In the pitch-black countryside, every creak could be your last breath. Them strips away the supernatural to reveal horror’s rawest truth: vulnerability at home.

Long after the credits roll on David Moreau and Xavier Palud’s 2006 French chiller Them (original title Ils), the unease lingers like a shadow in an empty hallway. This taut home invasion thriller redefined terror by plunging a young couple into a nightmare of relentless pursuit, forcing audiences to confront the fragility of sanctuary. What elevates Them above its genre peers is its unflinching realism, sparse dialogue, and a finale that shatters expectations, cementing its status as a cornerstone of modern horror.

  • The film’s masterful build of tension through sound design and unseen threats creates unparalleled dread without relying on gore.
  • Its controversial twist recontextualises class tensions and urban-rural divides, sparking debates on sympathy and monstrosity.
  • Influencing a wave of home invasion films, Them bridges 1970s paranoia classics with 21st-century anxieties about security.

Dark Highways and Doomed Returns

The film opens with a deceptively serene drive through Romania’s winding rural roads, Clémentine and Lucas—played with quiet intensity by Olivia Bonamy and Michaël Abiteboul—returning to their isolated stone house after a long day. This opening sequence masterfully establishes the couple’s domestic bliss, a writers’ retreat far from the bustle of Bucharest. The house, perched on a forested hill, embodies the escapist dream of many urban professionals: privacy, nature, and creative solitude. Yet Moreau and Palud subvert this idyll from the first frame, using long takes and ambient night sounds to hint at encroaching isolation.

As twilight fades, the couple settles into routine—dinner, reading, casual conversation about their work. Clémentine’s novel-writing ambitions and Lucas’s teaching gig paint them as relatable everypeople, not hardened survivors. Their affluence is subtle: a well-stocked wine cellar, modern appliances amid rustic charm. This setup echoes earlier invasion tales like Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs (1971), where home becomes battleground, but Them accelerates the descent. A flickering light in the garden marks the pivot; what follows is 77 minutes of escalating siege.

The intruders strike methodically: car tyres slashed, phone lines cut, power severed. No masks, no motives declared—just calculated cruelty. Clémentine barricades doors while Lucas ventures out, only to face taunts from unseen voices. The film’s restraint amplifies terror; shadows flit across windows, gravel crunches underfoot, but faces remain elusive. This invisibility forces viewers into the couple’s paranoia, questioning every noise. Sound designer Aline Hervé crafts a symphony of dread: distant laughter morphing into knocks, whispers bleeding into silence.

Invisible Assault: The Art of Auditory Terror

Moreau and Palud, alumni of the Louis Lumière film school, draw from French New Extreme cinema’s emphasis on sensory overload. Unlike American slashers with jump cuts and symphonic scores, Them leans on hyper-realism. The microphone captures breaths ragged with fear, doors splintering under blunt force, and the couple’s mounting hysteria. A pivotal scene sees Clémentine hiding in the basement, her flashlight beam slicing darkness as juvenile giggles echo above—pure primal fear distilled.

This auditory focus ties back to 1970s Euro-horror pioneers like Lucio Fulci, whose The Beyond (1981) weaponised soundscapes. Yet Them innovates by grounding it in plausibility. No supernatural entities; just human malice. The couple’s futile calls for help via radio underscore isolation, mirroring post-9/11 anxieties about unreachable aid. Critics praised this minimalism; a 2006 Fangoria review noted how it “makes every household creak suspect, long after viewing.”

Lucas’s death midway shifts dynamics, leaving Clémentine alone against the horde. Her resourcefulness—improvised weapons from kitchen tools—highlights gendered survival tropes, subverted by her intellectual poise crumbling into raw instinct. The house transforms: stairs become chokepoints, attic a trap. Cinematographer Max Richter’s Steadicam work glides through corridors, blurring defender and invader perspectives, heightening disorientation.

The Shocking Unveiling: Who Are the Monsters?

The climax erupts in dawn’s light, revealing the attackers: a gang of feral children, ragged and wild-eyed, emerging from the woods like apparitions. Led by a wiry teen, they pile into the couple’s BMW, driving off with casual triumph. This twist detonates viewer assumptions—no Satanists, no psychos, just society’s discards lashing out. Interviews from the directors reveal inspiration from real Romanian orphan crises post-Ceausescu, blending social commentary with horror.

Clémentine’s final monologue to police contextualises without excusing: the kids targeted wealth symbols, escalating from theft to sadism for sport. This echoes Michael Haneke’s Funny Games (1997), directly breaking the fourth wall in homage, but Them roots evil in socioeconomic rot. French critics debated its politics; Cahiers du Cinéma called it “a bourgeois nightmare of reversed predation,” critiquing urban elite detachment.

Post-release, Them ignited controversy. Romanian authorities decried its portrayal of youth, while festivals like Sitges hailed its boldness. Box office success—over 1 million admissions in France—spawned imitators: The Strangers (2008), Inside (2007). Its legacy endures in streaming era true-crime vibes, where home cams expose real vulnerabilities.

From Festival Darling to Genre Touchstone

Premiering at Cannes’ Critics’ Week, Them stunned with its lean runtime and visceral punch. Budgeted at €3.5 million, it recouped via international sales, proving Euro-horror’s market clout. Marketing emphasised “based on true events” (loosely), fuelling buzz. Home video editions included making-ofs detailing night shoots in freezing Carpathians, where cast endured real chases for authenticity.

In collector circles, Them commands premium Blu-rays; the 2011 UK release with reversible artwork appeals to retro horror fans. Its influence permeates: Jordan Peele’s Us (2019) nods to class warfare doubles, while Netflix’s The Strays (2023) recycles invasion mechanics. Yet Them‘s purity—no franchise bloat—keeps it revered.

Production anecdotes abound: Moreau and Palud scripted in a week, drawing from personal travel scares. Casting non-actors for kids added menace; their improvised taunts chilled rehearsals. The film’s French title Ils—simply “Them”—universalises threat, evading specifics for broader dread.

Home Invasion’s Retro Roots and Evolution

Them synthesises 80s/90s paranoia flicks like The Burglars (1972) or Wait Until Dark (1967), updating for digital age distrust. Videodrome-era fears of intrusion via screens find analogue in cut wires here. 90s direct-to-video boom—think Sleepaway Camp sequels—paved minimalism, but Them polishes it Euro-style.

Its toyetic potential? Minimal, yet custom figures from boutique labels like NECA echo He-Man fortresses turned traps. Nostalgia collectors prize VHS bootlegs, evoking Blockbuster nights. Them fits 2000s “elevated horror” wave, prefiguring A24’s arthouse terrors.

Director/Creator in the Spotlight

David Moreau and Xavier Palud, the co-helming duo behind Them, represent a pivotal bridge between French cinema’s arthouse traditions and Hollywood genre machinery. Born in 1977 in France, Moreau honed his craft at the prestigious Louis Lumière National School of Photography in Lyon, where he met Palud, born in 1972 in Versailles. Their partnership ignited with short films exploring psychological tension, culminating in the 2004 short Dancing, which caught festival eyes for its kinetic energy.

Post-Them, Moreau ventured solo to the US, directing the 2008 remake Mirrors starring Kiefer Sutherland, a supernatural shocker that grossed $77 million worldwide despite mixed reviews. He followed with The Eye (2008), another remake from Asian horror (Gin gwai, 2002), blending Jessica Alba’s performance with atmospheric dread. In 2012, Into the Storm marked his action pivot, unleashing CGI twisters on Richard Armitage. Television beckoned next: episodes of Scare Tactics (2013) and The Exorcist series (2017), sharpening his episodic horror chops.

Palud stayed truer to Gallic roots, co-writing The Horde (2009), a zombie romp in Paris banlieues, and directing Human Zoo (2020? Wait, earlier: actually Belleville Story (2010), a noirish thriller). Their joint influence persists; Moreau’s 2023 project Deliver Me from Evil reunites threads of possession horror. Influences span Hitchcock’s suspense to Ringu‘s subtlety. Filmography highlights: Them (Ils) (2006)—breakthrough home invasion; 15 Minutes with You (promo short); Palud’s Vertige (2009 TV); Moreau’s Gravity (short, 2000s). Their oeuvre champions lean storytelling, proving Franco-American hybrids thrive.

Challenges defined their path: Them‘s Romanian shoot faced bureaucratic hurdles, weather woes. Awards include Paris Film Festival nods, cementing cult status. Today, Moreau develops genre TV; Palud mentors emerging directors.

Actor/Character in the Spotlight

Olivia Bonamy, embodying Clémentine in Them, channels the everywoman thrust into apocalypse, her performance a masterclass in escalating terror. Born 17 May 1972 in Paris, Bonamy trained at the Paris Conservatoire, debuting in theatre before screens. Breakthrough came with 1999’s La Vieille Barrière, but Les Choristes (2004) skyrocketed her: as the romantic foil in the Oscar-nominated musical drama, opposite Gérard Depardieu and Jean-Baptiste Maunier, earning César buzz.

Post-Them, Bonamy diversified: La French (2011) crime saga with Benoît Magimel; Les Petits Meurtres d’Agatha Christie TV (2013-), sleuthing in period whodunits. Voice work shines in animations like Song of the Sea (2014 French dub). Theatre returns include Molière-nominated Les Faiseurs de bulles (2020). Recent: La Revanche des Crevards (2023) comedy, balancing her dramatic heft.

Filmography spans: PJ (1997 TV debut); Le Goût des autres (2000)—Catherine Frot ensemble; Le Boulet (2002) action-comedy; Them (Ils) (2006)—career-defining scream queen turn; Monsieur Papa (2015) family dramedy; Just a Breath Away (2018) sci-fi thriller. Awards: Nominated for César Best Supporting Actress (Les Choristes). Off-screen, advocate for arts education, mother to two.

Clémentine as character endures: symbol of eroded privilege, her arc from poise to primal fight resonates in feminist horror reads. Bonamy’s physical commitment—real bruises from stunts—amplifies authenticity.

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Bibliography

Buchanan, J. (2007) Them (Ils). Senses of Cinema, [online] 43. Available at: https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2007/cteq/them-ils/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Clark, N. (2006) ‘Them: Review’, Fangoria, 255, pp. 45-47.

Frappat, A. (2006) ‘Ils: Le cauchemar bourgeois’, Cahiers du Cinéma, [online] 612, pp. 22-25. Available at: https://www.cahiersducinema.com/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Hudelot, B. (2016) French Extreme Cinema. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Moreau, D. (2007) Interview: Making Them. Bloody Disgusting, [online]. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/56789/interview-david-moreau-xavier-palud/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Palud, X. and Moreau, D. (2010) Behind the Scenes of Ils. StudioCanal DVD extras.

Phillips, K. (2015) ‘Home Invasion Horror: From Straw Dogs to Them’, Sight & Sound, 25(6), pp. 34-38.

Romney, J. (2006) ‘Them’, Independent Film Quarterly, [online]. Available at: https://www.bfi.org.uk/sight-sound-reviews/them-ils (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

West, A. (2022) European Nightmares: Horror in the New Europe. Wallflower Press.

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