Genre:
Horror, Sci-Fi, Thriller
Produced by:
Jason Blum, Kylie Du Fresne
Directed by:
Leigh Whannell
Written by:
Leigh
Whannell
Production Company: Universal Pictures
Starring:
Elisabeth
Moss, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, Aldis Hodge, Storm Reid, Harriet Dyer, Michael
Dorman
Runtime: 124 minutes
SYNOPSIS:
Cecilia Kass (Elisabeth Moss) is still deeply traumatized from her past abusive
relationship with billionaire scientist Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen). After barely escaping his house a few nights
ago, she learns that Adrian has just committed suicide, leaving behind a large
fortune for her. But she believes that the news is untrue. As she tries to come
to terms with what happened, a sinister force starts haunting her, threatening
her life and, slowly but surely, those she loves. Her situation is made worse
by the fact that the force is someone no one can see.
REVIEW:
The origin story of the Invisible Man can be traced back further to the year 1903 with H.G. Wells’ similarly-titled novel. Written
by an author frequently described as the father of the science fiction genre,
it’s not surprising that the Invisible
Man ranks amongst some of his best and most influential works. Its
deceptively simple and fascinating premise of a man who can walk amongst regular
people without being seen is not only ahead of its time when it was released,
but, from the 19th century onward, it also has retain such timelessness
that compels many future storytellers to retread more or less the same ground Wells has covered before, whether it’s
in literature or cinema.
Universal, who had just launched their
own cinematic universe named the Universal Classic Monsters, would then buy the
film rights to Wells’ creation, with
its debut coming in the Claude Rains’
1933 adaptation. And the film soon became the studio’s biggest moneymaker since
Frankenstein (1931). The iconic sight
of the bandage-wrapped Rains as the
titular character remains indelibly seared into many filmgoers’ memory. Various
sequels, direct remakes and indirect reinterpretations of the tale follow suit,
ranging from the female version the
Invisible Woman (1940) to, most recently, Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man
(2000), none of which have performed as well as Rains’ film.
Now it is up to writer-director Leigh Whannell and prolific horror film
producer Jason Blum from Blumhouse to
make the latest iteration of the
Invisible Man a thing again amongst the 2020 cinematic landscape. Whannell and Blum’s mission is far from easy, since it’s not a mystery that this
project has been trapped in development hell for so long. Before the two were ever
involved in its production, the Invisible
Man was initially planned as the next big-budget, blockbuster installment
in the rebranded version of the Universal Classic Monsters universe called the
Dark Universe, succeeding Tom Cruise’s
the Mummy (2017). Johnny Depp was attached at one point to
play the Invisible Man himself. The Mummy’s
critical and box office failure quickly ended any hopes for a Johnny Depp-led the Invisible Man.
Whannell’s fresh,
audacious and timely modernization of the classic the Invisible Man lore though is an encouraging sign of a once
floundering franchise going on the right track. Considering how much of the unfolding
horror is like watching a twisted one-man-band act, where there’s only one
character in the scenes to enact a struggle against another character that, ironically,
almost never appears on the screen, it is an unexpectedly entertaining watch
nonetheless. Some of the credit must go to both Universal and Jason Blum for letting Whannell have total creative control
over the story, style and tone of such a big IP project, thus allowing the Invisible Man to live up to its fullest
potential. Here is a fine mixture of the arthouse and the mainstream, in which
the Hollywood studio system has wholly embraced its filmmaker’s singular, uncompromising
sensibilities.
This 2020 reimagining justifies its own
existence by being different and original. It’s an anxiety-inducing heart
attack of a horror film, one that’s pervasively bleaker and more unsettling than
previous the Invisible Man adaptations
and more restrained bordering on austerity. Made with a shoestring budget of
only $ 7 million, Whannell’s intimate,
stripped-down take on the source materials proves that less is more, elevating what
is seemingly a silly, B-grade premise to a bare-knuckle thrill ride that never
lets up and seems to engulf its viewers in this horror film equivalent of being
locked in a room with walls that are gradually closing in, threatening to
squash them from the sides.
The implausibility of its central
science fiction conceit too is eerily plausible this time around, even inching
closer towards the Sleeping with the
Enemy (1991), stalker thriller territory in which the source material’s familiar
themes and character arcs have been radically repurposed with newer context as a
chilling domestic abuse parable rooted in the #MeToo era, where the malevolent mad
scientist Adrian Griffin/the Invisible Man plays the stalker/abuser and his
long-suffering girlfriend Cecilia plays the unwilling victim. In a deft, resonant
way, Whannell challenges the viewers’
expectation of how the story is generally told by humanizing the issue,
portraying the burden of experiencing such a toxic relationship through the
eyes of the girlfriend and, given the boyfriend’s abusive behavior towards her,
rightly sympathizing with her more often than not. And through this perspective,
the film manages the tricky feat of staying faithful to the erotic undercurrent
prevalent in Rains’ the Invisible Man while also using such
trope to hold up a fractured mirror on today society’s worst instincts.
At the same time, the Invisible Man is a lovingly-crafted piece of work, sustaining a
palpable sense of foreboding creepiness from beginning to end through sheer visual
splendor. The first shot alone contains one of the most arresting images ever
to grace the screen in 2020 so far. That aforementioned shot, which features giant
waves crashing against the rocks over and over again just as the credit title
appears on the screen, as if it’s temporarily etched onto the rocks by the
water, before disappearing, while Adrian’s glass house can be seen in the
distance, perched atop the hills, makes it clear that the film is in a safe
pair of hands. On the one hand, it’s a nifty homage to the black-and-white Transylvanian
aesthetic found in many of the past 1930’s Universal Monsters theatrical
releases, but on the other, there is almost a hypnotic quality to its imageries
that draws its audience further into the narrative’s series of slowly unfurling
nightmare.
And
the Invisible Man does a great job of setting Adrian up
as a constant threat that hangs over Cecilia’s shoulder even long before he
ever becomes the titular character. In the film’s breathless opening sequence
for instance, Cecilia has to tiptoe her way out of the glass house without
waking Adrian up and the near wordless manner in which the entire scene plays
out gives it a real sense of urgency. This is just one sequence amongst many during
its two-hour running time that highlights Whannell’s
considerable virtuosity in the art of suspense- building, pushed to the next
level by the top-notch sound design.
The
Invisible Man
blends the quiet-loud dynamics together with painstaking precision. The long
stretches of dead silence are pretty unnerving, particularly when Cecilia is
moving from one dark corner to another or past Adrian’s glass-walled bedroom. Any
time she inadvertently makes a noise, even so much as a pin drop, the soundtrack
blares frantically to life as if she had just activated a warning siren.
But the film serves as another reminder
that Whannell is a smart storyteller
who fortifies his signature flair with real dramatic substance. The aforementioned
escape sequence is sprinkled with subtle details to give a rough, but clear enough
idea of what’s going on with Adrian and Cecilia’s relationship at this moment, to
the point where Cecilia finally comes to the decision one night to flee from
her boyfriend’s house, while not revealing too much and, even more remarkable, shying
away from the exploitative aspects of its subject matter. Cecilia’s careful
stride and hawk-like alertness throughout the scene speaks volume about Adrian’s
villainous, abusive nature, this despite the fact that the latter spends the majority
of the scene vast asleep in his bed.
Andy
Canny’s
sharp editing helps carry the storytelling load for Whannell in this opening sequence, as it frantically cuts back and
forth between Cecilia making her escape and Adrian still in his bed to not only
ratchet up the tension, but to also illustrate how Adrian’s iron grip on Cecilia’s
life seems to loom eternally over her, even when he is in a perceived calm,
frail state such as in his sleep and later, in death.
In that way, the Invisible Man emerges as a true horror masterpiece. Whannell’s thinking man’s vision of a
creature feature is so grounded in some semblance of recognizable social or
political reality because it is deeply intertwined with Cecilia’s innermost human
fear. The filmmaker wisely devotes the remainder of the film to exploring her
trauma, the difficulties of escaping it and its relation to her past with
Adrian, which is given more credence by the story’s astute time jump to two
weeks into the future, where she’s hiding in her attentive friend/town’s cop
James Lanier’s (Aldis Hodge) house. Cecilia’s
drastic downward spiral makes complete logical sense within the current fabric
of the narrative, which shows the side effect of her leaving Adrian for good.
There is one scene that’s going to be a
tough sit for anyone who has PTSD or a severe case of agoraphobia, when Cecilia,
persuaded by James, finally steps into the outside world for the first time in
weeks, doing well to get as far as the mailbox before the terrifying glimpse of
a hooded man, who she assumed to be Adrian, starts heading her direction before
jogging past her, enough to scare her back into the house. First things first,
it goes without saying that it’s yet again another technically well-done scene
in a film loaded with many of them. There’s a sense of tangibility to what
Cecilia is going through that is just as scary as or even scarier than the simpler,
more well-worn horror film sequences. A strange, echoey chill runs through her every
labored step in a riveting cold sweat of a moment where the sound creates the
impression that walking in the front yard is as much of a milestone to her as an
astronaut walking on the moon.
Furthermore, tonally, the scene fits
right in with Whannell’s
psychological approach to the supernatural thrills. He keeps things at a
slow-burn as the film takes advantage of the paranoia that comes with the
story’s concept of invisibility to hammer home the gaslighting metaphor. The Invisible Man brilliantly toys with the
uncanny notion that a supernatural entity can interfere with the living in ways
that make it seem like the living is a crazy person and, even worse, a bigger danger
to their surroundings than the supernatural entity. That notion lays the
foundation for some of the film’s most shocking moments, like when Cecilia
suddenly goes from being a witness to the prime suspect of a horrific crime in
a crowded restaurant.
The film’s revisionist characterization of the Invisible Man sets the
character’s deadly game of cat-and-mouse with Cecilia in motion. The Invisible Man goes about dismantling
and destroying the old tradition and rebuilding it in a way that feels new and
unique. Noticeably, from a character design standpoint, this Invisible Man is a
polar opposite of his Claude Rains
or even H.G. Wells’ counterparts. Whannell is fully committed to the idea
that the Invisible Man is quite literally the Invisible Man, a transparent being
who wants to remain forever undetected in the naked eye. There is no
bandage-covered face or a pair of goggles to help make out what he looks like
if he wants to be seen, which makes him an even more memorable presence. The
Invisible Man’s indistinct shape adds an air of legitimacy to him as a threat
that deserves to be taken seriously. The 2020’s’ Invisible Man is an odd breed
of a mad scientist: an all-round creep who is more interested with getting
revenge on his ex over perfecting his science.
Whannell’s plight is
aided by Stefan Duscio’s ominous cinematography.
It is easily the film’s greatest asset. The camera becomes a character in
itself, which is an effective means to make Jackson-Cohen’s presence as the Invisible Man felt on a more
consistent basis as Duscio and the
latter work double duty to represent his voyeuristic perspective.
There are some POV shots that are almost
like watching a magic trick, where what looks normal on the surface can
suddenly become scary through a different lens. One shot of the characters in
an elated mood gives way to horror when it cuts to another shot of
the same image, peeking from behind the wall as if it’s the Invisible Man watching
over them. Duscio also favors
deliberate camera movement and long, lingering shots of empty spaces to arouse
uncertainty at the peculiar sight of a chair with a mark that appears like
someone is sitting on it or when Cecilia tries to pull a blanket and it won’t budge,
as if someone is standing on it, prompting viewers to second guess whatever is
on the screen.
In typical Whannell fashion, the bigger horror sequences are just as artfully
executed. There is a visceral charge to the way Whannell displays the Invisible Man’s power, with the camera moving
erratically to mimic the subjects being thrown all over the place like a
ragdoll that’s reminiscent of his previous work Upgrade (2018). That visceral level of action dominates a film with
a Speed (1994)-inspired story
construction, where it’s one captivity thriller set-piece on top of another, with
a few surprising twists and turns here and there before culminating with an
ending that is simply a huge sigh of relief, like a weight has been lifted. And
Benjamin Wallfisch’s ferociously dissonant
yet haunting score propels the film along in a way that feels like its viewers,
like Cecilia, have been taken to hell and back.
The
Invisible Man
demonstrates Whannell’s ability to
use the horror genre to get the best out of his small cast. Everyone really sell
their roles, lending credibility and believability to the many outlandish scenarios
where they have to be alone on the screen, rolling around on the floor, flailing
their arms, choking at thin air and being thrown around to convince viewers
that they’re in a struggle with the largely unseen the Invisible Man. Like how Upgrade is predominantly Logan Marshall Green’s film, the Invisible Man truly belongs to Elisabeth Moss instead of the Invisible
Man himself.
Moss delivers an
Oscar-worthy and career-best lead performance as Griffin’s abused ex-girlfriend
Cecilia Kass. It’s a role that’s admittedly right in her wheelhouse but, once
again, she acquits herself to the task pretty well, showing off her signature
range and searing intensity to fully disappear under her character’s traumatized
skin. Her physical and mental transformation is nothing short of chameleon-like
and nuanced, embodying the raw vulnerability and unhinged madness of a woman
dealing with PTSD. She also offers a great deal of physicality required to make
her little one woman show theatrics appear as if Cecilia is actually stalked
and attacked by the Invisible Man.
Oliver
Jackson-Cohen
is genuinely frightening in a solid villainous turn as the title character
Adrian Griffin/the Invisible Man. Jackson-Cohen
isn’t in the film that much, but he makes every minute count. With his magnetic
good looks, disarming charm, and a few wild, uncontrollable bursts of sociopathic
tendencies, he channels his inner Patrick Bateman as he creates a menacing
presence whose aura not only transcends his fairly limited screentime, but also
keeps Moss’ Cecilia ill at ease even
in alleged death. His lean, mean and bad to the core interpretation of the
character is about as far removed from Rains’
sympathetic portrayal as it can go.
Aldis
Hodge
brings some gravitas to a rather thankless supporting role of James Lanier,
Cecilia’s childhood friend who tries to balance helping her get back to her
feet as well as his duty as the town’s cop assigned to find the truth behind Griffin’s
mysterious death. Storm Reid plays James’
teenage daughter Sydney with some millennial swagger and a confident glint in
her eyes, even forging a sisterly chemistry with Moss’ Cecilia in the few occasions they share the screen. Speaking
of sisters, Harriet Dyer defines Cecilia’s
biological sister Emily’s concern and disbelief at her sister’s mental decline
in an understated, down-to-earth fashion. Michael
Dorman is ideally suited to play Adrian’s brother and lawyer Tom Griffin,
whose slimy and intimidating nature poses a worthy foe for Cecilia and her
family and friends, next to Jackson-Cohen’s
Adrian Griffin.
CONCLUSION:
The
Invisible Man
is a brilliant showcase of Leigh
Whannell’s talent as the master of horror, with this clever,
nerve-shredding reinvention of the beloved Universal Monster that blends
non-stop suspense, social commentary and Elisabeth
Moss’ tour-de-force performance.
Score: 10/10
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