The Invisible Man (2020)
Universal's "Dark Universe" was, depending on your perspective, either a bold swing at creating a shared monster mythology or one of Hollywood's more spectacular misfires. After the 2017 The Mummy reboot collapsed under the weight of its own franchise ambitions, Universal quietly shelved the interconnected universe idea and handed its classic creature properties to individual filmmakers with genuine creative visions. The result, at least in this case, was a film that felt far more grounded than anything the Dark Universe blueprint had promised. The source material, H.G. Wells's 1897 novel, has been adapted numerous times, most famously in James Whale's 1933 Universal classic starring Claude Rains. Where Whale leaned into pitch-black comedy and theatrical menace, this 2020 version strips the concept back to something rawer and more immediate: a story about a woman whose version of reality nobody around her will accept, and the particular horror of that experience.
Leigh Whannell is something of a genre journeyman who earned his stripes co-writing the original Saw with James Wan before stepping into the director's chair for Insidious: Chapter 3 and the surprisingly energetic Upgrade (2018). His films tend to be lean, ideas-driven genre pieces that punch above their budgetary weight, and this one, produced by the reliably prolific Blumhouse Productions alongside Australian outfit Goalpost Pictures, was reportedly made for somewhere around seven million dollars, a figure that becomes genuinely impressive when you consider its polished, wide-release production values. Blumhouse, of course, have form here, having backed some of the more interesting studio-adjacent horror of the past decade, and their model of keeping budgets tight while giving filmmakers reasonable creative latitude seems to suit Whannell's particular sensibility. It is also worth noting this is a co-production with Australia, where much of the filming took place, lending the film a slightly unfamiliar architectural language that quietly reinforces its sense of displacement. If you enjoyed the way Late Night with the Devil (2023) used an Australian production context to breathe fresh air into familiar genre territory, there is a comparable quality at work here.
Elisabeth Moss, best known at this point for her television work in Mad Men and The Handmaid's Tale, shoulders almost the entire weight of the picture, which is no small ask given that her primary scene partner is, by design, frequently absent from the frame. It is the kind of performance that relies on physical specificity and reactive detail rather than conventional dialogue exchanges, and Moss was widely regarded as one of the better casting choices in recent genre cinema when the film landed. Aldis Hodge, a consistently watchable presence in supporting roles across film and television, plays her closest confidant, providing some warmth against the film's otherwise cool, clinical atmosphere. Storm Reid, at this point still primarily known from A Wrinkle in Time, handles a demanding supporting role with a maturity that suggests someone well capable of carrying more screen time. The ensemble is polished but unremarkable on paper, which makes the quality of the performances on screen all the more satisfying when the film gets things right. For another take on how genre films handle women navigating hostile, disbelieving environments, our review of Captain Marvel (2019) covers some adjacent territory.
There is a specific, suffocating tension to the opening sequence of Leigh Whannell’s 2020 reimagining of The Invisible Man that had me genuinely on the edge of my seat. Watching Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) execute a breathless, nail-biting escape from the sprawling, high-tech mansion of her eccentric, abusive inventor boyfriend is a cracking piece of cinema. It’s a bold, visceral hook that immediately establishes the film as a deeply unsettling psychological thriller.
For those first twenty minutes, I was fully convinced I was in for a modern horror triumph. But as the runtime stretched on, I realised I was watching what I like to call a "nearly" film, one that comes agonisingly close to greatness but ultimately trips over its own ambition.
When Whannell leans into the paranoid, gaslighting elements of the premise, the picture is genuinely really strong. The director does a brilliant job of weaponising empty space, forcing you to stare at the corners of the frame, waiting for something to move. It’s a deeply unsettling experience that frequently crosses over into highly effective horror territory, anchored by a phenomenal, physically and emotionally exhausted performance from Moss. She carries the sheer terror of a woman who knows she’s being hunted but can’t prove it to anyone. Visually, the film is incredibly accomplished, using sleek, cold cinematography to mirror the clinical cruelty of her tormentor, Oliver Jackson-Cohen, who is appropriately chilling as the mastermind.
However, the film completely loses its grip in the second half, primarily because it is just far too long. Honestly, you could have easily slashed thirty minutes from the runtime and completely bypassed the narrative bloat that drags down the middle act. My biggest gripe, though, is Whannell’s decision to eventually lean into full "invisible suit" territory.
It’s a massive misstep. The original 1930s Invisible Man remains a far more accomplished film precisely because it kept its formula simple and relied on implication rather than showing the monster in a clunky rig. Even Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man, despite its terribly aged CGI, understood that the terror works best when the threat remains an unseen, psychological force rather than a guy in a motion-capture get-up.
At its core, The Invisible Man is a watchable, visually striking thriller that is let down by its own bloated pacing and a clumsy third-act pivot. The acting is undeniably fine, and the first half is a superb exercise in tension, but the narrative feels a little off-kilter once it tries to transform from a subtle psychological drama into a full-blown action-horror. Whannell clearly has a brilliant eye for suspense, but he needed a sharper editorial scalpel to trim the fat and keep the story tight. It’s a cracking effort that keeps you engaged, even when it overstays its welcome.
A three-star verdict feels about right for a film that is genuinely interesting in its intentions but uneven in its execution. Whannell's instincts for spatial unease are evident throughout, and Moss gives the kind of committed, physically present performance that elevates material that might otherwise have felt like a competent-but-forgettable genre entry. The conversation around the film on its release, particularly in relation to its themes of gaslighting and coercive control, gave it a cultural resonance that purely technical thrillers rarely achieve. Whether the film fully earns that conversation is a matter the review above addresses rather pointedly. It remains, for all its frustrations, a worthwhile watch, especially in that first half, and proof that Blumhouse at its best can still produce studio horror with something to say. Just perhaps twenty-odd minutes less of it.
Rating: ★★★ | Year: 2020 | Watched: 2026-07-18
Trailer
▶ Watch the official trailer for The Invisible Man (2020) on YouTube
Where to watch
Watch in the UK
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