Invisible Men

The Invisible Man

Hollow Man

Greetings, my ghouls and goblins! It’s my birthday eve of the last year of my twenties, and I’m feeling just about as normal as I can for someone who spent their twenties at a college in a geriatric town with zero social output then immediately entered a horrific pandemic that changed the whole world and what being social even looks like, all while sandwiched between Tr*mp presidencies. I am not the most optimistic person, but just by virtue of still being alive, still loving to write and having the drive to do so, still having friends and a family I cherish, I am hopeful in spite of literally everything. Life keeps on going, even when nothing goes as planned, even when your sense of time is warped, and your phone makes you feel insane, and the mysterious-but-chic persona you tried to craft is sacrificed for a day job and an overpriced apartment and a tenuous relationship with the gym. You’re never too old to try something new, reinvent yourself, and dream. And though tonight’s two horror features are emblematic of the dangers of dreaming too big and trying desperately to reinvent oneself in the name of scientific progress, I stand by what I said. This week, I’m dabbling in a couple of movies centered upon mad scientists who both desire to achieve invisibility. The proverbial “invisible man” has been a staple of scary stories for decades, though Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolf Man are perhaps more prominently in the spotlight. But I would be remiss to not mention Leigh Whannell’s impeccable and truly terrifying film The Invisible Man starring Elisabeth Moss, which I still think of often. I’ve always thought that the concept of “invisibility” was an underrated power, and in the world of horror, it has truly petrifying possibilities, depending on who has it. Not to continue in my existential-woe-is-perpetually-me-convo, but as someone who was neither popular nor really bullied in school, invisibility was often my M.O. and my superpower. I overheard extremely secretive conversations, saw usually-invulnerable people act vulnerably, and overall was privy to lots of intel due to my invisibility. I just don’t have a loud, noticeable vibe most of the time, especially back then, and rarely do I try to draw attention to myself in a crowd, which has often left me largely undetected. I remember even starting one of my college essays with, “The first time I was sat on was in the first grade”—though I’m not entirely sure how I articulated the benefit of this phenomenon back then. I should probably be embarrassed to admit any of this, but I have a weird fascination and appreciation for dipping in and out of invisibility. You have no idea how many responsibilities and awkward encounters I have avoided just by people forgetting I was there, lol. And typically, the people I care about noticing me, do. Except for maybe Timothée Chalamet. After years of fading between invisibility and hyper-uncomfortable-visibility, I’ve learned that it is a power that requires immense responsibility—a responsibility and moral compass that neither of tonight’s main characters possess.

Let’s begin with the original adaptation of the classic 1897 novel by H.G. Wells: this is James Whale’s 1933 film The Invisible Man. There were numerous obstacles in the making of this film—despite Universal Pictures’ previous success with other classic monster movies like Frankenstein and Dracula—with director James Whale being hired then fired then rehired again just being one of the hiccups. We open on a quiet English village, overtaken by a bitterly cold Winter. In the howling wind, a man is trudging carefully through the snow, and makes his way inside a lone tavern that is bustling with warmth and lively conversation. But when he enters the building, every boisterous patron suddenly falls silent—as if they were already aware of this mysterious man’s power. His face is covered in bandages, his eyes are obscured by dark goggles, and though the lady of the house tries to take his coat as a courtesy, he refuses. He says he would like a room and a fire, which he is eventually granted, even though the maids say they have no rooms available this time of year. This menacing stranger is a horrendous guest—making odd demands, setting up an entire messy makeshift laboratory, not paying on time, and yelling at anyone who attempts to bring him food. Eventually, the innkeeper barges in to evict this guest, but the bandaged beast has had enough of the interruptions, and throws the innkeeper down the stairs. The bar patrons are all appalled and try to rush him, but before they can harm him, he begins to remove his meticulously-placed bandages—revealing nothing at all underneath. He laughs maniacally as he watches the patrons quickly realize he is invisible, and makes an easy escape as they shriek and disperse. We soon learn that this invisible menace is named Dr. Jack Griffin (Claude Rains): a brilliant chemist blinded by impossible scientific ambition, who has stumbled upon the secret to invisibility. His former colleagues—Dr. Kemp, Dr. Cranley, and Dr. Cranley’s daughter Flora—begin to worry about Jack’s absence from the lab, but have no idea of the havoc he plans to wreak. That is, until Jack realizes that he can no longer hide out at the tavern, and shows up at Dr. Kemp’s home, where he can safely plot and scheme. At first, Jack paces back and forth while he attempts to solve his visibility problem—clearly wanting to return to normal. But after seemingly enough people piss him off, Jack makes other plans, and enlists the help of Dr. Kemp to carry out his evil wishes. As he explains to Kemp, “At first it was just a scientific experiment, to do something no man had done before. But the drugs I took seemed to light up my brain… the power I have, to take over the world… we’ll soon put the world right!” Jack begins tormenting and terrorizing the neighboring villages, but things take a darker turn as he overhears a cop calling the invisible man a hoax, cockily exclaiming from nowhere, “Oh, a hoax, is it?” before strangling him. Finally, the police start to take this matter seriously, and though they try to map out their own plan of attack, they realize that Jack could very well be standing beside them right in that moment, and they wouldn’t even know. And this appears to be the case, as Jack is able to cause chaos and destruction with ease—strangling men in the search party and dropping them off cliffs, robbing a bank and dispersing the money in the street, even causing a 100-passenger train to crash. Even Flora, with whom Jack clearly shares a romantic connection, cannot convince him to stop, and it’s up to the bumbling police to stop this madman. And while Claude Rains utilized his stage acting background to the fullest, most theatrical and campy extent, he is thoroughly unhinged and terrifying as he carries out each diabolical deed. I find it really cool and funny that Claude Rains took on this role, knowing that his face would never be seen (or, spoiler alert, it would only be seen at the very end.) Because he was solely a theater actor, Universal Studios wasn’t stoked on the idea of having the niche Claude Rains play the lead of this film, but he is so incredibly engaging and impossible to look away from, even when he takes his bandages off and there is nothing to look at. Gloria Stuart, who played Flora but is most commonly known for playing old Rose in Titanic, found Rains to be a bit too melodramatic to work with, but I think the end result makes his pretentiousness worth it. I always find realistically-inept portrayals of authority to be thoroughly funny (Reno911! is one of my favorite shows), but the foolishness of the police and the townspeople in this film was pretty ridiculous. That’s why Claude Rains’ over the top but haunting performance is so crucial—it grounds an otherwise silly movie and makes each sinister death hold a bit more weight. And though the script was thought-out and developed through many trials and errors, the technical, special effects aspect of this film is perhaps what makes it so memorable. Even by today’s standards, the technical feats achieved in The Invisible Man are something to marvel at. A set constructed entirely of black velvet walls and floors was built, and Claude Rains was covered head to toe in black velvet tights—wearing the Invisible Man’s clothing on top. With this negative, a print was made, and a duplicate negative was made to serve as mattes for printing. Then with an ordinary printer, they made a composite first printing of the positive of the background and normal action, using the negative matte to mask the area where the invisible man was to move. The cleverness of James Whales’ camerawork, and John P. Fulton’s special effects and wire-work, set a standard for what could be achieved with cinematic illusions—long before the invention of the green screen and digital alteration. It was so groundbreaking and effective, that similar methods were used in tonight’s next film, from the year 2000: this is Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man.

As I learned with my viewing of Showgirls, Paul Verhoeven is the king of ambitious but potentially-misguided, and often misunderstood cinema. Some of his films—Starship Troopers and Basic Instinct—are heralded for being cutting edge and darkly twisted, but his other films—Showgirls, Robocop, Total Recall, and tonight’s film—have been severely maligned for their sloppy stories and misogynistic undertones. And it’s not that I fully disagree with these critiques, but I do think there is more value to these soapy, schlocky, painfully-1990s films than they’re given credit for. Hollow Man is a fascinating and terrifying modernization of The Invisible Man that is shockingly layered and beautifully designed. It is also a confusingly sterile, sexist, disjointed, sometimes uncomfortable movie that clearly considered zero feminine perspectives though so much of it focuses on the male gaze and voyeurism. Hollow Man introduces us to the highly-intelligent but highly-narcissistic scientist Sebastian Caine (Kevin Bacon), just as he’s finally cracked the code of the immensely complex experiment he’s been working on for months. He looks out the window of his apartment office and sees a gorgeous woman getting undressed in the apartment across the street, and is disappointed when she closes the curtains, then he gets back to science business. Caine—along with his scientific colleagues Matt (Josh Brolin), Sarah, Janice, Carter, Frank, and his ex-girlfriend Linda (Elisabeth Shue)—have now successfully developed an invisibility serum that will one day be used by the US military. Sebastian and Linda work well together, despite his creepy tendency to reminisce about their past relationship, and Linda works hard to keep her affair with their coworker Matt a secret. Inside the top-secret-underground-scientific-compound/lab in DC, the team has been experimenting on animals, and they have successfully turned a gorilla invisible. And when they try Sebastian’s latest formula, Isabelle the gorilla slowly, chaotically, bone by bone and vein by vein, becomes visible again. It is a legitimately cool way of displaying this impossible concept, that I’d never seen before. Linda and the rest of the team are ready to tell the Pentagon that their project is complete, but Sebastian wants to do one more experiment: on himself. When the team raises concerns, Sebastian tells them that “you don’t make history by following the rules” and even Linda chimes in, saying, “Jonas Salk tested the polio vaccine on himself, was he insane?” Sebastian proves that insanity may be a commonality among accomplished scientists, when, right before he injects himself, he makes a joke about Superman raping Wonder Woman. This is not Sebastian’s first red flag, and it is hardly his last. He then strips down, gets on the slab, and injects himself with his precious serum, before turning completely invisible. It is a monumental and thrilling victory, but it is cut short by Sebastian’s immediate and chilling comfort in not being seen. Sebastian agrees to stay in the lab to be monitored, but he is anything but an ideal test subject. He delights in messing with his coworkers, moving their possessions around, goosing the lady scientists, even going so far as spying on one of the women as they use the restroom. He takes it way too far when he molests Sarah in her sleep, but his depravity goes even further, as you might imagine. And to make matters worse, the process of making him visible once again does not work—in fact, it nearly kills him. No one was ever meant to be invisible for this long, and as he loses sleep due to his transparent eyelids, Sebastian begins to really lose it. He can only be seen when wearing thermography goggles, and the team is fearful of what he might do when left completely invisible, so they craft a latex skin suit for him to wear: one with an eerily hollowed-out eyes and mouth. As if he weren’t frightening enough as an unseen specter, this flesh-toned, claustrophobic, crash-test-dummy-esque mask version of him is especially unnerving. And, of course, this doesn’t stop Sebastian from committing atrocities, it just forces him to think outside of the box—something scientists are famously good at. It should come as no surprise that as soon as the coast is clear, Sebastian sneaks into his neighbor’s apartment and rapes her—though I am thankful that the specifics of this horror was not shown. This idea of an invisible rapist is perhaps one of the worst concepts I’ve ever seen executed in a horror film—and I’ve seen 2 out of 3 Human Centipede movies. And while I appreciate this not being directly shown, I was rendered utterly ill watching the lead-up and implication, and I question why this premise was ever even put on the page. This is where I wrestle with this film, because I actually liked Hollow Man—way more than I expected. The effects are incredible—especially compared to the superhero-brand of blurry CGI and AI slop that’s everywhere these days—and the deception and depravity of Sebastian’s character seemed disturbingly believable. Because (pleeeease don’t kill me incels) I do believe that there are many men in the world who, if given the power of invisibility, would sneak into women’s houses and rape them—at the very least. I’m not trying to blame or indict anyone directly, I’m just going off of the whole history of humanity, in general, and how men have found creative and uncreative ways to harm women. Because of this, I totally understand why Paul Verhoeven and writers Andrew W. Marlowe and Gary Scott Thompson would choose to make this an element of Hollow Man. What is intriguing, and a bit troubling, is how much of Hollow Man’s story revolves around Kevin Bacon’s character being a rapist, without ever really acknowledging his predatory and abusive behavior. It’s not that I need a disclaimer from the filmmakers, admonishing the events carried out in the film, but even a half-assed semi-feminist rant or call-out from Elisabeth Shue’s character would’ve been something. But then again, Paul Verhoeven’s style, to quote my sister, is often “shaking my head while doing a misogynist movie so you know I don’t believe misogyny is good.” And for the staunch haters of this film, you’ll be happy to know that Kevin Bacon was miserable while filming it, and Paul Verhoeven absolutely despises it. Still, I think Hollow Man, flawed as it is, is exactly what it sold itself to be: a “modern” sci-fi horror. And I’d even say that the several red flags along the way—Sebastian peeping on his neighbor, making rape jokes, badgering his ex with guilt—are all ways of showcasing just how dangerous and pervasive and unfortunately normalized rape culture really is. And for this depiction of a slimy, egotistical, evil misogynist to come in the form of an intelligent, attractive, charming Kevin Bacon, drives home the point even further. At no point does this film try to sympathize with this man, and when he is—spoiler alert—finally killed, it is thoroughly, rightfully brutal. For these reasons, I can’t totally turn up my nose at a film as bold and tangled but effectively freaky as this one. It is a tense, terrifying, chaotic movie, and even though it lost the Oscar for Best Visual Effects to Gladiator, I’m glad its impressive special effects were recognized at all. I also find it funny that the producers bought the rights to Dan Simmons’ novel Hollow Man, though the novel has nothing to do with invisible men. I guess, what I am ultimately trying to say is that while Hollow Man isn’t a perfect film with a completely fleshed out social commentary, it is no worse than the other highly-ambitious but often drab movies of the 90s and early oughts. Well thank you for reading along this week, my dear, sweet, scary readers. By clicking on this blog, you’ve made me a little less invisible. There’s just one more week of October horror films left, and I hope you’ll tune in next week to see what devious double feature I cook up. Toodles! 🫥