We need to talk about Kevin McCallister. As a six-year-old, I saw him as someone to be revered. He was brave, Christmassy and able to eat ice cream without permission. For myself, and many children at the time, he was a suburban hero.
But during the next 25 years and upon many repeat viewings of Home Alone, my thoughts on Macaulay Culkin’s home-defending brute have changed rather radically. What appeared like selfless heroics in 1990 were in fact signs of early on-set antisocial personality disorder. A slapstick comedy became the study of a sadist in training and if anything, that angle only added to my enjoyment.