[Editorial] Disability and Horror: Don’t Breathe (2016)

Fede Alvarez’s Don’t Breathe was a break-out indie horror hit upon its release in 2016, a fact somewhat remarkable given its premise, an old blind vet who is both victim and villain defending his home from good-looking burglars. Don’t Breathe 2 drops on August 13th, with a plot that continues on from the original, still starring Stephen Lang as the old blind vet. I do plan to write about the sequel, but in preparation, I wanted to take a look back at the original to see if it stands up five years later as a solid representation.

The setting of post-apocalyptic Detroit makes for a fitting wasteland of horrors as three juvenile delinquents rob people blind, but prove they can’t actually rob the blind man who lives in a dilapidated broken-down home. On the theory that he must have the remains of the cash settlement from the car accident that killed his daughter, the three break into the home of a reclusive Gulf War veteran, certain he will be an easy mark due to his disability. One of the crew expresses reservations about hitting a blind man’s house, to which another responds, “just because he’s blind don’t mean he’s a ****ing saint, bro.” Truer words were never spoken. 

From the start, the unlikely heroes of the film underestimate Stephen Lang as the blind vet. They make a whole range of faulty assumptions based on ignorance or preconceptions of disability throughout the film, but what makes the film such a fantastic piece of representation is that Don’t Breathe never once underestimates or overestimates the skills or the capability of the twisted killer at its heart. The burglars see that the lights are out and immediately assume that means that he’s asleep, seemingly forgetting the known variables about their so-called easy target. Likewise, the ableist assumption that his hearing is magically powerful, as recompense for his disability seems to prevail among the robbers, who are constantly clapping their hands over their mouths before realizing he can’t, in fact, hear them breathe. He walks right past the intruders many times, missing cues they assume have given them away. Stephen Lang is a wonderful villain for the simple fact that he represents a character with a disability portrayed as no more and no less than a man who can’t see. Too often, onscreen characters with disabilities have to develop magical or preternatural powers to make up for their loss somehow so that they can be viable villains. Lang is allowed to be terrifying even as he shoots into the dark and misses. The terror he inspires comes entirely from his machinations and obsessive quest to replace his lost daughter.

He is competent and capable, knowing exactly where to place locks and board up windows to prevent the burglars’ escape. Like any good soldier, he can shoot and stab well, but his aim is limited by his sight. For me, it was a welcome relief to see him stab the wrong body, shoot the wrong person, not because I was opposed to his character, but because I wanted a villain with disabilities that felt real, that could belong to the real world, rather than adopting de facto monstrous dimensions. 

Lang’s character has real vulnerabilities, both sensory and physical. One of the most frequently misunderstood sensitivities suffered by the blind even makes its way onscreen. As one character suddenly opens the door, there is an implication of pain with his light sensitivity. Often, light sensitivity is misunderstood by people as impossible for the blind to experience, and even this subtle implication in the movie made me want to cheer. As the intruder escapes into the street to yell, “you’re worthless out here,” he is, in fact, anything but, as long as he has his wits about him.  

In the denouement of the film, you see how the media twists his story to make him the good guy, the persevering victim, the visually impaired veteran who was able to defend himself. The writers twist the thread and lay open the easy lies the media tells us about people with disabilities - a brilliant move on the part of Fede Alvarez and Rodo Sayagues. This irony lands perfectly at the end of a film that’s seen the same “victim and/or hero” committing horrific acts, hopefully helping the audience to a bigger dose of skepticism the next time they hear similar descriptions on the news.

Don’t Breathe is a film I worried about greatly because of the title, certain that it was a reference to the thought that blind people can magically hear everything. Instead, I take it as a warning to the audience to pay careful attention to one of the best depictions of disability in horror I’ve ever seen on screen.

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