SPOILER-FREE REVIEW
Led by a stunning performance by Elisabeth Moss, The Invisible Man offers riveting psychological horror and makes for a highly effective and timely reboot.
The Invisible Man. Perhaps the greatest thing that director Leigh Whannell does with his reboot of the classic film is to make it about the victim, rather than a study of the eponymous character. That way, he remains every bit the unnatural threat that the title implies. Make no mistake, this isn’t a thriller about a man misunderstood and driven over the edge. It’s a monster movie barely disguised, mining the psychological horror of domestic abuse and its many insidious forms. Where other films deal with ghosts and demons, The Invisible Man deals in something that for many people, is all too real. To bring just a little bit of that omnipresent terror, the tension and the discomfort, home to the audience is all this thriller needs to do to successfully re-invent this classic sci-fi tale. And it does so in such a way that, as horrified as you are, you never quite manage to look away from the screen.
The film focuses on Cecelia, played with aplomb by Elisabeth Moss, whose abusive and controlling husband commits suicide shortly after she escapes from their home in the dead of night. But before she can get back to living her life, she finds herself dogged by misfortune, and it’s not long before she discovers her husband is responsible. An unstable but brilliant scientist who specialised in optics, he’s returned having donned a suit that allows him to become totally invisible, with the sole aim of stalking her and tormenting her until she breaks.
With this reboot, Whannell transforms the invisible man into the embodiment of the omnipresent threat of an abuser, with all the reach and power that entails. Made invisible, that figure gains even more power and is made all the more terrifying. More than just a simple tale about a man going undercover to wreak havoc, The Invisible Man is an exploration of abuse, and the many forms it can take, from psychological manipulation to outright physical violence. As a reboot, it strikes the perfect sweet spot by offering a unique and original take on familiar source material, respecting without necessarily paying too much deference to it. Elisabeth Moss anchors the film in place with a phenomenal performance, as her character gradually loses her mind and spirals out of control under this psychological torture. As raw as her tears and anger feel, she’s even more brilliant in those moments where she’s on the verge of breaking: with an almost calm and intimidating presence, like a cornered animal.
Despite showing off too much in its trailers, which I recommend you avoid, the film remains a thoroughly riveting psychological horror. The strong central narrative is complemented by a steady, deliberate pace and several twists that are truly unexpected, where Whannell pays off seemingly insignificant events from earlier in the film in spectacular fashion. The tension and horror rapidly escalate out of control and the audience is dragged along after Cecelia as she enters a steep downward spiral. Many genres are reliant on the idea of set pieces being strung together into the final product. The Invisible Man is no different, although its editors deserve credit for blending them into one another instead of clearly demarking where the horror in horror movie is actually allowed to happen. The set pieces themselves are creative and naturalistic rather than contrived, and every so often, you get a good jolt as its antagonist makes an appearance out of nowhere to ruin Cecelia’s life still further.
It’s also easy to appreciate the skilled craftsmanship. Through Benjamin Wallfisch’s transformative score, we gain a greater appreciation for Cecelia when she would otherwise appear to be talking to thin air, and seemingly innocuous empty corners and doorways suddenly feel as though a malevolent presence is standing there, watching.The cinematographers have also made clever use of camera angles and perspective; even within the first few minutes, they deliver shots of Cecelia trying to escape Adrian’s clutches, trying to get his hand off her belly without waking him. Later as she swirls his glass of water, a milky cloud of medicated powder appears, synchronised with the roar of waves breaking on the nearby coast; she’s drugged him and with that shot alone, we come to understand her plight. We see their luxurious beachside home, with its security cameras, alarms and high walls, for the prison it is.
In so doing, Whannell takes a different direction than Hollow Man, which suggests that a man who became invisible would become a voyeuristic, malevolent sexual predator. Our focus is shifted from abuser to victim and we gain a subtler exploration of the relationship between the two. With The Invisible Man, it’s less about what he would do and more about her: what does she do when she’s being tormented, gagged for fear of reprisal, when no one listens or believes her until it’s far too late and the damage has been done?
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