Meg Altman (Jodie Foster) and her diabetic daughter Sarah (Kristen Stewart) have just moved into a reasonably priced brownstone on New York’s east side (is that a contradiction in terms?). The place was formerly owned by a lately deceased elderly gentleman who thought, probably correctly, that everybody was out to get him, and so its most interesting feature is a steel-walled room set up to protect him from the Israeli army. The first night they are in the place, three home invaders break into the house, and they only escape by the skin of their teeth into the panic room, from which they attempt (often successfully) to turn the invaders’ actions against them.

Sound familiar? Yes, it’s been more than a decade since I saw Home Alone, but this film certainly struck a chord — apparently with the script writers, as well, since one of the characters at one point refers to another as “Pesci”. But these guys don’t have any of the comic characteristics of Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern; Dwight Yoakam is a sadistic killer and Jared Leto is a despicable wimp, while on the other hand Forest Whitaker is likeable enough that you feel a bid sad when he has his ultimate come-down. As to the good guys, both Foster and Stewart have little genuine character, and no one will mistake either of them for Macaulay Culkin; the movie is not about them but about their situation. You find it difficult to care whether they live or die.

I don’t think this one would have won any Academy Awards, even if it had come out a month or so earlier.