A theory: the movie Home Alone is an elaborate metaphor about being gay. It is an allegory for dealing with one’s demons, alone, and accepting yourself for who you are: a gay ass motherfucker.
I’m serious! Hear me out on this.
This is a ridiculous queer viewing of the film but I have a feeling it is exactly what Chris Columbus intended for audiences to see when watching Home Alone but, unfortunately, we were too caught up in Kevin McCallister (Macaulay Culkin) to notice the truth of the film. It’s a gay ass movie!
Let’s start from the beginning: everyone hates Kevin. He’s different. He plays with hot glue guns and is obsessed with objects, specifically the newest toys—and the normalcy and acceptance that everyone else in his family has. Why? Because he’s a little fag. The rare moment in which Kevin can express himself and stand up for himself, he is greeted with hate. “Look what you did you little jerk,” an uncle yells at him for standing up for himself. His being himself causes a chain reaction of unrest for upsetting the norm. “Kevin,” his brother says. “You’re such a disease.“
Kevin is eventually kicked out of the family, banished to the attic after expressing himself. What’s the attic? A giant fucking closet, for everything that is unwanted, including sexual expression. The thought of having to hide who he is in the attic is the catalyst for Kevin discovering his true self. He begins rejecting constructions of hetereonormativity like family (“I don’t want any family. Families suck!”) and his mother (“I don’t want to see you again for the rest of my whole life. I don’t want to see anybody else either.”) and marriage (“When I grow up and get married, I’m living alone!”), eventually turning to the only person he can trust in his queerness: himself (“Did you hear me! I’m living alone! I’m living alone! I’m living alone!”).
After this coming out, it happens: the baggage and weight of the straight man is dropped. His family has disappeared and he is free to be himself! He rejects the demands of a patriarchal society, he rejects the female body by throwing away a Playboy and mocking Buzz’s girlfriend, and he rejects masculinity by shooting sports figures into the basement. And what about that basement? That’s the representation of his deepest self, his true self, the lowest part of himself that he is most scared of and wants to remain hidden: a flaming furnace of faggotry that he is forced to confront, to tell himself that he isn’t afraid of. Once he comes to terms with this fear, he is free of the self-flagellation that comes with realizing one’s queerness.
Happening in tandem, the film reveals something crucial about his family: Kevin’s life is ruled by a a strong female figure who “wears the pants” in the McCallister household, Kate McCallister. She pays for pizza and she switches flights and she questions her own existence when she realizes that she has left her son behind to discover himself on his own, to leave him in his time of need. The rest of his family makes fun of him (“This time he caught it in the butt,” his brother Buzz says from Paris.) while his mother vows to go back home, to support her gay son.
In the meantime, Kevin plays with the obviously gay pizza boy and uses camp movies to bluff, to present himself as hyper-heterosexual. He reads Women’s Day. He discovers for himself how masculinity can be constructed or deconstructed. He consults an elder gay—a daddy, Santa Claus—for advice. He even teaches a scared man who had a fight with his son, a fight that is probably about his own sexuality, to understand what it’s like to deal with “weird stuff” in your basement.
Of course, Kevin is rich enough that his issues with sexuality do not matter—and that is something that makes others jealous. Like who? The less fortunate attempting to pass as the straight man, a.k.a Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern. To teach them about themselves, he forces them into homeoerotic positions and repeatedly hits them in the testicles. Like he did earlier in the film, he forces these men into the attic (the glorified closet) to escape from themselves. Unfortunately for the men, their inability to deal with their own issues and vices in a constructive manner is their downfall—and they end up in jail as a result.
By the end of the movie, Kevin is fully out. He walks around the house in matching flannel pajamas and he redecorates the house and he can make terrific food for more than himself and he reunited the old man’s family: he has become a one man Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. Once his family returns, they have all accepted him for who he is because he is no longer hiding and angry and upset with everyone around him. He is himself. He is pure in his faggotry—and he is no longer alone.
So, yes, Home Alone is gay. It’s an elaborate metaphor for coming to terms with your sexuality. You just needed someone to point it out to you so that you could tell everyone else this holiday season that, yes, this movie is gay as fuck.
“But what about the Home Alone sequels?” you might ask. Those do not count. Those are the Bobby Trendy of the Home Alone gay experience.