RIGHT AT YOUR DOOR directed by Chris Gorak

Starring: Mary McCormack, Rory Cochran

I was at the video store this weekend trying rent that damn Invasion movie, but that popular video store that advertises as having “the exclusive videos you want, when you want” seemed to play “hide and go seek” with me. I could see the ladies laughing at me behind the counter on my third consecutive day in, asking like a whiny little ten year old if a movie nobody cared about in theaters was back yet. I bet it was.

They probably just enjoyed a grown man crouching below the counter top with watery blue eyes and a sad, sad little frown asking for more “Wachowski, Wachowski, Wachowski!” (Supposedly, The Wachowski Brothers came in and did some reshoots on The Invasion) Nope. Instead they do what they always do: point to the wall and announce like Pirates of the Suburban Peon, “Walk the mile, sucker. Walk the mile.”

So I started at the beginning, and another film that I wanted to see (The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Dude Affleck) was also missing in action, and I looked back at the ladies in blue noticing horns and mustaches had grown now on their innocent little faces. It wasn’t until I got to The Heartbreak Kid, where I think just about every copy was IN stock that the ladies finally let that hellacious laugh out, causing children to jump and me to finally cry. Luckily, I crawled through my sea of drool and tears, making it to the “R” section of new releases where I noticed a film with a gas mask and rave reviews. Good critics too. Not Wireless and the Dark Horizons “We love spoiled broccoli!” bullshit. And get this… the movie was up for the Sundance Grand Jury Prize and even won the Cinematography award. So I do what I usually do, once every year: I scream on the inside, “Where the hell did this movie come from??” I hate it, and I love it. Hidden treasure, but found in a mountain of horse shit. So I brought it home along with some Dimension Extreme flick, and waited to watch it because some of the critics said it would freak me out, and that I would likely have nightmares or something. With phrases like that, I had to wait until it was safe. Until the right time. BING! Midnight. Popcorn’s ready, Vanilla Coke spiked with Bacardi, and all the lights are out. Let’s do this.

Right at Your Door stars the loveable “I’m not your mother, but I’ll act like it” Mary McCormack and that punk assistant manager from Empire Records, Rory Cochran. The premise is basically, “What happens when Los Angeles gets hit with the bomb?” The shocking part is, the movie is darn good, but then, how could it be bad when the “City of Angels” finally gets a hard, smack in the face? If this movie took place in any other city, it wouldn’t work because let’s face it: Hollywood needs a good beating in the movies, and New York needs to be left alone. It was hard enough to watch Cloverfield and the monster just tear through that city like it was made of ice cream sticks. But also, most homes in Los Angeles don’t have what the rest of the country has: basements. So it adds another terrifying aspect to the film when they announce more bombs dropped in other areas of L.A. as well as them being dirty. This means they have a theme song by Britney Spears when they drop cuz baby, they’re toxic.

So Momma McCormack is on her way to work when this happens and triggers out of work musician hubby Brad (Rory Cochran) to freak out because well, she pays the cable bill, buys him cookies, and happens to be the hottest chick he’s ever going to get. Damn, I need a sugar mama like that! So the hubby goes driving around L.A. in his sweet truck, thus pushing the intensity button on the pacing in the film as he weaves in out of annoying Beverly Hills traffic. Now it’s hard to really grab my nuts and scare the crap out of me, unless you’re an albino with chicken pox, but this film had its nails dug deep into my asscheeks. I couldn’t move. I was intrigued with where it was going, and then for some odd reason, I started comparing it to the recent I Am Legend. “Damn, why wasn’t this director chosen?” and then of course, I started complaining about how Will Smith wasted immeasurable amounts of time quoting Shrek instead of Francis Lawrence using that time to refine the climax for a proper ending. Luckily, Brad turns the volume up on the radio, and I pay attention to the flick once more as the white ash falls from the sky and onto his tightly-sealed, cling-wrapped home.

If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m trying my best to entertain you while not spoiling the movie because honestly, this film is a long overdue episode of The Twilight Zone. In fact, it kind of compliments my favorite TZ episode, “Time Enough at Last” where last man on Earth, Burgess Meredith finally gets time to read his books only to break his Coke-bottle glasses. For most of the movie, it feels a lot like last year’s underrated psycho adventure, Bug, as two characters try to work out how they’re going to get through life when death is slapping them in the face. Right at Your Door gets crazier by the minute and director Chris Gorak appears to understand his audience needs this frenetic pace in order to stay with it until the special surprise ending. It’s one where he basically tells M. Night Shameonmeformakingthevillage, “I can do the twist better than you, bucko!” It really comes out of nowhere, and I feel both satisfied and let down by it. In other words, it’s plausible and convincing, but it defies the characterization of McCormack’s “Lexi” which settled me into wanting that meaningful goodbye. I don’t know. I think this is where most people end up hating the movie if they don’t like straight lines to curve like a curly fry.

Regardless of the argument-inducing ending, Right at Your Door is thought-provoking and entertaining… in that Orson Wells radio-dependency-scare-tactic kind of way. It’s worthy of renting, even if your video store check out girls are pure evil, recommending a second viewing of Good Luck, Chuck. Next time, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve. I’ll ask for something that’s checked out again in that long line of mothers, fathers, and terrifying squirts, I’ll let her rip as they point to that back wall. “Is that where the nasty adult section is located too?”

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