the teenager is a shell of his former self. Kale is singled out in class by his callous teacher, who ridicules him for his poor academic performance. To add insult to injury, the man delivers an emotionally triggering low blow—”What would your father think?” No one is surprised when Kale responds with an impulsive punch to his teacher’s face. At a later date, a lenient judge sentences Kale to three months of house arrest in lieu of juvie.
Kale’s mandatory confinement quickly fuels his paranoia. He survived the accident, but a piece of him died that day along with his father. No doubt the ordeal made him feel alone. Cutting him off from people — physically as well as remotely, as demonstrated when his mother strips him of his Internet and television privileges — is a whole other level of alienation Kale does not need right now. Being compelled to get back into the world rather than shrinking away from it, may have been the better option. Even so, it becomes clear there’s a greater purpose to Kale’s predicament.
The detective (Viola Davis) assigned to Kale’s case advises him to find “something constructive to do,” or else, he’ll get restless. With his being disconnected from the real world, Kale’s only apparent option is to spy on the neighborhood. It’s initially amusing before he learns everyone’s routines—delinquents group-watch skin flicks under a mother’s nose, a husband cheats when the wife’s away, and Mr. Turner frequently mows his lawn. In the meantime, Ronnie (Aaron Yoo), Kale’s friend and a provider of the film’s more undervalued comic relief, returns from vacation, and the two befriend the new neighbors’ daughter, Ashley (Sarah Roemer). Together, the three are engrossed in some innocent surveillance, specifically at the expense of the aforementioned Mr. Turner. Kale is convinced he and an Austin-based serial killer are one and the same. His friends, on the other hand, are reasonably skeptical.
Kale is sure Turner is up to no good, and his alleged, cry-wolf accusation eventually gets him in more trouble with both the police and his mother. Carrie Anne Moss‘ character, who has been incredibly stoic up to this point, succinctly expresses her frustration by saying, “You are breaking my heart, Kale.” It’s a sobering statement for our hero, who is left questioning his actions. So far, the movie has poked hole after hole in Kale’s theory about Turner. Viewers might start to wonder if the neighbor deserves the benefit of the doubt. Be rest assured, we have to trust our instincts.
Had it not been for his domestic incarceration, Kale would have never noticed Robert Turner. That perseverance to out his neighbor as a murderer, a source of frustration for those around him, is the spark Kale sorely needed. His prying becomes a way of regaining control. In the wake of his father’s passing, Kale emotionally checked out; his unacceptable way of grieving urged others to make decisions for him. That inability to function and cope was setting Kale on a bad path. Yet, in the end, as much as an unfortunate death put him in this dark place, another was essentially what brought Kale back to the living.
Disturbia does not shy away from occasional teen angst, and the influence of Rear Window is unmistakable. The movie never becomes a full-fledged psychological thriller where Kale feels the crushing weight of isolation or the effects of Turner’s head games. Instead, separating Kale from the general population is a bold way of combating his heedless, withdrawn attitude. It’s precisely why he becomes less and less dispirited. In his imposed solitude, Kale is forced to engage with thoughts he’s avoided or people he’s lost touch with. In addition, there are moments, on top of an overarching, hopeful outlook, that reflect what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age. Those the dead leave behind will mourn however they see fit until they find the confidence to move on. For Kale, it was accepting he can’t undo the past, but he can use it to better appreciate the life he — and, because of him, many others — have now.
