A haunting dissection of domestic abuse.

And then, just like that, almost as quickly as it appeared, the Dark Universe vanished into the Hollywood ether.

With the colossal stink of The Mummy still lingering, Universal saw the writing on the wall and took the refreshingly astute decision to pull the plug on its expensive, much-hyped franchise before rigor mortis could set in. The execution was ruthless, yet it came as sweet relief to anyone who endured Tom Cruise scream his way through the film. The big question, however, was what the hell to do next.

The issues with Universal’s numerous attempts to cash in on their classic big-name monsters are copious, yet the overriding problem with their usual approach is just how needlessly overblown they inevitably become. As per The Mummy, aiming for an expensive interconnected universe with characters that just don’t fit felt wrong from the off, leading to a bloated, Frankenstein’s Monster of a movie and leaving no option other than to go back to the drawing board entirely.

In another admirably smart move, the keys to the classic monster vault were handed to renowned lo-fi horror masters Blumhouse for a long overdue back-to-basics revamp. And what better way to mark the beginning of this new low-key era than with one of the most discreet Universal monsters going?

Trapped in a violent, controlling relationship with wealthy tech genius Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), Cecelia Kass (Elizabeth Moss) is desperate for any means of escape. When news drops that Adrian has killed himself and left Cecelia a chunk of his fortune, it looks like she may have her life back at last. However, when a series of mysterious incidents begin to haunt her, Cecelia is convinced that Adrian’s death was a hoax, and as things take a violent turn, her sanity begins to unravel as she desperately fights to prove she’s being hunted by a man no one can see.

It may sound blindingly obvious but as with any reinvention of a well renowned character, injecting something fresh into such a well-worn story is always the biggest challenge. As with many classic monsters, ‘The Invisible Man’ has had a presence in popular culture from the moment H.G. Wells’ novel hit the shelves, meaning that retelling the story without coming off derivative is no easy task.

The incredible job both Blumhouse and director Leigh Whannell have done in not just giving the Invisible Man story a new lease of life but to infuse it with a searing contemporary relevance should not be underestimated. Flipping the entire story on its head and shifting focus from Griffin and onto the devastating effect his monstrous actions, is a stroke of genius, giving The Invisible Man the kind of impact most horrors can only dream of.

While previous incarnations portray Griffin in a somewhat sympathetic light, even as his experiments gradually turn him villainous, there’s no such half-measures here, as Oliver Jackson-Cohen’s Adrian Griffin is showcased in full-blown monster mode. Key to this is the level of stock The Invisible Man puts into showing just how much of a manipulative abuser the character is, the extent to which this has effected Cecelia’s own mind-set, and anchoring it all in a very real form of horror.

Griffin is a monster in the true sense of the word and the clever flip The Invisible Man makes in perspective from the source material, leaving Cecelia with our emotional investment throughout, hammers that message home comprehensively. Tying this all into pertinent themes of domestic abuse, manipulation, and the concept of gaslighting really ensures that we’re hooked and horrified from beginning to end.

While staying true to the essence of the source material, Leigh Whannell nevertheless shows conviction to tackle the classic tale from a completely fresh angle, digging deep into the physical and psychological mechanics of an abusive relationship while having some fun with the fantastical elements of the story. Seeing (or technically not seeing, I guess) the horror unfold exclusively through Cecelia’s eyes takes us deep into the dark heart of abuse and manipulation, and how utterly vulnerable it leaves the victim.

Such a victim role is not an easy one to pull off, requiring a balance of fragility, vulnerability, and, ultimately, superheroic strength that could easily feel uneven in the wrong hands, yet Elizabeth Moss takes it all in her stride. While she’s ably buoyed by Aldis Hodge and Storm Reid as that rarest of horror rarities – sympathetic supporting characters you genuinely hope make it to the end credits the film is entirely Elizabeth Moss’.

Channelling that incredible Handmaid’s Tale energy, Moss balances the delicacy of Cecelia’s battered and bruised mental state perfectly, particularly as Adrian’s invisible manipulations really begin to take hold, but able to reach deep to produce a powerful level of heroism to stare such horrors down and fight back. The result is a potent blend that sells a potentially clumsy concept while packing a huge punch in just the right places.

Opposite her, it’s a shame that we (literally) don’t see much of Oliver Jackson-Cohen’s titular villain, however, this really is all Cecelia’s story, so his absence is completely understandable. While his physical presence in the film is brief, the horror inherent in the Invisible Man as a character is never what you see from Adrian but what you don’t, providing a huge source of energy for the narrative.

Actively avoiding the easy route, Leigh Whannell brings his unique directorial sensibilities to the table for a finely honed lesson in pure horror mind manipulation. With impeccable camerawork that utilises every inch of the (often empty) screen to ramp up tension, Whannell cleverly uses his monster’s defining characteristic to his advantage, opting not to adorn him in bandages and sunglasses, but rather to wring his menacing lack of screen presence for every last drop of horror.

It’s an astonishingly assured filmmaking display for someone still relatively new to the directing game, as Whannell brings the kinetic, eye-catching visuals he developed in Upgrade and injects them with a nuanced horror aesthetic that he’s clearly been cultivating for years as a writer and actor in and around the genre. As long, lingering shots toy mercilessly with your nerves, manipulating you at every turn, The Invisible Man’s refreshing jump-scare restraint is commendable and, while Whannell certainly indulges in the odd one here and there, the shocks are always well-earned.

However, while much of The Invisible Man’s success as a horror stems from its visuals, the film’s real depth comes from the writing. Setting the film apart from the horror crowd, Whannell’s script works the concept incredibly well, offering more than enough twists and turns to keep you engaged and second-guessing until the very end. There’s certainly the odd cliché and plot contrivance along the way, yet these are rare and never once lessen the film’s impact.

With a plot that has you questioning absolutely everything, Whannell does an exceptional job of creating a thoroughly unnerving, disorientating experience where your perceptions and sympathies never stay still. Essentially operating as an immersive gaslighting experience, the exploits of Adrian will have you questioning not only Cecelia’s actions but your own, as you’re slowly dragged into his manipulations.

It’s the kind of considered approach that you just couldn’t see happening under Universal’s initial masterplan. With The Mummy dying on its ass to such an extent that the studio were left no choice but to nix both the Dark Universe and, consequently, their Johnny Depp-starring blockbuster version of The Invisible Man, they had inadvertently unleashed a far more affective beast.

As a partner in this vision, Blumhouse Productions are the perfect conduit for the pure essence of what the Universal Monsters are and what they stand for. In harnessing the production company’s lo-fi horror powers rather than throwing good money after bad, The Invisible Man has been given an adequate platform to show just what it’s capable of.

The inherent problem with Universal’s collection of classic monsters is that they so often encourage the studio to overblow things, rather than dig down into what their characters truly represent. By paring things down, director Leigh Whannell has not only breathed new life into a century-old character but given his story an ingenious twist that ensures an impact and relevance well beyond the dreams of many blockbusters. Led by Elizabeth Moss’ extraordinary performance, The Invisible Man is a devastating triumph of minimalist storytelling that takes the true horrors of domestic abuse and weaves them into a genuinely gripping, terrifying tale that must be seen to be believed.