The Invisible Man (2020)

Why do these screams matter?

Loosely based upon H. G. Wells’ novel of the same name, Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man (2020) locates the source of its horror in the silence that typically encompasses intimate partner abuse by taking up a central question of the MeToo movement: What does it take for a woman who alleges abuse to be believed? The film opens with Cecilia (Elisabeth Moss) leaving her abusive boyfriend, Adrian (Oliver Jackson-Cohen). But Cecilia soon discovers that Adrian has invented a way to make himself invisible and that he intends to use the technology to continue to physically and psychologically torment her. Drawn from real stories of domestic abuse survivors, the film illustrates how economic privilege protects perpetrators and crystallizes why women might be reluctant to report abuse, particularly if the allegations are against powerful men (Dockterman).

Dropping amid countless survivors sharing their stories online, the film captures the Trump White House’s framing of the MeToo movement as a witch hunt perpetrated by people looking for payouts (Desta). Not only did President Trump face his own numerous allegations of sexual assault, his decision to wish White House aide Rob Porter well after Porter was fired for domestic verbal and physical assault fueled public perception that Trump was dismissive of the experiences of intimate violence survivors (Beckett). Released four years after the Trump tape surfaced in which the then Presidential candidate famously observed that “when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything,” The Invisible Man reflects a similar awareness of the connection between abuse and privilege (Timm; “Transcript”). Reflecting what Todd K. Platts calls “the MeToo horror film” – cinema that employs the style and techniques of horror movies to portray the experiences of assault and abuse revealed by the MeToo movement- The Invisible Man excavates the societal structures that protect men of privilege and demonstrates the power that wealth has in determining whether a person’s allegations are viewed as credible (162).

Our first scream comes early in the film when Cecilia has fled the house in which Adrian has all but imprisoned her. Having just entered her sister’s car, Cecilia’s hope for a clean getaway is interrupted when a violent and angry Adrian suddenly appears.

 

A lot is bubbling beneath this scream, not the least of which is an understanding of the importance of audience buy-in concerning Cecilia’s struggle. By front-loading Cecilia’s fear at the beginning of the film, Whannell is ensuring audience sympathies align with Cecilia and that no space is created to doubt her story. Because this scream is so clearly coming from a place of fear, it conveys to the audience that Cecilia truly believes that Adrian poses a threat to her well-being; a belief that is solidified when Adrian appears and smashes the window in his attempt to drag Cecilia from the car.

The fear Cecilia feels toward Adrian is valid and the film leverages Cecilia’s screams to ensure that the audience’s identification remains squarely with Cecilia. Because this scream acknowledges the fear that is part of the abuse cycle for survivors, it is also an indictment of the lack of institutional supports available for women trying to leave abusive relationships. Cecilia’s scream is a fearful recognition of the extent of her vulnerability when confronted with Adrian’s rage. The National Domestic Violence Hotline reports that 1 in 4 women have been the victim of severe physical violence by an intimate partner and that nearly half of all women in the United States have experienced psychological aggression by an intimate partner (“Domestic Violence Statistics”). Additionally, the CDC reports that 10% of women report having been stalked by an intimate partner (Black et al.). But under the Trump administration, protections to facilitate helping people escape intimate partner violence faced legislative and fiscal rollback, including “all 25 of the grant programs managed by the Office on Violence Against Women, housed in the Department of Justice” (Cauterucci). For survivors, this decreasing lack of support services to leave unhealthy situations means navigating a system invested in keeping the plights of survivors, largely women, invisible. Cecilia’s scream challenges “the gendered dynamics that influence her silencing” by forcing the audience to acknowledge that she not only faces a threat from Adrian but from a culture that that wants to keep her suffering quiet (Payne 5).

That this altercation is witnessed by Cecilia’s sister, Emily (Harriet Dyer) is also important because it demonstrates how hard it can be for victims to be believed. Even though Emily has seen the violence with her own eyes, her decision to abandon her sister later in the film suggests that continual proof must be supplied for accusations of abuse to be believed. In the absence of concrete evidence, even those closest to us may have doubt leading to a “pervasive doubting” (Stewart 68).

In this next scream, Emily agrees to have dinner with Cecilia in a crowded restaurant. As Cecilia tries to explain that she is being framed, an invisible Adrian slits Emily’s throat.

 

The scream we hear in this scene comes not from Cecilia but from an unnamed spectator of the crime.  And it matters that the spectator in question is a woman. She is able to use her voice to draw attention to the crime and, in doing so, frames the events of what transpires, both for the other people in the crowd as well as for the police officers who arrive. The scream we hear in this scene comes not from Cecilia but from an unnamed spectator of the crime.  And it matters that the spectator in question is a woman. She is able to use her voice to draw attention to the crime and, in doing so, frames the events of what transpires, both for the other people in the crowd as well as for the police officers who arrive. Without any eyewitnesses who can say conclusively that they saw Cecilia kill her sister, this one woman’s scream becomes a powerful tool to frame Cecilia as the culprit, an untruth further compounded by Cecilia’s traumatic muteness. The anonymous spectator’s scream reminds the audience that some women simply by their privilege, are viewed as credible while other women, particularly those with complicated mental health histories, are not.

Since Cecilia is unable to advocate for herself, the police refer to psychological reports that cast her as mentally ill, reports that were generated at the behest of Adrian. Here, Adrian’s wealth and privilege enable him to leverage two power structures -the police and health care providers- against Cecilia and to reframe her actions for his benefit. In doing so, the film reminds us that there is nothing invisible about intimate partner violence. There are signs but the institutional structures entrusted to respond to those signs are easily manipulated by those with money and means.

How privilege is codified and replicated comes into play in the final scream of this film. Having agreed to meet with Adrian in the hopes of getting him to confess, Cecilia soon excuses herself from the dinner when it becomes clear that Adrian has no intention of confessing. In her absence, the security cameras Adrian had installed to monitor Cecilia’s every move show him slitting his own throat.

 

Cecilia’s scream at seeing Adrian in a pool of his own blood at first reads as shock at the bloody spectacle before her. But we quickly realize that her scream is by design; she’s deliberately using the very tools of oppression that were leveraged against her to enact a form of justice the establishment denies her. Her scream represents the intertwining of both her political power and her personal power and is meant to counter the patriarchal presence represented by Adrian.

The reveal that Cecilia donned an invisibility suit and killed Adrian in a way that echoes her sister’s death earlier works from a horror standpoint because this revenge sequence provides catharsis. Neither the police nor the legal system nor even her familial loved ones can help her in the end. Cecilia must save herself. And having been along for the ride for Adrian’s reign of torture, we understand that murder is the only real option available to Cecilia. But that realization is a deeply troublesome one because it suggests that the only way for someone to survive abuse is to adopt the tools of the abuser.

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Works Cited

Beckett, Lois. “Domestic violence group describes ‘heartbreaking’ decline in progress under Trump.” The Guardian, 11 Feb. 2018.

Black, Michele, et al. “National intimate partner and sexual violence survey: 2010 summary report.” National Center for Injury Prevention and Control Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2011.

Cauterucci, Christina. “Trump’s Planned Elimination of Violence Against Women Grants Is Pure Cruelty.” Slate, 19 Jan. 2017.

Desta, Yohana. “Trump Mocks #MeToo Movement Days After Decrying “a Scary Time for Young Men.”” Vanity Fair, 11 Oct. 2018.

Dockterman, Eliana. “How The Invisible Man Based Its Gaslighting Thriller on Real-Life Stories of Abuse.” Time, 28 Feb. 2020.

“Domestic Violence Statistics.” National Domestic Violence Hotline, n.d.

Payne, Alice. “Leigh Whannell’s The Invisible Man Discussing Narratives of Domestic Abuse and Gaslighting through the Cassandra Myth.” Humanities, vol. 11, no. 1, 2021, pp. 1-13.

Platts, Todd K. “Gaslighting, Captivity, and Trauma: Notes on MeToo Horror Films.” Culture Wars and Horror Movies: Gender Debates in Post-2010’s US Horror Cinema, edited by Noelia Gregorio- Fernández and Carmen M. Méndez-García, Springer Nature Switzerland, 2024, pp. 161-182.

Stewart, Heather. “”Why Didn’t She Say Something Sooner?”: Doubt, Denial, Silencing, and the Epistemic Harms of the #MeToo Movement.” South Central Review, vol. 36 no. 2, 2019, p. 68-94.

The Invisible Man. Directed by Leigh Whannell, performances by Elisabeth Moss, Storm Reid, and Aldis Hodge, Universal Pictures, 2020.

Timm, Jane C. “Trump on Hot Mic: ‘When You’re a Star … You Can Do Anything’ to Women.” NBC News, 7 Oct. 2016.

“Transcript: Donald Trump’s Taped Comments About Women.” The New York Times, 8 Oct. 2016.