Directed by Leigh Whannell.
Starring Elisabeth Moss, Storm Reid, Aldis Hodge, Michael Dorman, Harriet Dyer, Benedict Hardie, and Oliver Jackson-Cohen.
When Cecilia’s abusive ex takes his own life and leaves her his fortune, she suspects his death was a hoax. As a series of coincidences turn lethal, Cecilia works to prove that she is being hunted by someone nobody can see.
Making a story over a century old into one among the foremost impressive and relevant films of this or the other year may be a remarkable achievement for Saw director Leigh Whannell.
Removing the yellowing bandages from the festering wounds of Hollow Man, or maybe the abandoned Dark Universe line-up that would have featured ol translucent Man himself, he has dragged a potentially hokey concept into the #metoo generation, and made a thriller that’ll stir the gray matter the maximum amount because it prompts primal gasp-out-loud moments of horror.
Escaping from her own domestic Alcatraz during a nerve-shredding opening sequence, our journey is to be crazy Elizabeth Moss’s Cecelia, and it’s one that’ll put both her and therefore the audience through a physical and emotional endurance test for the duration of this traumatic psychological horror.
She’s fleeing from her controlling boyfriend (The Haunting of Hill House‘s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who we’re introduced to together with his arm gently cradling her, sort of a hair-trigger bear trap, primed to travel off should he sense her moving. It generates a sense of unease and burgeoning dread upon which the film is masterfully built.
Having employed diversionary tactics so as to tug off the sleight-of-hand reveal of Saw‘s twist, Whannell invokes the likes of Hitchcock or Kubrick, with long glacial camera movements, making use of the frame’s entirety to permit the audience to seem for something that may-or-may-not be there. It’s playful, but it’s utterly terrifying at an equivalent time, especially when it’s punctuated with one among the various subtle shocks: a breath of cold air, or a palm against the shower door. However, the masterstroke is how unsettling it’s when nothing happens in the least.
While The Invisible Man might appear to be a movie about someone trying to fade, it’s driving narrative is one among a lady who wants to be seen, and Elisabeth Moss delivers a performance that demands that: she is phenomenal. Part Sarah Connor, a shocking psyche-ward showdown triggers Judgment Day parallels, and part 1978 Laurie Strode. Her gaslit descent into a sanity-testing hell is remarkable. you would possibly come for the scares of the floating knives or footsteps on the ground, but you stay for Cecilia’s edge-of-your-seat fight for survival.
When the 2 combine it’s a triumph in minimalist special-effects work and horror. There’s an assault scene which is executed in stunning fashion, as Moss contorts round the kitchen floor as her invisible assailant pins her down, and one sequence that’s so shocking, the strain it induces shakes you from the movie for a few of minutes. Memoirs of an Invisible Man this ain’t.
If there was any complaint to be levelled towards the film, it’s a tad transparent, with a couple of of the ultimate reel beats, while undeniably effective, quite predictable because the plot plants its A slots into B seeds throughout.
Timely and unbearably tense, this may put you thru the emotional wringer within the smartest, most enjoyable way possible, and largely thanks to a next-level performance from Moss, The Invisible Man has got to be seen.