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Having
previously established three horror icons —
Dracula, the Frankenstein Monster, and the Mummy
—
Universal's monster factory set their sights on
another tingly titan of terror. 1933's The
Invisible Man —
based on the classic science fiction novel by fantasy
pioneer H.G. Wells and directed with a mighty flourish
by the indomitable James Whale, who helmed the prior
year's granddaddy of monsterdom, Frankenstein
—
added another member to the Classic Monster ranks.
Although not as successful a franchise as the later
Frankenstein, Wolf Man, and Mummy films, The
Invisible Man spawned a number of sequels
and set a precedent with its remarkable special
effects, expertly executed by John Fulton. The film
follows the early portions of Wells' novel fairly
faithfully, with a mysterious, bandaged stranger
arriving at a secluded inn in the midst of a heavy
snowstorm. Setting up a laboratory, the stranger,
Jack Griffin (an incredible sound debut for Claude
Rains), soon reveals his peculiar malady: through
a baffling scientific process yielding a new drug
dubbed monocaine, Griffin has been rendered invisible!
Driven from the inn by curiosity seekers, and slowly
losing his mental stability due to the drug's side
effects, Griffin embarks upon a campaign of terror
with the megalomaniacal goal of ruling the world!
The
Invisible Man is another horror/science fiction
gem from Hollywood's Golden Age, thanks to several
factors. Kudos must go to the direction of maestro
James Whale, who walks a fine line between outright
horror and gallows humor. There are actually quite
a number of humorous set pieces in The
Invisible Man, all of which involve the prank-like
nature of several of Griffin's stunts (the "here
we go gathering nuts in May" scene is a classic).
Also amusing, though difficult to take for some,
is Whale regular Una O'Connor as
the innkeeper's wife, who's distinctly shrill cries
lighten the foreboding tone of the film's early
moments. These scenes, however, soon give way to
truly tense moments, which include a fabulously
orchestrated train wreck, achieved with convincing
model work. In spite of a few low-key moments with
Griffin's love interest, Flora (Gloria Stuart),
and some expository sequences, the film moves at
a brisk pace. Whale directs with a sure, steady
hand, deftly incorporating the ingenious special
effects into the outlandish proceedings and imbuing
them with an air of believability.
John
Fulton's special effects, in spite of being 69 years
old, still impress. Part of The
Invisible Man's success, as with all the
true Universal classics, is a feeling of timelessness.
These films seem removed from the harsh realities
of the real world and, as such, have aged quite
well. The same can be said for Fulton's effects.
What would now be achieved through computer animation
remains remarkably effective, such as a difficult-to-film
sequence in which the invisible Griffin undresses
himself in front of a mirror. Also impressive is
the considerable wirework, used to propel props
such as rocking chairs, bicycles, and books across
the room.
Of course,
we'd be remiss without mentioning the Invisible
Man himself, Claude Rains. Despite being unseen
or in a heavily costumed state for the bulk of the
film, Rains delivers one of the greatest performances
of the 1930s. Using almost exclusively his distinguished
and distinctive voice, Rains runs the gamut of emotions
from despair to fear to anger to insanity. None
of the Invisible Men who were to follow in his footsteps,
Vincent Price and Jon Hall among them, come close
to matching this brilliant debut performance.
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