Remakes, reboots, and reimaginings have been around nearly as long as the movie business itself. Modern mass marketing can sometimes create the illusion that this is a 21st-century trend, but these often unimaginative policies date back to at least 1904 when director Sigmund Lubin remade Edwin S. Porter’s 1903 groundbreaking film, The Great Train Robbery. The logic has always been the same: why spend time and effort creating a new story when we can just copy one that has already been proven successful? From a money-making standpoint, this thought process holds water, but from an artistic one, things can quickly stale.
Of course, this is not always the case. In 2020, the plight of a half-mad invisible loon with delusions of world-domination is beyond passé, but when updated to include examinations of toxic masculinity, gaslighting, and abusive narcissism, things get interesting. Writer and Director James Whannell’s reimagined adaptation of The Invisible Man might have a few missteps, but on the whole, it’s both a welcomed horror-thriller and a sensible extension of a familiar tale. James Whale’s 1933 sci-fi chiller will likely remain the standard-bearer when it comes to big-screen versions of the classic H.G. Wells novel, but Whannell has struck on something few remakes can successfully harness: a modernized, topical rework that doesn’t betray the spirit of the original film – or novel.
The film begins with Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) sneaking off into the night from an opulent coastal estate. The care and effort she puts into her escape suggest that this retreat is a dangerous one, and, for a time, we can only guess as to why. Before long, it becomes eerily clear that what she’s fleeing is an abusive relationship, one so controlling that she fears for her life. When her wealthy engineer ex (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) inexplicably commits suicide and strange things begin to happen around her, Cecilia becomes paranoid and delusional – at least that what it looks like to others. What follows is a heart-wrenching descent into a gaslit hell that manages a comment on both contemporary patriarchal control techniques and our shameful history of victim-blaming and refusal to believe survivors.
It’s not uncommon for genre films to hide cultural and political subtext within their trope-heavy facades, and The Invisible Man is no different. It might be a bit more on-the-nose than many of its traditional predecessors, but I find nothing wrong with that. In fact, I welcome it. Whannell’s choice to put a pronounced narcissistic, controlling sadist front and center as the villain (even if we can’t see him) may leave little to the imagination, but by clearly defining the antagonist’s human failings, we’re forced, especially us men, to measure ourselves against such an obvious heel. Where we land in our judgment of him, and how deep our sympathy for Cecilia runs, might be an indicator of our personal grasp of humanity and empathy. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but movies can be revealing – even if we don’t realize we’re being revealed by them.
In addition to hiding plenty of commentary in plain sight, Whannell proves he knows how to ramp up the tension and keep it sustained without resorting to tired cliché or forceful artificiality. As Cecilia’s world crumbles around her, and allies begin to doubt and then leave her, Whannell employs both physical and mental terror to fully immerse us in the insanity of her reality. The Invisible Man can be a troubling film to watch at times not because of excessive violence or gore (although the action sequences are a pretty intense ride), but because we’ve been put into the shoes of a woman being victimized by unseen forces no one could possibly believe. Yet we believe her, and as Cecilia’s situation grows direr by the minute, so does our frustration with the systematic suspicion that holds her back. Or, at least it should.
As The Invisible Man heads into its final act, it loses some steam, albeit briefly, as it morphs into a tired revenge story. Cecilia’s actions are satisfying to watch, but they don’t offer her the truly just vindication she deserves. Putting this aside, we’re still left with a film that has a lot to say and makes no qualms or apologies about saying it. That it’s also one of the year’s most frightening and psychologically acute films only adds to the praises of this wonderful addition to the world of culturally aware horror.
James is a writer, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.