Mickey Keating is a wide-eyed student of horror cinema. Each of his films is an homage to a subgenre, loaded with well-studied influences. Hitchcock, Carpenter, and others make stylistic cameos in films like Darling and Offseason, with his latest—Invader—giving us Keating’s take on home invasions. It’s a tight 68 minutes that echoes Funny Games, The Strangers, and even Adam Mason’s Hangman, but in its stripped-raw approach, struggles to captivate as a blustery snapshot of a grander account.
Vero Maynez stars as Ana, a woman in transit heading to her cousin’s house in the Chicago suburbs. Things get dodgy when Ana can’t contact her family, nor does Camila (Ruby Vallejo) show up at her grocery store job. Ana teams with Camila’s coworker Carlo (Colin Huerta) to investigate her disappearance, which leads to a horrifying discovery—a beer-swigging, gimp-suit-dressing invader (Joe Swanberg, also serving as producer) has taken over Camila’s residence. Without hesitation, Ana jumps into action to hopefully save Camila from whatever squatter nightmare is occurring.
Invader is one of those “stuck in a moment” narratives that doesn’t give you a backstory or care about the aftermath. It exists from the second Ava’s kicked off a bus at its last stop to the culmination of her standoff with Swanberg’s criminal. The whys and hows don’t matter—Keating opts for Bryan Bertino’s “because you were home” dread in a contained bubble. Cinematography presses close on characters and jiggles with a chaotic, almost guerilla-like perspective. It tries to remain organic and convey Ana’s paranoia through an unsteady lens, but feels one-trick as minimalistic plot beats unfold.
I don’t want to suggest nothing happens in Invader—something DEFINITELY happens. But, the largely dialogue-less and unexplained phenomena that unravels is begging for more development. Keating’s screenplay is a kernel of an idea that’s intentionally trim yet feels weightless as Ana sits in an empty transport station, flees from a one-eyed, metal-loving cabbie, finds one or two bloody clues, then is face-to-face with Swanberg’s dangerous vagrant. The filmmaker wants you to feel destabilized, hence rougher techniques fringing avant-garde horror deliveries, but it’s never enough. A bite-sized feature like Host builds mythology and meaning within its hour-long timeframe, whereas Invader merely exists like an anonymous specter shrugging its shoulders.
Specific touches suggest there’s more to Invader under the hood. Metal music plays during scenes of panic and horror, whether that’s the angry cabbie chasing his prospective fare (who’s dashed away) or Swanberg’s erratic, almost possession-like dances. That’s dangled for viewers to interpret. Then you have the red-blooded American portrayal of Swanberg’s villain, drinking Piss Lite beers and leaving homes in squalor—but specifically to Ana’s situation, a home owned by a minority family. We only glimpse Swanberg’s character motivations in an opening montage of another suburban destruction, but we don’t know the owners. Given the film’s title, “Invader,” and the visual representation of a ‘Merica caucasian man who breezes through a police check-up while Ava and Carlo watch from afar, one could assume the film is trying to say something about America’s current xenophobia and the Trump administration’s stoking of immigrant blame.
The problem is, you don’t know if Invader lucked into these talking points or wants to take a stance. Satanic Panic? Political protest? It’s all up in the air. Films are allowed to be ambiguous, but it’s a risk.
The trio of Maynez, Huerta, and Swanberg shoulder the weight of Invader. Their tasks are simple—strike fear or be afraid. Their performances aren’t poor but more lost in perpetual motion that trudges forward. Keating’s approach sometimes mirrors a Silent House or MadS, children of the “one take” movement. A long stretch will follow Ana as she strolls down rural highways, dragging her luggage, or watching Swanberg smash non-perishable food cans with a sledgehammer. “It’s happening because it’s happening” doesn’t help actors in the way Keating might hope, nor does their predicament ever feel more than swapable. It could be anyone, anywhere—and I don’t mean that like how The Strangers terrified audiences with the same mantra.
Keating’s talents as a chameleon to the horror genre are not on display in Invader. He’s toying with another mode but casts out of his depth. Darling, Carnage Park, and Offeason prove what he’s capable of, whereas Invader plays like an afterthought. The filmmaker’s nebulous take on home invasions begs for introspection to be more than a generic usage of the formula. It’s lean and mean, but doesn’t translate into a nerve-shredding experience for audiences. Invader has all the elements necessary to make a good home invasion flick; it’s just a restrictive and bland take that’s screaming for added flavor.
Movie Score: 2/5