With a relatively short production schedule, the filmmakers were on high alert from the get-go. Essentially, they were confronted with a film that is primarily set on one street and largely within one home on that street.

As they began pre-production on “Disturbia,” however, they quickly found that even “one street/one home” movies can be challenging. “It sounded like a very simple movie to shoot,” says Caruso. “A boy has a tragedy in the beginning and then gets sentenced to house arrest. 

From then on he’s basically in his home where he starts looking out at his neighbors. But as we began figuring out the logistics of what we needed each house in the neighborhood to be, we eventually ended up with a backyard in one city, a front yard in a different city and interiors built on soundstages. It was a lot more difficult than I’d first imagined.”

What proved particularly helpful to the director in maximizing his shooting days was his alliance with production designer Tom Southwell. Caruso and Southwell’s relationship dates back to “Drop Zone” on which Caruso was handling the second unit.

That experience proved so fruitful that when Caruso was about to direct his first film, “The Salton Sea,” he brought Southwell onboard as production designer. Southwell has continued to design every Caruso film since. 

The question on “Disturbia” was, “What will our suburbia look like?” As Caruso notes, “There have been films with suburban neighborhoods made up of cookie-cutter houses, many of them in the ‘70s and ‘80s. But suburban neighborhoods have changed and we really wanted each house to have its own personality.

For Kale’s house, we loved the idea of a Craftsman, like the ones you see in Pasadena (many of which are modeled on the Arts and Crafts bungalows of Charles and Henry Greene). 

We felt like that style would be warm and inviting and, at the same time, it could be a scary, dark place when the movie turns into a thriller. 
“The Greene & Greene architecture feels hooded, with the deep-set windows and doors, overhanging porches and other elements designed to keep out the sunlight,” continues Caruso.  “So, it’s always much brighter outside and darker and cooler inside.  For a voyeuristic movie, we liked having our lead character in the dark, looking out into the light.”

Producer Walsh adds, “Obviously, the big thing we had to look for was the neighborhood and the house.  Everything takes place in that house.  And there were certain needs in terms of the front of the house and the back of the house that led to a countrywide search.”

Neighborhoods in North Carolina and Georgia were explored as were areas in California and every studio backlot in town. The quest was complicated by the fact that the script called for certain specific characteristics in Kale’s home including second-story windows that look out onto the front, back and side yards, as well as a driveway (which separates Kale’s house from Ashley’s) and a backyard (that bordered on Turner’s yard).

The major stumbling block proved to be finding the right backyard, since it entailed knocking on doors or, perhaps, hopping fences.  But Caruso had an idea – a helicopter ride. “We had to go up in a chopper and actually start educating ourselves on different backyards since that was the quickest way to view them,” says Walsh.

“That’s how we ultimately found what ended up being Turner’s backyard.”
The production split up Kale’s house into three locations:  the front was in Whittier, California (with Ashley’s house right next-door); the back of the house was in Pasadena (a false “back” was built and a fence was erected between the façade and Turner’s house); and interiors, primarily Kale’s bedroom, his late father’s study and the first floor kitchen, which were constructed on soundstages on the Paramount Pictures lot.  Any given scene might have to be filmed in three locations, and all the shots, of course, needed to match for continuity purposes.

To further distinguish the homes and provide subtextual “personalities,” Southwell and Caruso selected different color palettes for each. Turner’s was a cool blue, while Ashley’s home was a warm, inviting beige that glowed in daylight and included a large swimming pool built by the production.

Kale’s home remained architecturally true to its Craftsman design, with its earthy tones of greens and browns.

Another problem in shooting on location was the use of Pasadena’s historic area. The city has strict civic codes, though somehow the production did manage to get permission to shoot for an entire week at night.  Says producer Medjuck, “But we did it with a firm deadline hanging over our heads, so if anything went wrong, we weren’t going to be allowed to come back for an extra night. That put a certain amount of pressure on us.”

With Southwell and his team—set decorator Maria Nay and art director Douglas Cumming—expertly coordinating and dressing the existing locations (and the wholly created ones), the assembled suburb took on a life of its own, and the spaces themselves became characters. “The spaces reflect who our characters are,” says Moss, “because they are the settings of our lives. So in a way they themselves become characters.

You look around and see the details and you feel the connections.  It’s a subtle thing, but Tom was really able to capture a real, true quality in his work, which definitely impacted all our work.  The spaces felt lived-in, as if you’d been over for dinner at a house just like this.”

Caruso and the design team went so far as to scout teenagers’ rooms to crib ideas and plug into the utmost in current teen bedroom reality — complete with chaos. As Southwell explains, “Parents allowed me to photograph the mess their teenagers had made, as well as all the kids’ personal touches. So there were posters, CDs, computers, books, pictures on the walls, clothes on the floor -- an explosion of visual material.  As we would go through these houses, D.J. would come over and whisper to me, ‘You know, I like that.’”

The verisimilitude also extended to the wardrobe created by Marie-Sylvie Deveau, continuing her collaboration with Caruso (Deveau previously costumed his “Two for the Money” and “Taking Lives”). 

The same attention to detail and character delineation was lavished on Kale’s clothes, his mom’s and those of their neighbors and friends. Kale and Ronnie’s clothes are comfortable, slacker/geek wear; Julie wears both casual and business attire; Ashley has a closet full of sun and party clothes; and Turner wore staid, unflashy apparel.   

When the film you’re making is about people observing, photographing and videoing other people, the role of director of photography becomes even more pivotal.  That key slot was filled by Rogier Stoffers, whose atmospheric and award-winning cinematography has been utilized in a wide variety of films, both in the United States and abroad.

The partnership among the director, cinematographer and production designer was configured as a three-way street, with conferences on such issues as the multiple dressings and looks of the windows (through which much of the film is viewed) and the wall colors (which could be taken from bright to sinister with lighting adjustments).

During meetings there were careful discussions about glass (antique, filtered, matte), wood (graininess, sheen, color) and window coverings (blinds, sheers, draperies), all in an effort to provide as much variety to the “eyes of the house” as possible, and to prevent (as Southwell put it) “people yawning the second and third time we go to the window.” 

To provide further variety to the vantage points of Kale’s story, Caruso was intent on keeping the camera in motion, despite the fact that he was working largely in the interior confines of a single home. “D.J.’s very good with the camera in the sense that it’s almost always moving, even though we shot in a lockdown situation,” says producer Medjuck.

“He’s very aware when we’re filming from someone’s point-of-view and whether it’s with the naked eye, through binoculars or a video camera.  We actually ended up utilizing quite a few shots that were literally taken with a video camera.  D.J. himself held the camera and swung it around multiple times, as if Kale were looking through it and filming across the way.”

Directing “Disturbia” was a guilty pleasure for Caruso, who notes, “Because I’m a filmmaker, I am in constant voyeur mode, whether I’m listening to a conversation or in a supermarket shopping. 

So this project, for me, was a catharsis of sorts.  It felt good doing this because, basically, I feel that my whole life I’ve been watching and spying and capturing little moments between actors.  So, in a way, I was able to put myself in Kale’s shoes, look over his shoulder and play out these voyeuristic fantasies in my mind, both as a filmmaker and as an audience member. I think that’s the attraction to this kind of movie. The audience always feels a little guilty for watching, too.”

The cast also found the experience somewhat of a guilty pleasure. Morse says “I used to watch people all the time.  When I was in theater and nobody knew who I was, I would stand on the Boston streets sometimes for hours, even days, and just watch, and watch, and watch. 

I loved it.  But as my face became familiar, it was a little harder to do. As soon as you make eye contact, it’s all over.  The best place for me to observe people now is the New York subways, because nobody makes eye contact on the subway.  So I can look at everybody and get away with it.”

It all comes back to watching, which for Kale can only be done out the windows of his house. Yet those views afford a fairly unsettling picture of suburban life. As Caruso sums it up, “You start watching your neighbors.  You start studying their patterns. You start to imagine what things are happening in their homes and why.  And even though it could all be innocent, it could also be that subversive thing that some of us believe is what is really going on in suburbia.”