Given current geopolitics, a movie called Homefront seems like it has to be about terrorism. But no; the Jason Statham vehicle pits him not against stereotypical evil Muslims or North Koreans (a la Olympus Has Fallen), but rather against stereotypical evil meth-selling "rednecks" (as the film calls them.) Rather than the War on Terror we get the War on Drugs, set in a backwoods Louisiana setting that nods to the rural grotesque of Deliverance, with banjo music updated to terrible pseudo-metal.
And yet, even though it doesn't address post-9/11 anxieties in quite the way you'd expect, the film does key into them. The reason "homefront" resonates with the War on Terror is because the War on Terror, wherever it takes place in the world, is driven (again, especially post-9/11) by the determination to protect U.S. civilians. Homefront may be talking about meth rather than Osama, but on a deeper level it appreciates, and uses, the connection between home, family, and violence.
The conflict of the film kicks off when undercover DEA agent Phil Broker (Statham) is inadvertently involved in the death of meth dealer Danny T's (Chuck Zito) no-good biker son. Statham leaves the force and the area in order to protect his daughter Maddy (Izabela Vidovic), but after she has an altercation at school with a bully he ends up in a family feud with the aforementioned stereotypical rednecks, and in particular with meth dealer Gator Bodine (James Franco.) The film then proceeds to run threat variations: The house is invaded and a toy bunny mutilated; Maddy is endangered; etc. etc. Each attack on home and hearth leads inevitably to a joyful outflow of violence, with Statham swinging naturally back and forth between buttoned-up, masculine, non-emoting emoting and vicious, masculine, non-emoting action heroics.