The Invisible Man

This review concerns a film where one partner is obsessed with controlling the other. That is what this review is about. I am not indirectly critiquing governments for introducing strict measures to combat the coronavirus. I think it is better to prevent the spread of the virus than to be in a situation where Canadian and Québecois or American or French medical staff are overwhelmed trying to fight it, and I therefore support strict measures which encourage more time spent at home working on projects and chillin' with loved ones, during these difficult times.

Relationship dynamics suffocate a partner's growth, their tight-knit bond overwhelmingly intensifying as she attempts to securely break free.

Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) needs to conceal her whereabouts to avoid rage-fuelled repercussions, so she lies low at a friend's comfy pad, too frightened to venture past defined thresholds.

Before it's made known that he's suddenly passed and left her everything he possessed, a sense of calm then slowly regenerating, as she seeks work and amicable trust.

But something's not quite right as she tries to reestablish her steady routine, bizarre occurrences maladroitly dishevelling, which make no sense without supernatural recourse.

It becomes clear aggrieved reanimation is striving to drive her insane, but since evidence cannot be compiled, reasonability flounders defunct.

I've read articles equating break ups to alcohol or narcotics-based withdrawal, The Invisible Man investigating this phenomenon with gripping visceral bedlam.

It reminds me of Rosemary's Baby since its heroine struggles in aware isolation, as her support network distraughtly collapses, and she's left alone to forthrightly contend.

But it's not as fatalistic, not as hopeless or stifling, it leaves room for intact resolution, at time showcasing genuine frights.

Shocking downright frisked and freaky.

Mr. Griffen (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) is as extreme as he is obsessed, can't even begin to start contemplating letting go.

It's like maniacal withdrawal, unrestrained irrational concentration, people aren't like inanimate objects, if they don't want to date you they may never will.

I don't understand why people want to date people who don't like them that much, it seems like a cruel recipe for distress, isn't it preferable to spend that much time with someone you can be friendly with, so so much of your life isn't confrontationally composed?

Seems like the dark side to me, like you're surrounded by total negativity, with a logic totally its own, that only makes sense if you leap off the deep end, aren't there always new people to meet?

New interested individuals who can't wait to get to know you?

If you put yourself out there?

The Invisible Man doesn't present the most robust scenario but it makes the most of its chilling proposition, offering candid insights into ye olde independence, while aptly vilifying obsessive pretensions.

It's a solid thriller that doesn't overextend itself, excels within its particular domain, creating a shocking lifeforce all its own, invigorated by sincere performances.