From time to time, a studio dusts off an old property in the hope of reselling it, often for reduced purposes. With the latest version of “The Invisible Man”, Universal gave one of their horror classics a scary redesign with a disturbing #MeToo spin. The elegant James Whale film from 1933 focuses on a scientist whose experiences make him elusive and mad about murderers. (“An invisible man can rule the world!”) The emphasis here is not on the job title and the perils of science, but on his ex-girlfriend who learns that an abusive lover can be just as dangerous when he’s nowhere to be seen.
The full title of H.G. Wells’ 1897 novel is “The Invisible Man: A Grotesque Romance”. Written and directed by Leigh Whannell, this clever and cleverly updated version plays with the different meanings of “romance” by fusing the basic vanity of Wells’ strange tale with the fallout from an abusive romantic relationship. Whannell telegraphs the relationship, its power dynamics and its evils, when he presents Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) lying in bed in the middle of the night with a man’s arm wrapped around her waist. Even when he sleeps, Adrian (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) keeps her firmly.
Cecilia, however, quickly slips out of her reach, then exits through the front door, after secretly arranging an escape. Whannell flexes his horror movie muscles nicely in this taut opener, creating the nervous mood with golden genre oldies – squeaks and squeaks and a sudden blast – as Cecilia, with bright eyes, crawls through the shadows. Working well with his limited budget, Whannell also makes expressive use of Adrian’s cold, self-flattering modernist hangout with its glass walls and sharp angles. Perched on a cliff above the breaking waves of the Pacific, the house is both an emblem of male success and a prison for women, just like Gothic mansions.
With the help of her sister (Harriet Dyer), Cecilia finds refuge with a close friend, James (Aldis Hodge), who lives with her teenage daughter (Storm Reid). Cecilia tries to settle into her freedom, but – like the public – remains on high alert, the body trembling and the gaze nervously sailing. We then learn that Adrian has committed suicide, leaving Cecilia a small fortune administered by Adrian’s shy and unctuous brother (Michael Dorman, giving a good whirlwind). She finds it all quite difficult to take, having a rightly suspicious mind. But this twist allows him to drop his guard, creating a teasing calm that well-trained horror fans know is only temporary.
Whannell does a lot of smart things here, including the way he uses bodies in rooms. He likes to isolate Cecilia in the plan, surrounding her with a negative space that seems at first glance to simply express her feelings of isolation. This is consistent with the way he deploys different points of view, as he moves from what Cecilia sees to seemingly unmotivated camera movements, like panning in an empty corner. As Cecilia relaxes in her new release, Whannell continues to report that something is wrong. Minor accidents – a kitchen fire, a falling knife – make you even more afraid, and by the time the front door mysteriously opens, you’re ready for the worst.
Moss’ full performance – anchored by his extraordinarily flexible face – gives the film its emotional challenges. The figure of the woman in danger tends to be irresistible, but you must also care about the character, really share her worries and her terrors. With her high forehead, her prominent jaw and her eyes that can explode or shrink threateningly, Moss has an ideal canvas for the big screen, one that she fills with subtle fluctuations that allow you to follow the interior states of Cecilia herself. when she calms down. The directors like to overpump Moss’ tears (she’s a real sobbing sister), but here, the water network does not come out, which complicates Cecilia’s idea as an unfortunate victim.
Whannell has fun with the invisible threat of history, sometimes with an overly enthusiastic touch. He constructs the frightening scene scene by scene, increasing the shocks of weeks to howls as Cecilia’s isolation and renewed abuse gradually worsen. Some moments sink into sadism (there is a horrible job with a knife), although that is also part of the genre manual. Cecilia must endure a punitive ordeal and fight for her life as she tries to convince a skeptical world that the threat is not in her head. (She never has been!) She’s gas lit, and although her agony may be disturbing, she’s even more frightening when her crying stops and this distressed horror maid becomes a threat. .
The invisible Man
Classified R for knife and rifle violence and domestic violence. Duration: 1 hour 50 minutes.
