Revisiting Paul Verhoeven’s Hollow Man and its… | Little White Lies

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Revis­it­ing Paul Verhoeven’s Hol­low Man and its straight-to-video sequel

12 Aug 2019

Words by Anton Bitel

Bald person with orange-tinted goggles, wearing blue coat, standing in front of a wooden wall and a car.
Bald person with orange-tinted goggles, wearing blue coat, standing in front of a wooden wall and a car.
Both film are now avail­able as part of a spe­cial collector’s edi­tion box set.

No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safe­ly take what he liked out of the mar­ket, or go into hous­es and lie with any one at his plea­sure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a god among men.”

These words are not from a film, but from the sec­ond book of Plato’s Repub­lic, as Socrates’ inter­locu­tor Glau­con argues that even the most just of men would be cor­rupt­ed by the pow­ers of invis­i­bil­i­ty con­ferred by the myth­i­cal Ring of Gyges. Nat­u­ral­ly, Socrates dis­agrees – but the moral quandary that their dis­cus­sion pos­es cer­tain­ly informed HG Wells’ 1897 nov­el The Invis­i­ble Man’, which replaced the Ring of Gyges with a sci­en­tif­ic for­mu­la for invisibility.

By the time Paul Verhoeven’s Hol­low Man, just the lat­est in a long series of films adapt­ing Wells’ nov­el, came along in 2000, the sci­en­tif­ic achieve­ment of invis­i­bil­i­ty had been upgrad­ed as, a very spe­cif­ic and chal­leng­ing task: to suc­cess­ful­ly phase-shift a human being out of quan­tum sync with the vis­i­ble uni­verse and return him safe­ly with no after­ef­fects.” Nonethe­less in the film’s anti­hero Dr Sebas­t­ian Caine (Kevin Bacon), we see the same eth­i­cal struggle.

Sebas­t­ian is head­ing a secret research pro­gramme to devel­op a reversible invis­i­bil­i­ty serum for the mil­i­tary. Impor­tant­ly, the first act of the film intro­duces us to Sebas­t­ian before he tests the serum on him­self, so that we can already see – before we can no longer see – the genius mol­e­c­u­lar biol­o­gist sci­en­tist in all his poten­tial for aber­rant behav­iour. In the open­ing scene in his apart­ment, after he once again fails to recon­fig­ure cells on a com­put­er mod­el (‘unsta­ble’ is the text on his screen, refer­ring as much to Sebas­t­ian as to his work), he dis­tracts him­self by spy­ing on a woman undress­ing in the apart­ment opposite.

An ego­tis­ti­cal alpha male who dri­ves a flashy Porsche, blithe­ly flouts rules, has a wan­der­ing eye, shows lit­tle human­i­ty towards his ani­mal test sub­jects, and thinks he is not just god’s gift but – express­ly, and only half-jok­ing­ly – god’ him­self, Sebas­t­ian is, as his Pen­ta­gon han­dler Howard Kramer (William Devane) recog­nis­es, dif­fer­ent’. Sebastian’s work col­league Lin­da McK­ay (Elis­a­beth Shue) stopped going out with him because she could see that Sebas­t­ian only had room in his life for Sebas­t­ian, and that he wasn’t ever real­ly there. The con­cept of Sebas­t­ian,” as Lin­da tells her new lover – also a col­league – Matt Kens­ing­ton (Josh Brolin), is much more appeal­ing than Sebas­t­ian himself.”

Pret­ty soon Sebas­t­ian becomes his own con­cept – a sig­ni­fied with­out a sig­ni­fi­er, in the absence of his actu­al vis­i­ble pres­ence. Yet if Sebas­t­ian turns bad once he becomes invis­i­ble and, now that he no longer has to – or even can – look him­self in the mir­ror, ends up doing all the things that Plato’s Glau­con cat­a­logues, Hol­low Man will repeat­ed­ly pose the ques­tion of whether Sebastian’s ani­mal­is­tic rever­sion is down to a dam­ag­ing side-effect of his exper­i­men­tal serum, or to his own nature, now left unre­strained by any sense of pub­lic shame or compunction.

Who’s gonna know?”, Sebas­t­ian tells him­self before sneak­ing into the apart­ment oppo­site and rap­ing his neigh­bour. This ter­ri­fy­ing assault posi­tions its unseen assailant as the invis­i­ble antag­o­nist of Sid­ney J Furie’s The Enti­ty, while his lat­er ser­i­al attacks on his col­leagues, trapped with him in the cor­ri­dors of their under­ground lab­o­ra­to­ry, make him like the face-rap­ing, kill-hap­py extra-ter­res­tri­al lurk­er in Rid­ley Scott’s Alien. Sebas­t­ian has unleashed a mon­ster that was, we sus­pect, always there with­in him, hid­den in plain sight.

If invis­i­bil­i­ty ought, by def­i­n­i­tion, to be an entire­ly uncin­e­mat­ic qual­i­ty, Hol­low Man finds ever more inge­nious ways of visu­al­is­ing it through extra­or­di­nary spe­cial effects, as Sebastian’s out­line can be dis­cerned by the sen­sor pads hang­ing from him, by the clothes or latex mask that he wears around his emp­ty frame, by the ther­mal imag­ing cam­eras used in the lab, or by the water, smoke and blood that come into con­tact with him, all show­ing the con­tours of his absent pres­ence and con­jur­ing him like a ghost.

Ver­ho­even has sub­se­quent­ly gone on record say­ing that Hol­low Man feels more like an anony­mous cor­po­rate prod­uct than his own film. Nonethe­less, there is some­thing about the film’s con­cern with sex­u­al mat­ters (not just Sebastian’s creepy lech­er­ous­ness and unwel­come advances, but the overt­ly erot­ic play between Lin­da and Matt, always dri­ven by Lin­da) that seems all Verhoeven’s. As does the way the direc­tor keeps uncom­fort­ably align­ing the invis­i­ble cinemagoer’s intrin­sic voyeurism with Sebastian’s own, show­ing us to what depths of deprav­i­ty the male gaze can lead.

Sebas­t­ian is ini­tial­ly pre­sent­ed as a pio­neer­ing, mav­er­ick, cocky male fig­ure of identification/​aspiration – famil­iar from, and cel­e­brat­ed by, any num­ber of Hol­ly­wood movies. In the end, Sebas­t­ian has been recon­fig­ured pre­cise­ly by those qual­i­ties as the film’s unam­bigu­ous vil­lain. Ver­ho­even, ever the sub­ver­sive film­mak­er, leaves it up to us at which point we part com­pa­ny with this type of the great Amer­i­can hero.

Woman in grey jacket standing at a workbench in a computer lab.

You think Sebastian’s bad,” observes tech­ni­cian Frank (Joey Slot­nick) in Hol­low Man. Imag­ine what the world’s gonna be like once the mil­i­tary gets their hands on this.” Clau­dio Faeh’s Hol­low Man II, made six years lat­er, does imag­ine some­thing like this. Although ill received by crit­ics, Hol­low Man per­formed well at the box office, mak­ing a sequel inevitable. Faeh’s fol­low-up is obvi­ous­ly a low­er-bud­get affair, with visu­al effects that are less impres­sive, and the flat look of some­thing made for tele­vi­sion (it was released direct to video).

Yet its plot­ting is drawn from the orig­i­nal draft of Verhoeven’s film (Ver­ho­even serves as exec­u­tive pro­duc­er here), and it takes a balls-to-the-wall approach to nar­ra­tive as, from the out­set, it launch­es us in medias res with a drunk sci­en­tist com­ing under vicious attack at a par­ty from an unseen assailant. It also ful­ly embraces the notion of invis­i­bil­i­ty as a covert weapon.

Inves­ti­gat­ing police detec­tives Frank Turn­er (Peter Facinel­li) and Lisa Mar­tinez (Sarah Deakins) are tak­en off the puz­zling case by the mil­i­tary, but reas­signed to pro­tect the victim’s for­mer col­league Dr Mag­gie Dal­ton (Lau­re Regan) in her own home.

The house is invad­ed by an invis­i­ble fig­ure, and Frank and Mag­gie find them­selves on the run not just from the vio­lent, venge­ful, invis­i­ble war vet­er­an Michael Grif­fin (Chris­t­ian Slater) – named for the antag­o­nist of Wells’ orig­i­nal nov­el – who is seek­ing a cure for the ter­mi­nal side-effects of his con­di­tion, but also from a cadre of gov­ern­ment con­spir­a­tors des­per­ate to cov­er up what they have done to Michael, and why.

What fol­lows is like James Cameron’s The Ter­mi­na­tor, only with an invis­i­ble assas­sin sub­sti­tut­ed for a time-trav­el cyborg. There’s a fugi­tive cou­ple, an implaca­ble, mur­der­ous pur­suer, and even an infil­tra­tion of a police station’s sup­pos­ed­ly safe inte­ri­ors – and mobil­i­ty and action pro­pel everything.

Mean­while, there are attempts at up-to-the-minute con­tem­po­rari­ness that today, para­dox­i­cal­ly, seem charm­ing pre­cise­ly for their dat­ed­ness – like the young cou­ple mak­ing a sex tape who acci­den­tal­ly cap­ture Michael’s spec­tral pres­ence on their camera’s night vision, in a bizarre merg­er of the (explic­it­ly ref­er­enced) 1 Night in Paris and then-vogu­ish found-footage horror.

Ulti­mate­ly, we are left with the same ques­tion raised by Pla­to in The Repub­lic. The unjust would exploit pow­ers of invis­i­bil­i­ty to facil­i­tate their unjust ends – but what might the just do with them?

Hol­low Man and Hol­low Man II are released by 88 Films in a Spe­cial Edi­tion Blu-ray three-disc (includ­ing both the the­atri­cal and longer director’s cut of Hol­low Man) on 12 August.

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