Wipe Your Feet On The Hazmat

Right At Your Door

Terrorists set off dirty stink bombs over a busy downtown Los Angeles. How anyone could tell the difference is beyond me. The fallout of the explosives leaves the normally smog-thickened skies even grayer than usual, with a toxin that gently covers the city and neighborhoods in a snow-like ash. Breathe it and you’ll die a slow choking death during the course of several days. I could live with that. 

Right At Your Door

Brad, a married but unemployed musician (i.e. “hippie”), watched all this action on TV, and tries to get into the city to find his wife. The cops are blocking everyone’s attempts to breach the blockade with deadly force (i.e., tax-payer bullets). The news broadcasts tell everyone to stay inside and to cover up all the windows, doors, pet holes and any other means for the stink air to get in. Brad, though, is frantic to get to his wife. He should be—she pays the bills.

Right At Your Door

Just when he’s about to go postal, Lexi (his wife) shows up, coughing and spitting up and begging to be let in. And here’s where the whole thing hits the gas with both feet. He won’t let her in because she’s infected. Snap! Sure, he doesn’t want to do this, but he doesn’t want to die from her germs, either. Apparently all those “til death do us part” wedding vows were just meatloaf filler. He has her stay out on the back porch away from the city’s hazmat team systematically working its way through each neighborhood, looking to “round up” the infected.

Right At Your Door

She and a little kid make for the local hospital since Brad is being a total butt and won’t let them in. After she leaves, the hazmat crew show up on his doorstep and has a nice little conversation filtered through a shower curtain: Has he been in physical contact with any one infected? Is the house secure? Does he have any deodorant, as the house is topping 100 degrees (it is L.A. in the middle of summer after all) and is he stinking up the place? Yes to all of the above.

Right At Your Door

The hazmat team staple a red tag on his door, but won’t tell him what it means. Then his wife shows up, telling him the hospital is a war zone. Many farewell phone calls are made to family members, a lot of crying, a lot of “not feeling so fresh.” Just when you think Brad and Lexi’s day couldn’t get any worse, the authorities come round and toss her into a confinement vehicle. It’s here where we find out what the red tag on Brad’s door means — and it’s a real pant-twister.

Right At Your Door

Right At Your Door (2006) is one of those rare “homeland horror” movies that uses zero special effects and turns up the tension with frantic, situational dialogue and static news broadcasts. But Brad’s gonna have to re-think his infection risks if he doesn’t want to end up sleeping on the couch the rest of his married life.

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