People still talk about the towels. If you’ve seen the movie, you know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s this specific, chilling moment where Julia Roberts’ character, Laura Burney, realizes her abusive husband has found her because the hand towels in the bathroom are aligned with obsessive, surgical precision. It’s a small detail. It’s also terrifying. Sleeping with the Enemy didn’t just become a box-office hit in 1991; it tapped into a very real, very visceral fear about the domestic space being a site of danger rather than safety.
It’s been decades. Yet, the film remains a touchstone for the domestic thriller genre. It wasn't just a vehicle for Roberts to solidify her "America's Sweetheart" status following Pretty Woman. No, it was something darker. It was a film that dealt with the mechanics of escape. While critics at the time—like Roger Ebert, who gave it a lukewarm 1.5 stars—found the plot somewhat predictable or "slasher-adjacent," audiences disagreed. They turned it into a $175 million success.
Why? Because the reality of sleeping with the enemy is a concept that resonates far beyond the 100-minute runtime. It’s about the person who knows your habits, your fears, and your hiding spots being the one you need to hide from.
The Psychology of Control in Martin Burney
To understand why this movie works, you have to look at Patrick Bergin’s portrayal of Martin Burney. He isn't a mustache-twirling villain. He’s worse. He is a high-functioning, wealthy, and deeply insecure man who equates love with total ownership. In the film, Martin’s obsession with order—the perfectly straightened canned goods, the aforementioned towels—is a psychological manifestation of his need to control Laura.
Psychologists often point to this as a classic depiction of Coercive Control. While the term wasn't as prevalent in the public lexicon in 1991 as it is today, the film illustrates it perfectly. It’s not just about physical violence, though that is present and harrowing. It’s about the erosion of the victim's autonomy. Laura can’t choose her clothes. She can’t choose her friends. She is a prisoner in a glass house on the beach.
The film's cinematographer, Howard Atherton, used the architecture of that beach house to emphasize this. It’s cold. It’s modern. It’s full of windows, yet it feels claustrophobic. You’re always being watched. That’s the core of the sleeping with the enemy trope: the lack of privacy in your most intimate relationship.
The Great Escape and the "Dead" Protagonist
The middle act of the film shifts gears entirely. Laura fakes her own death during a storm at sea—a sequence that required Roberts to spend significant time in the water, which she famously disliked. This "reset" button is a common fantasy for people in trapped situations. She moves to Cedar Falls, Iowa. She changes her name to Sara Waters. She eats apples. She wears flowy, unstructured clothes.
Basically, she tries to un-become the person Martin created.
But the tension in the second act comes from the audience knowing Martin is coming. The film uses a standard "ticking clock" mechanic. Martin finds the wedding ring Laura flushed down the toilet. He realizes the "blind" neighbor who supposedly saw her drown was a lie. This is where the film leans into the "slasher" elements Ebert criticized. Martin is relentless. He’s like a shark. He tracks her down with the efficiency of a private investigator, which, given his resources, he essentially is.
Production Secrets and the Roberts Era
At the time, Julia Roberts was the biggest star on the planet. She was 23. Dealing with the heavy themes of domestic abuse while under the paparazzi microscope was intense. Rumors circulated about tension on set, particularly between Roberts and the director, Joseph Ruben. Ruben was known for thrillers like The Stepfather, and he brought that same sense of suburban rot to this project.
Interestingly, the role of Laura wasn't initially written for Roberts. Kim Basinger was heavily considered, as was Jane Fonda. But Roberts brought a specific vulnerability that made the audience's investment in her survival much higher. We weren't just watching a character; we were watching "Julia" in peril.
The score by Jerry Goldsmith also does a lot of the heavy lifting. It’s melodic but has these sharp, discordant edges that mirror Laura’s internal state. Even when she’s "safe" in Iowa with her new love interest, Ben (played by Kevin Anderson), the music reminds us that the threat hasn't vanished.
Real-World Impact and Misconceptions
One of the biggest criticisms of sleeping with the enemy is that it simplifies the process of leaving an abusive relationship. In reality, leaving is the most dangerous time for a survivor. The film shows Laura "winning" through a final, violent confrontation. While cathartic for a movie audience, real-world experts often note that this "final girl" narrative can be misleading.
Domestic violence advocacy groups in the 90s had mixed feelings. On one hand, the movie brought the conversation into the mainstream. It showed that abuse happens in "perfect" wealthy homes, not just in "troubled" neighborhoods. On the other hand, the idea that you can just disappear and start a new life with a new name is incredibly difficult in the modern age of digital footprints and social security numbers. In 1991, you could arguably get away with it. In 2026? Almost impossible without professional intervention.
Why the Title Became a Cultural Idiom
The phrase "sleeping with the enemy" has evolved. It’s no longer just a movie title. It’s used in business to describe awkward partnerships between competitors. It’s used in politics to describe bipartisan deals that feel like betrayals. But its roots are firmly planted in the domestic thriller.
The movie’s success spawned a whole sub-genre of "woman in peril" films throughout the 90s, including The Net, Copycat, and Enough. None of them quite captured the same atmospheric dread as the Burney household. There is something specifically haunting about a man who loves you so much he wants to destroy you.
Taking Action: Safety and Awareness
If the themes of the movie hit too close to home, or if you're interested in the reality behind the fiction, there are concrete steps to take. Real-world domestic situations don't require a theatrical "death at sea," but they do require a plan.
- Safety Planning: This isn't just about leaving. It's about having a "go-bag" with essentials: ID, cash, and documents stored somewhere safe, like a trusted friend’s house.
- Digital Hygiene: Modern "enemies" use stalkerware and shared accounts. Changing passwords and checking for GPS tracking on vehicles is the 2026 version of checking the hand towels.
- Professional Support: Organizations like the National Domestic Violence Hotline (in the US) provide anonymous counseling. You don't have to do the "Julia Roberts escape" alone.
- Documentation: Keeping a record of incidents in a way the perpetrator can't find—perhaps in a locked digital vault—is crucial for legal protection later.
Sleeping with the Enemy remains a fascinating piece of pop culture history. It’s a movie that is both of its time and strangely timeless. We still look at our towels a little differently after watching it. We still worry about the person in the bed next to us, just a little bit, when the lights go out. It’s a reminder that the most dangerous monsters aren't under the bed; sometimes, they're the ones tucking you in.
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The movie ends with a phone call to the police, where Laura tells them she’s "just killed an intruder." It’s a powerful moment of reclaiming her space. She stops being the victim and starts being the homeowner. It’s a Hollywood ending, sure, but for millions of viewers, it was the first time they saw a woman on screen take her life back from a man who thought he owned it.
To really understand the impact of the film, look at how we still use its name to describe any situation where trust is compromised by proximity. It’s the ultimate cautionary tale about the high cost of a "perfect" life.