Unlike its predecessor, ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018), Mike Flanagan’s signature second instalment focuses less on the dread and more on the emotional side of things. The ‘it’s not a ghost story, it’s a love story’ phrase has been around for quite a while, and it takes on a meaning of its own in ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ (2020). The original, ‘every love story is a ghost story’, can be found in a letter that David Foster Wallace wrote to the late Richard Elman back in 1986. Both expressions could easily fit within the walls of Bly Manor and make perfect sense.

I do enjoy the ghostly anthology style, and here’s to hoping that Mr Flanagan will undertake other such projects in the future. There are so many haunted places in this world, and so few artists who are truly equipped to tell these stories with adequate profundity and emotional intensity… it would be a shame not to produce more of this stuff.

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While I understand that Bly Manor may have disappointed some viewers who previously applauded Hill House, a fraction of the blame can be placed on the marketing department. We went in expecting something else, but I found strange enlightenment in the end, an ‘Aha!’ sparkle that brought me back to the ‘love story, ghost story’ trope above. Truth be told, no respectable haunting was ever a gory horror tale with blood and guts and jump-scares. Ghosts are fingerprints of the past in our collective folklore, spectres who are unable to let go, even in death, and some of whom are able to influence the world of the living.

It means we have to deal with sadness, remorse, longing, and other equally consuming feelings that we experience in the presence of death and the absence of those we loved and lost. Therefore, a true ghost story has multiple dimensions. A good ghost story is able to break your heart, and Mike Flanagan does it in two different styles with both Hill House and Bly Manor. The former explores the grief and bitterness that suicide leaves behind. The latter studies love and its dysfunctions as they unravel under the influence of a spirit whose rage binds everyone to her. Both have mysterious, almost-sentient houses as leading characters.

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Mike Flanagan has become a master of the genre with both limited series, but also with his work on Stephen King’s ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017) and the more recent ‘Doctor Sleep’ (2019). His writing style has an almost poetic depth I’ve only seen in Shirley Jackson and Henry James, which is probably why he resonated so beautifully with these illustrious authors’ works. The focus is never really on the actual ghosts. After all, they tell the same story—unresolved issues, the inability to move on, the violence of their death which caused a bruising of the very fabric of existence… it’s always a broken heart at the centre of a haunting, somehow. No, the focus is on the living and on how they cope with loss, with misery, and with the supernatural elements that they never wanted to believe in.

‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’ simply does it with a sweeter tone. The ghosts have a more personal autonomy than those of Hill House. The living and the dead collide, repeatedly, between the walls of the English mansion, its rooms seemingly larger at night—as if the house itself inhales deeply and holds its breath until the light of morning. There is poetry in Carla Gugino’s storytelling monologues. I was pleasantly surprised by its added value, in fact, as I am not really a fan of narrators in moving pictures. Her repetitions have a dramatic effect, evoking the very loops of post-existence that ghosts seemingly go through. I doubt the series would’ve had the same effect without her. Sometimes, telling adds value to showing.

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Some things could have been done differently, sure, but I wouldn’t dare dissect the series down to its bones for this because the transgressions are minimal, at most, and splendidly overshadowed by the extraordinary performances of its actors. Keeping in line with the anthology format we’ve seen before in Ryan Murphy’s ‘American Horror Story’, there are returning cast members who’ve changed their residence from Hill House to Bly Manor. Each of them is exceptional and remarkably versatile.

Victoria Pedretti brings tears to one’s eyes as Dani Clayton, a young woman struggling with her sexuality and a tragedy she feels personally responsible for. Her intensity is only matched by her emotional palette. Few manage to express true and unexpected terror when locked in a closet—few manage to make the viewers themselves take deep breaths to fight a growing sense of claustrophobia, of walls closing in. Dani is also at the centre of the love story that is the hidden heart of this series, able to explore the payoff after having endured incommensurable horrors at Bly Manor and able to bid her lover farewell when the time comes to carry the curse back to its roots.

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Kate Siegel returns as Viola, the angry and faceless spirit at the root of this nightmare—the former lady of Bly Manor who found herself betrayed and enraged beyond the grave. Her vicious circle break hearts, over and over, as she goes through the motions and consumes everything in her path, even when there is no one left to remember her. Viola is proof that there is nothing worse than being forgotten. Not even death is worse than vanishing into the dark recesses of human history.

Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Henry Thomas came back, as well, as Peter Quint and Henry Wingrave, respectively. One is a deeply flawed but passionate man, and the other… well, they’re more or less the same, actually, despite their financial and societal differences. Carla Gugino is a delightful presence, her deep voice and melancholic gaze working seamlessly as a thread that pulls everyone and everything together.

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Benjamin Evan Ainsworth and Amelie Bea Smith are both extraordinary as the children of Bly Manor. These sterling thespians are able to build their characters into three dimensions that mercilessly punch holes through one’s stomach. Miles and Flora are both odd—I believe they were written as such, while also trying to stay at least partially true to their age. It’s not an easy task to accomplish, but they both come through quite nicely. They’re ‘perfectly splendid’.

Rahul Kohli as Owen is a dollop of kindness and hope that is desperately needed, particularly in the darkest of times. His love story is the saddest, too, once you realize that he will never be able to bring it to a positive conclusion. But frankly, the true star of Bly Manor and a breath-taking performer that deserves her own crown is T’Nia Miller as Hannah Grose. Hers is the hardest tale to tell. It starts and ends in tears, yet it is filled with love and hope and mountains of empathy strangled by threads of lost time. If anyone ever wondered what being a ghost might feel like, Hannah is an exceptional point of reference.

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The lasting impact of ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’, much like its predecessor, comes from the brilliant combination of image and production design. The haunted house takes centre stage, of course, and to achieve a troubling effect evoking of Hill House, Mr Flanagan brought Patricio M. Farrell and art director Hugo Santiago back for Bly Manor. The ghostly Easter eggs, the period pieces, and the spine-tingling details… it all adds up to that subtle dread that’s meant to erode the resolve of everyone involved—characters and viewers alike.

To further strengthen the end result, Flanagan worked with Maxime Alexandre of ‘Annabelle: Creation’ (2017) fame and James Kniest, previously known for ‘Annabelle’ (2014). In an interview with Variety, Mr Kniest addresses the importance of using Hill House as a roadmap for Flanagan’s second Haunting foray.

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Most of the story’s tone is eloquently captured in the screenplay and through the actors’ performances, but the style and camera language had to also match. With each Haunting, the camera work begins with static and symmetrical angles, gradually evolving into a more fluid and almost organic motion—we saw it in the funeral home with the Crains, and we see it again through the layers we peel away at in Bly Manor. The dark aesthetic delivers stupendously as the truth is gingerly revealed, painting tragedy with a fair palette.

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At the end of the day, each viewer will make up their own mind regarding ‘The Haunting of Bly Manor’. They may voice discontent and point to insufficiencies whilst praising ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ as the superior of the two. It could go the other way around, as well. Or, better yet, each series will stand alone and with its distinctive set of features, while both pay homage to some of the best ghost tales ever written.

Whether it’s a love story or a ghost story or somewhere in-between, one truth remains. Our fascination with death and whatever might come afterwards is a timeless and endless source of hope and heartbreak.

Mike Flanagan is a darling of horror film festivals and a rapidly rising star of the genre. Therefore, I was not at all surprised upon learning that he had been tasked with bringing Stephen King’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ onto the silver screen. On the contrary, I was excited, and fortunately, my initial expectations were met although not dramatically exceeded. Don’t get me wrong, I was not disappointed, though I do feel like Mr Flanagan was constantly torn between pleasing both Kubrick and King audiences—surely, we agree they’re not one and the same.

Adapting Stephen King’s works has always been a hit and a miss process, with some exquisite cinematic masterpieces like ‘The Shining’ (1980), the celebrated precursor to ‘Doctor Sleep’, as well as ‘The Shawshank Redemption’ (1994), ‘Carrie’ (1976), ‘The Green Mile’ (1999), and ‘Stand by Me’ (1986), to name but a few. I’m relieved to be able to place Flanagan’s work into the good pile rather than the bad, where bombs like ‘Needful Things’ (1993) and ‘Maximum Overdrive’ (1986) dwell.

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‘Doctor Sleep’ has ginormous shoes to fill, and Mr Flanagan does an excellent job of not getting himself lost inside them. After all, ‘The Shining’ suffered critical modifications from book to screen. Most of you might remember that Mr King hated Kubrick’s adaptation so much that he invested in a remake which unsurprisingly bombed. As far as the storyline goes, ‘Doctor Sleep’ picks up where ‘The Shining’ left off—both the movie and the book, which had to be tied up somehow in a manner that made sense. The book saw the Overlook Hotel exploding. The film clearly didn’t. Some assembly was required.

In the first ‘chapter’ of the film, we follow young Danny Torrance at first with his mum, both of them learning to live with the trauma and grief after leaving Jack for dead at the Overlook. While Shelley Duval and Jack Nicholson dominated ‘The Shining’ back in 1980, Flanagan’s sequel adaptation has Henry Thomas and Alex Essoe as Jack and Wendy. Aesthetically grand choices, both talented and intense enough to portray iconic characters. Danny is trying to cope with his ‘shining’, his special ability that brought the Overlook to life, so to speak, in the first place. Having been introduced to death and ghosts and violence from such a young age, it’s difficult for him to move on, especially since the spectres have followed him home.

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After he learns to lock away the bad stuff with a little trick from his memory of Dick Hallorann, Danny delves into adulthood with a serious drinking problem. The film follows him right up to the peak of his crisis. Having used alcohol to cope with his ‘shining’, Danny hits rock bottom when he takes money out of the wallet of a woman with whom he had a coke-and-booze-addled affair the night before.

Ultimately, Danny moves to a small town in New Hampshire, sobers up, attends AA meetings, and remotely befriends Abra Stone, a little girl with a gift like his. Of course, things take the obligatory dip into nightmare territory when a cult of apparent immortals start hunting Abra down, desperate to feed on her ‘shining’ in order to further prolong their lives—her power could feed them for entire generations, unlike other kids with ‘steam’, as they call it, these days. Danny must therefore mentor and protect the girl against these monsters, who will stop at nothing to kill her.

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I am in awe of Ewan McGregor. He manages to do a lot more with an otherwise bland character—the book’s strength did not come from Danny Torrance, not where ‘Doctor Sleep’ is concerned, at least. The kid version of him from ‘The Shining’ was a strong presence. But Mr McGregor breathes life into a grown-up Danny with his fears and vulnerabilities and self-loathing. We believe him as the alcoholic in desperate need of redemption, and we believe him as the man who is ready to face the demons of his past, including his own father, in order to protect the future, here portrayed by young Abra Stone.

His growth as Doctor Sleep, the kind soul who guides the dying hospice patients where he works into the afterlife, is done with a certain solemnity and reverence towards death itself. This particularly poignant side of him has roots in Flanagan’s writing, too, carrying over several touching notes from ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018). McGregor’s Danny isn’t just the main character, however. He is also the supporting element for Kyliegh Curran’s Abra—not necessarily a father figure but more of a Dick Hallorann himself.

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Ms Curran’s interpretation of a teenage girl who has grown with a titanic ‘shining’ is also noteworthy. While still young, she does not lack the talent to bring Abra to life as Mr King penned her. She is not a victim, nor is she entirely invulnerable. No, Abra is aware of how insanely awesome she is, but Danny does help to remind her that she is not invincible, either—that’s something she also gets from those frightful telepathic encounters with Rose the Hat.

From Abra’s point of view, I’d say that ‘Doctor Sleep’ is less a tale of empowerment and more a journey of overcoming trauma and horrific violence, as Abra sees the terrible things that The True Knot cult are willing to do for power like hers.

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Truth be told, I believe it’s Rebecca Ferguson’s stunning performance as Rose the Hat, the cult’s leader, that truly carries the film into the realm of greatness. The book offered little for us to work with as readers. There were plenty of gaps to be filled, yet Ms Ferguson, better known for her roles in ‘Mission: Impossible – Fallout’ (2018) and ‘The Greatest Showman’ (2017), manages to build an impressively spooky and authentic villain. There is depth in her persona and a truly desperate hunger for immortality.

While she has been a conscientious collector, her cult’s supply of ‘steam’ is running low, and their more recent victims have not been enough to feed them in the long term. The entire ‘tribe’ is a strange combo of misfits with sociopathic tendencies who live in their RV’s, crossing the entire country in search of more ‘steam’ to keep themselves young for longer. Their villainy is interesting, however, because they’re aware that they cannot live forever. Everything they do is solely for the purpose of cheating the clock. Rose and The True Knot are troubling metaphors for those in the real world who thrive and feed on pain and misery.

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In writing the screenplay adaptation, Mike Flanagan had to reconcile two sides of the same coin in a manner aimed at drawing and pleasing two kinds of fans—the Kubrick aficionados who still refer to ‘The Shining’ as one of the best movies ever made and the King devotees whose guilty pleasure is watching ‘The Shining’ since it is still superior to the remake. Both sides equally demanding. The writer-director faithfully recreates the elegant dread and the layered terror that made the Overlook so memorable. It is still home to a variety of live-in fiendish phantoms and a nightmarish cradle to which we are forced to return.

Story-wise, ‘Doctor Sleep’ builds Danny as the guiding light emerging from his personal darkness, a reluctant mentor to Abra’s fierce youth. She may be young, but she knows that she might be the only one who can stand up to the True Knot. On the other hand, Danny has his past demons to deal with—starting with the undying presence of his father, the spirits he locked inside boxes in his head, and the Overlook, where he knows they will have a better shot at defeating Rose the Hat.

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Mike Flanagan’s ‘Doctor Sleep’ is quite the visual treat, too. Rife with emotional close-ups and mainly adhering to a nocturnal grey and blue palette, the film can be seen as an extension to ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ and as a loving tribute to Kubrick’s original imagery. Michael Fimognari has worked with Flanagan before, on ‘Gerald’s Game’ (2017), another King adaptation, and on the above noted Shirley Jackson-based Netflix miniseries. I see this as a fruitful partnership, as Mr Fimognari not only understands the sophisticated yet heart-rending style that has become Flanagan’s signature, he also manages to convey the Kubrick-inspired imagery meant to tie ‘Doctor Sleep’ to ‘The Shining’.

The lighting is low, and there is much to work with in the darkness. Rose the Hat and Crow Daddy and Snakebite Andi are thrice as scary whilst glazed in shadows, each of them hungry for a few more years, a bit more youth. In Danny’s room, the tenebrosity serves to remind us where he comes from and where he’s been, while in Abra’s room it is a medium for her to sink into when she sleeps and unwittingly witnesses the terrible murders committed by Rose and her deranged crew.

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But it’s the production design that really does it for me. The sets, in particular, stand on the shoulders of Roy Walker and Leslie Tomkins. Combined with Fimognari’s cinematography, however, the viewer is mercilessly dragged back to the real Overlook—the ‘70s style orange and brown geometric carpets, the high ceilings with wagon-wheel chandeliers, the terracotta walls and the red-door elevators… the chills just rush through and anchor us so deep into the story, we cannot escape. Not until Danny deals with his past.

Production designer Maher Ahmad, best known for ‘The Fugitive’ (1993), ‘Zombieland’ (2009), and ‘Little Evil’ (2017), and art director Richie Bearden of ‘Den of Thieves’ (2018) and ‘Game Night’ (2018) are just two of the team that delivers the superb visuals behind ‘Doctor Sleep’, and they deserve a round of heartfelt applause. It’s not just the Overlook that stands out, however. A personal favourite of mine is the visual duet between Abra and Danny’s room, the latter fitted with a blackboard wall on which she leaves him telepathic chalk messages. And then there are the minds of our characters—Danny’s with its boxes and Abra’s with its traps for Rose.

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While there are plenty of Kubrickian nods, the film ultimately stands more as a longer episode of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’, combining soul-stirring and supernatural elements that cause all kinds of jumps and jolts in the viewers. And while Mike Flanagan, a man of many talents, works hard in treading that fine line between Stanley Kubrick and Stephen King whilst building on the heritage of ‘The Shining’ left by both, he is at his peak when left to his own devices.

‘Doctor Sleep’ is the most beautiful when it steps away from its source material and predecessor, standing boldly as a cinematic oeuvre. By adding its own flavours into the mix, it expands on the book with deeply fascinating characters—I, for one, find it hard not to sympathize a little with Rose the Hat’s desire to remain young for longer. Of course, the end does not justify the means. Innocent children are tortured and murdered for the most selfish reasons, and so the horror transpires brutally onto the screen. Ultimately, Mike Flanagan follows his creative path and gifts us with a story that does not disappoint.

It has been a while since I’ve gasped during a thriller, yet Leigh Whannell’s ‘The Invisible Man’ (2020) managed to do just that and more. Calling it an adaptation of H.G. Wells’ novel would be perhaps too much, since the film retains only a loose connection to the classic sci-fi story. To compensate for such a departure from the original, Whannell’s version borrows from the Ring of Gyges in Plato’s ‘Republic’, an artefact which is said to grant its owner the power to become invisible at will—leading to a protagonist that can enter any home. No one is truly safe.

The film opens with Cecilia as she carefully goes ahead with an escape plan that she has clearly been working on for a while. It’s almost botched, but her sister Emily helps her with a ride. Only then do we see exactly how dangerous and abusive her successful, ridiculously rich, and controlling boyfriend Adrian really is. What follows is meant to be a slow but steady journey of healing. Or so it begins, at least. News of Adrian’s suicide reach Cecilia, who then learns that she has also been designated as one of his heirs. Tom, Adrian’s brother, handles the estate, and everything about him just feels odd.

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Even so, we’re led to believe better days are ahead. Cecilia struggles with the trauma of both physical and psychological abuse that clearly lasted years, but she’s learning to trust and live again while sheltered in her friend James’s house and in the company of his teenage daughter. Slowly, but surely, Cecilia should eventually heal. Then things go bump in the night. Adrian doesn’t seem to have left her. Not really. He lingers, unseen yet heard and sensed. Like a ghost. What starts out as a mere whiff of paranoia blows into soul-crushing horror as we realize that Cecilia isn’t losing her mind, even though everyone around her thinks she is. Adrian Griffin never died. An expert in the field of optics, he developed a suit that allows him to be invisible, and that is how he proceeds to torment and torture the one woman who dared to get away from him.

If we strip the horror and science fiction elements away, what we’re left with is a gut-wrenching tale of harassment and domestic abuse. Adrian literally gaslights Cecilia, pushing her to think that she is losing her mind before he tears her away from the few people she loves and cares about. We descend into dread and madness when he slits Emily’s throat and slips the knife into Cecilia’s hand before she can even react. Just like that, the heroine is framed for murdering her own sister and confined to a psychiatric facility, where the villain, the concealed terror, continues with his ploy until Cecilia learns that she’s pregnant. She had been taking birth control pills over the course of the relationship and unbeknownst to her, Adrian replaced the pills with something else. Cecilia is now carrying the child of the monster everyone thinks is dead, and it’s his ill-fitting brother that offers her a way out. All she has to do is surrender unto Adrian and return to her old life. A steep price for freedom.

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Don’t let the trailer fool you. You might think it gives away the story. It doesn’t. ‘The Invisible Man’ is brilliantly executed, and most of its strength comes from three key elements: Elizabeth Moss’s extraordinary performance as Cecilia; the powerful screenplay, a foundation for this superb sci-fi thriller; and the simplicity of production with a focus on camera work, since the depiction of the invisible man is only partially done with the help of CGI. Everything else comes from old school trickery.

Let’s begin with Leigh Whannell himself. Better known for the ‘Saw’ franchise and ‘Insidious’ (2010), Mr Whannell is one of the master storytellers of his generation. His youthful energy and appreciation of classical production methods seem to work remarkably well together. It makes him stand out among his peers, since cinema is mostly about our ability to convey a story and make the viewers feel whatever we want them to feel.

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Leading the movie through its carefully designed twists and turns is Elizabeth Moss. Her talent has already garnered heaps of applause and critical appreciation. She has already won two Golden Globes—one for ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’ (2017) and one for ‘Top of the Lake’ (2013), while many might remember her from even farther back as Peggy Olson in ‘Mad Men’ (2007-2015). In an interview, Mr Whannell said that he has worked with incredibly talented actors before, ‘but working with Elizabeth Moss was just a revelation for me. She can do anything.’

Her character’s name, Cecilia, is derived from the Latin ‘caecus’ (‘cecco’ in Italian), which means blind. She’s often called ‘C’ in the film, which is clearly pronounced like ‘see’, and that is but one of the things that stand out about her. C’s journey is one of growing strength, of ascending from a lower place of fear and trauma to a higher ground where she is able to completely let go and say ‘enough’. And Moss delivers a visceral performance with a rare ability of truly becoming Cecilia, of removing her true self from the screen altogether. What we are left with is this terrified woman who is desperately trying to make sense of things. Why won’t anyone believe her? It sounds crazy, yes… but it happened. It’s still happening!

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Oliver Jackson-Cohen of ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ (2018) plays Adrian Griffin. We don’t see him much, but Whannell does such a good job of ‘showing’ him, still, that whenever he is visible on screen, we can’t help but recoil from what a heartless, demented monster lurks beneath that dashing, charming façade of his. Michael Dorman of ‘Patriot’ (2015-2018) and ‘Daybreakers’ (2009) does a marvellous job of portraying Tom Griffin, a character that immediately arouses suspicion and concern even when he’s simply telling Cecilia that she has inherited a fortune. To amplify that sensation of Tom not quite ‘fitting’, Whannell had him wear suits that were two sizes too small. The end result is chilling because Tom devolves into a sublime patsy.

Acting as a counter-balance of normalcy and discipline, Aldis Hodge’s James Lanier feels like a steady thread that we can hold on to for a semblance of comfort while the rest of Cecilia’s life crumbles before her own eyes. Storm Reid’s Sydney Lanier is supposed to represent hope and compassion. So, when both are viciously attacked by the invisible man, it tears us apart. The very idea of freedom and happiness are trampled and beaten bloody. We are thrust into the same nightmare as Cecilia, and she is the only one who can get us out.

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Where the screenplay is concerned, Mr Whannell offers a variety of praiseworthy points. As soon as the film starts, we’re dumped right into the middle of Cecilia’s escape with zero prior exposition. There is no opening to offer a more detailed account of how it got to this point. ‘I wanted to just drop the audience into Cecilia’s situation without a back story and make them feel everything through her, and luckily I had Elizabeth Moss who is very good at communicating a lot to the audience without saying anything.’

Respectful of ‘cinematic language’, the Australian director kept track of what he envisioned the camera doing whilst penning each scene in the script. Through that process, his directorial vision led to the camera moving away from the actors during production, as if it had a mind of its own. The overall effort is translated into a silver screen oeuvre that borrows visual impressions from David Fincher’s ‘Zodiac’ (2007) and startling beats from his own notorious ‘Saw’ (2004).

‘The Invisible Man’ was initially attached to the Dark Universe, with David S. Goyer set to pen the script. Later on, it had Ed Solomon replacing Goyer and Johnny Depp suggested for the titular role before the project was finally given to Whannell. Yet I doubt anyone would have been able to exploit and express dread and spine-freezing terror like he did. Part of the film’s success should be attributed to Jason Blum’s involvement, as well. The founder of Blumhouse Productions brought his own experience to the table where chills and goose-bumps are concerned, since ‘Get Out’ (2017), ‘Paranormal Activity’ (2007) and ‘The Purge’ (2013) are just three of his insanely successful genre-related credits.

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The true stroke of magic comes through its cinematography. ‘The Invisible Man’ features the impressive camera work of Stefan Duscio, a relatively new name in Hollywood with barely a handful of feature credits to his name—chief among them being ‘Backtrack’ (2015) and ‘Jungle’ (2017). But it is here that he proves just how much can be accomplished through the camera, alone.

Elizabeth Moss’s performance wouldn’t have had the same impact without his craft and mainly without the abundance of pan-out movements that make the viewers wonder whether Adrian is there, albeit invisible. The terror is basically fuelled by Duscio’s use of negative space. Plenty of spaces around the characters are included into the story, suggesting that Adrian is, in fact, there. The camera lingers after a line is said, too—a thought provoking gesture that further builds tension because all Cecilia has is this feeling, this sensation of hairs rising on the back of her neck, while we’re watching from the outside, analysing every inch of empty space around her and other characters as we try to guess where Adrian will attack from.

Accompanying the exquisite cinematography is the modest use of VFX to create the invisible man, while Duscio and Whannell’s analogue work of framing and writing, respectively, reigns supreme. The attic scene is particularly memorable not only because of the story-related elements that it reveals, but also because it’s one of the few moments where Duscio was given enough darkness to play with. Throughout the rest of the film, everything is thoroughly illuminated—thus making the challenge of ‘showing’ the invisible man even more daunting.

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Ultimately, the film succeeds where others portraying the ‘apparently crazy woman no one believes’ often fail. We believe Cecilia because we are not given another choice. The way in which the tension is built, Adrian’s punching of the passenger door window, the steamy breath rolling behind her in the middle of the night. The medicine bottle she’d left behind. Moss’s performance alone translates everything that Whannell wanted to portray into a living being, into a woman who is desperate to live freely and unafraid.

The lengths that she is willing to go to in order to achieve that offer an unexpected conclusion to ‘The Invisible Man’. But beyond the floating knives and pulled blankets and peculiar whirring and clicking sounds in an apparently empty room, one truth lingers in the audience’s collective mind: how far will one go to escape and survive their relentless abuser? Leigh Whannell answers with superlative writing and direction, putting a fresh new spin on a timeless tale.

During these trying times, I’ve learned to make the most of what the lockdown has had to offer. Catching up with my movie watchlist has been my favourite activity so far. It brought me to Edward Norton’s ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ (2019), the actor’s second directorial foray and the first which he has written, directed, and starred in. It’s been nineteen years since ‘Keep the Faith’ (2000), the romantic dramedy in which he shared the screen with Jenna Elfman and Ben Stiller, and one can easily tell how much Mr Norton has grown as a filmmaker.

‘Motherless Brooklyn’ received a mixed bag (albeit predominantly positive) attention from critics and the awards circuit, including a nod from the Golden Globes for its emotionally exquisite soundtrack penned by Daniel Pemberton, better known for ‘The Man from U.N.C.L.E.’ (2015) and ‘Steve Jobs’ (2015). Edward Norton received a Satellite Award as a film auteur, as did Beth Mickle and Michael Ahern for their production design and art direction. Dick Pope, of ‘The Illusionist’ (2006) and ‘Secrets & Lies’ (1996) fame was also nominated for his stellar cinematography at Camerimage in Poland.

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Based on the eponymous book by Jonathan Lethem, published in 1999, and while retaining the overall style and story elements, ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ takes place in 1950s New York, as it borrows heavily from the Neo-Noir of Hollywood cinema. In his quest to deliver a memorable film, Norton ultimately throws out the book and offers a different flavour, a period oeuvre that reminds us of those immensely addictive dime detective tales while still doused in a powerful political fragrance.

The move to ‘50s New York was made in part to satisfy Norton’s years-old fascination with Robert Moses, the controversial and dangerously powerful city planner. The film was meant to capture ‘the dark, the shadow narrative of how modern New York really got built—the racism that was sort of baked into the city’, the actor-director once said in an interview. Moses Randolph, Alec Baldwin’s villainous character, is based on the city planner. This creative operation further helped define Norton’s Lionel Essrog, the Tourette-affected private eye, as ‘a really terrific vehicle for going deep into the murk of what happened in New York in that time’.

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Lionel refers to himself as ‘spastic’, a term more frequently heard during the ‘50s. Despite his twitchy and complicated condition, he does everything in his power to find out who killed his friend and mentor, Bruce Willis’s Frank Minna, and to protect Gugu Mbatha-Raw’s delightful Laura Rose. Norton’s performance is beyond exceptional, thoughtful, and respectful of a man suffering from Tourette’s. It is also deeply moving, particularly during the bebop jazz scene—the Trumpet Man, portrayed by Michael Kenneth Williams (you might remember him as Omar Little in ‘The Wire’), delivers a series of random beats and abrupt changes in melody that reach a surprisingly tight unison with Lionel’s own fractured yet wonderfully beautiful mind.

If there is one thing that Mr Norton isn’t in short supply of, it’s talent. His performance works on an even more profound level when coupled with Willem Dafoe’s hallucinating rendition of the neurotic Paul Randolph, architect and humiliated brother of Moses.

Helping Lionel along the way—or, in one case, encumbering him in his efforts to bring Frank’s killer to justice, are the ‘Minna boys’, orphans and colleagues of the deceased detective whom he helped and protected and nurtured over the years. Among them, Bobby Cannavale’s Tony Vermonte stands out.

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Story-wise and specifically from a narrative point of view, the characters’ path will seem predictable at times. Parts of ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ have been done before in other detective movies, written in other Ray Chandler-esque novels. Seen this, done that, sure, and it’s rife with red herrings, of which some are more palatable than others, but, in the end, the film’s central message is powerful—an echo for today’s world. In it, power and ambition continue to shape our society, no matter who dies along the way to make someone’s dreams happen.

Unsurprisingly, the novel faced a similar issue. Salon’s Gary Krist even wrote once that ‘”Motherless Brooklyn” has a few problems—including some cartoon-like stock characters and one scene near the end that flirts with maudlin sentimentality—but it works far better than the average hip postmodern novel in terms of sheer emotional impact. Because Lethem never lets the metaphorical and linguistic possibilities of his narrator’s illness overshadow his immensely appealing humanity, we really care about Lionel and his search for his mentor’s killer’. In many ways, the same can be said about Norton’s film.

There are parts about Tony that might rub a discerning viewer the wrong way, especially in the way he makes his suggestions. Moses’s overall demeanour might carry a bit more flair than usual, and perhaps even Paul’s neuroses may be over the top. In the end, it doesn’t matter, because we are so emotionally invested in Lionel’s quest for truth and justice in the muddied heart of the Big Apple that we cannot be bothered to put the entire movie under a microscope. His resolution is too important. He deserves it more than anyone.

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Dick Pope’s illustrious cinematography brings out the true charm of noir flicks with a modern smoothness that is not easy to attain. There are layers of beauty and sensitivity that require discussion. The two-time Oscar nominee has worked with Norton before on ‘The Illusionist’, therefore having already established a fluid professional relationship with the actor-director. In an interview with SHOOT, Mr Pope said that the biggest creative challenge he had to deal with was ‘bringing to the screen and matching the cinematic expectation of the film that Edward had lived with and dreamt about for nearly 20 years’. Fortunately, the cinematographer was given a gorgeous photobook that Norton had compiled to express his singular vision, to begin with.

According to Mr Pope, there was a clearly spoken desire for an artful lushness to be embedded within the image. There, the old cinema patina was required but without suggesting that the image had been in any way treated or altered. ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ is, in many ways, an ode to ‘Chinatown’ (1974), but it also draws inspiration from ‘40s and ‘50s New York photography by Saul Leiter, Vivian Maier and Robert Frank. Norton even came forth with his own collection of photographs to support the cinematographer’s process—among them, stills of the original Penn Railroad Station were a brilliant source of inspiration for how the movie’s lighting functioned.

As far as the palette and composition are concerned, the desired effect was accomplished. The cinematography of ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ is one of its strongest points, capturing our focus with its powerful shades of yellow and red, its abundance of shadows and darkness, its plays of reflections and negative spaces, and the way in which Lionel’s loneliness and isolation are significantly amplified through camera movement.

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The look and feel of ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ were accomplished with production designer Beth Mickle’s unwavering support and a plethora of inspiration from Robert Caro’s ‘The Power Broker’, a popular biography of Robert Moses. Ms Mickle had her work cut out for her, of course, considering the abundance of period pieces required for the sets.

In one interview, she talked about the initial creative process. Pinterest and Google are key sources of visuals in this day and age, but she still had to do some old-fashioned research along the way. ‘We used to have to go [to] the image library of New York, and we still do a bit of that. But that’s the first step, collecting all the imagery and getting a better sense of the architecture, signage, and graphics. Looking at what kind of vehicles populated the streets. That’s general period research.’

While some of New York’s legendary landmarks remain the same—see the Chrysler Building or the Empire State Building or the Brooklyn Bridge, for example – it is a city that consumes itself and goes through radical changes almost every year. For most New Yorkers, it’s a point of gratification. For Ms Mickle, it’s a point of in-depth analysis. And since Lionel’s journey takes us through the entire city, offering even a breath-taking car chase across Harlem, New York had plenty to offer. The production design and Michael Ahern’s award-winning art direction only took what was already there and brought it back into the ‘50s with minute re-façade techniques.

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Gorgeously rich in sharp, fast-paced dialogue and jazz melodies that are typical of the Neo-Noir style on the silver screen, ‘Motherless Brooklyn’ features music by the revered Wynton Marsalis and a group of veteran jazz musicians such as Joe Farnsworth. Since part of the story takes place in a north Harlem jazz club, Norton has concentrated a substantial amount of effort into creating a genuine and realistic atmosphere of that era, which is why one scene even gives us a dizzying performance of ‘Blues Walk’, originally recorded by Clifford Brown and Max Roach and ‘a staple of that hard-bop era’.

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The film ultimately and successfully transports the viewers into ‘50s New York. Its depiction of Lionel forces them to root for him, to ride out the twitches and the moments of utter loneliness before the sun rises again and sheds light on the ugly truth that dwells in the foundation of one of the world’s most famous cities.

‘Motherless Brooklyn’ has been a long time in the making, its screenplay finished in 2012 and with seven more years of pitching and tweaking to follow before gaining the support of eminent producers like Gigi Pritzker of ‘Drive’ (2011) and Sue Kroll of ‘A Star Is Born’ (2018). A long time in the making, yes, but certainly worth the effort.

Let’s face it. From the moment Stephen King started writing, the world has never been the same. A master of blending suspense and horror with the supernatural in terrifyingly realistic ways, Mr King has given us at least 97 books up to date. It doesn’t look like he’s stopping any time soon, either—not that we mind.

His numerous bestsellers have become movie and TV rights darlings. Production studios continue to wrestle each other for a chance to put his stories onto the screen. Most of Mr King’s books have been adapted in one form or another: feature films (classics such as ‘The Shining’ of 1980 or ‘Carrie’ of 1976, as well as more modern takes like ‘It’ and ‘It: Chapter Two’ of 2017 and 2019, respectively); TV series (see Audience’s ‘Mr Mercedes’ featuring Brendan Gleeson and Harry Treadaway, or Hulu’s Stephen King-inspired ‘Castle Rock’ with Bill Skarsgård and Lizzy Caplan); and plenty of mini-series (remember the original ‘It’ of 1990, ‘Rose Red’, or ‘The Dead Zone’?).

BILL SKARSGÅRD AS PENNYWISE IN ‘IT’ (2017), ©NEW LINE CINEMA

He has written so much and so well that it’s a task and a pleasure to keep up. Not all of his book adaptations have been stellar, however. ‘The Mist’ (2017) was an absolute flop, while the earlier film from 10 years earlier, directed by King-aficionado Frank Darabont did noticeably better. The original ‘Pet Sematary’ of 1989 became a cult classic, but the remake of 2019 left much to be desired. ‘The Tommyknockers’ (1993) was dismal, yet John Carpenter’s take on ‘Christine’ (1983) brought the horror genre to a whole new level. Despite the risk of utter failure, the remakes and adaptations of Mr Kind’s source material keep coming. ‘The Stand’ (1994) was a moderate success for its time, starring Gary Sinise, Rob Lowe, and Molly Ringwald. It, too, is getting a remake this year, via CBS and featuring James Marsden, Jovan Adepo, and Whoopi Goldberg. We’ll see how that one turns out. The point is, Stephen King is a master storyteller, but his books are not always the easiest to transform for the screen. It’s a hit-and-miss game with his tales of the dreadful and the unbelievable.

‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

Enter ‘The Outsider’ (2020), HBO’s first foray into his world. Plenty of networks and hordes of more than capable producers have taken on his works, though few were able to reach the level of this most recent Stephen King adaptation. Based on the eponymous book published in 2018, ‘The Outsider’ follows a seasoned cop and a peculiar investigator as they try to make sense of a seemingly straightforward murder investigation that turns out to be anything but.

From the very first episode, we’re confronted with a difficult premise: how can someone be in two places at once?

Created by Oscar-nominated Richard Price of ‘The Wire’ (2003-2009) and ‘The Deuce’ (2017-2019) fame, ‘The Outsider’ offers a supernatural answer to the above question. The best part? It is so well put together, that we actually believe the unbelievable.

BEN MENDELSOHN AND CYNTHIA ERIVO IN ‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

The series is written by Mr Price and Mr King, with three directors at its helm: Andrew Bernstein, better known for ‘The West Wing’ (2000-2006), ‘Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan’ (2019), and ‘Ozark’ (2017-2018); Charlotte Brändström, of ‘The Witcher’ (2019) and ‘Counterpart’ (2019); and Jason Bateman, actor and director most famous for his work on ‘Arrested Development’ (2003-2019), ‘Bad Words’ (2013), and ‘Juno’ (2007). HBO has put together a truly exceptional team for this project, and it shows right off the bat.

As soon as episode 1, aptly titled ‘Fish in a Barrel’ opens up, we’re vehemently absorbed into the story. Terry Maitland of Flint City, Oklahoma—all-around good guy/dad/baseball coach for the local boys’ team, is arrested for the horrific murder of little Frankie Peterson. The evidence and a slew of credible witnesses are against him, while he insists on his innocence. His reputation is obliterated, his family torn apart, and then compelling proof and witnesses putting him miles away from Flint City at the time of the murder emerge. The mystery is set. How could Terry Maitland have raped, murdered and mutilated an innocent kid, when he was all the way in Cap City at a teacher’s conference? By the end of this episode, we’re left baffled, asking the same question, over and over. How is this possible? How is there solid and indisputable evidence and testimony both incriminating and clearing of Terry Maitland?

JASON BATEMAN IN ‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

This brings back one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s most memorable quotes: ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ It would be safe to assume that ‘The Outsider’ boldly spins the impossible and twists it into the truth. 

The HBO series is, at its core, a gruesome crime drama. The classic jump-style horror is swapped for a mood of pure dread. The characters are shaken out of their regular lives, their rhythms disrupted by this terrible murder—everyone is involved in it and in its aftermath, one way or another, and the series does an exquisite job of following them all.

JULIANNE NICHOLSON IN ‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

In an elegant set of parallels, Terry, superbly played by Jason Bateman, struggles to prove his innocence, while his wife, Glory, portrayed by Julianne Nicholson, juggles a suddenly chaotic existence—her husband in jail, her daughters scared and confused, and the whole town scowling in their general direction for the awful crime that Terry is blamed for. At the same time, Detective Ralph Anderson, brilliantly brought to life by Ben Mendelsohn (Danny Rayburn in Netflix’s ‘Bloodline’, Talos in ‘Captain Marvel’, and King George VI in ‘Darkest Hour’), tries to make sense of what was supposed to be a dead-to-rights arrest. His main suspect appears guilty and innocent at the same time. Meanwhile, the Petersons are falling apart in their grief, one by one, until none are left standing.

The writers do a stellar job of infusing fear and realism into what is basically a heart-breaking tragedy, neatly wrapped up in layers of the supernatural. When talking about ‘The Outsider’, Stephen King said: ‘I write stories that are supposed to be fun and scary and make readers believe the unbelievable.’ That can be easily observed throughout the series’ first few episodes. By the time we meet Cynthia Erivo’s Holly Gibney, that’s it. We’re hooked. Terry Maitland had to be innocent. Something else happened. We have to know the truth. Take us to the truth, Mr King, no matter how weird and unexplainable it is!

YUL VASQUEZ ‘THE OUTDSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

In terms of performance, each of the actors manage to stand out, breathing life into their characters like few other thespians can. Jason Bateman completely sells us this baffled version of Terry Maitland, a guy whose worse crime was that cowboy-style belt buckle. Glory Maitland is absolutely fierce, the lioness who must protect her cubs at all costs, as they’re now living in a town that has basically turned on them. 

Yul Vasquez of ‘Russian Doll’ (2019), ‘I Am the Night’ (2019), and ‘Captain Phillips’ (2013) as Yunis Sablo of the GBI brings a certain flavour of his own—the moderate bridge between Detective Anderson’s empiricism and Holly Gibney’s strangeness. A favourite scene so far is when these three characters meet in the diner to discuss a partnership aimed at finding Frankie Peterson’s real killer. ‘I have no tolerance for the unexplainable,’ Ralph tells Holly. ‘Well then, sir, you have no tolerance for me,” says Holly before she goes on to briefly but eloquently explain why she is different and definitely the right person to investigate the glaring mystery behind the kid’s murder.

BEN MENDELSOHN IN ‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

Referring to Ben Mendelsohn’s character, Stephen King said: ‘I had the idea of writing about a guy who was in two places at once, and what really turned my dial, […] I thought to myself, I’d like to have a protagonist here who has skin in the game.’ 

And Ralph Anderson certainly has that. He’s a father who lost a child of his own to cancer—coincidentally, Derek was also part of Terry Maitland’s baseball team, just like the Peterson boy. If anyone has what it takes to make this truly personal, it’s this weathered detective. But as we begin to peel away at the inconsistencies, we begin to understand that nothing is what it seems. 

Where storytelling is concerned, ‘The Outsider’ has not only succeeded in bringing Mr King’s tale to life, it has exceeded all expectations and elevated the standard once more for the crime and horror genres worldwide. An ample degree of insight and finesse are required for a writer to be able to show us how a person copes with the unbelievable, when nothing else explains what is right there, in front of his eyes.

‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

Of course, ‘The Outsider’ would be nowhere near as effective without its prolific cinematography. Kevin McKnight, Zak Mulligan and Rasmus Heise were brought on to help Mr King’s vision reach its full potential. Worth noting here are the image compositions, not only where the characters are involved in terms of on-camera position, but also where lighting and the establishing shots are concerned. There is a certain intensity that comes into each frame, as well as a nagging feeling that something worse has yet to happen. In an interview with IMDb, Stephen King said that he learned his ‘chops’ from some of the writers behind ‘The Twilight Zone’ (1959-1964), a fact which becomes obvious once you read one or more of his books. The cinematographers thus had the task of setting that mood across the board, inviting viewers to accept the fantastic in order to justify the horror that has befallen Flint City. 

Art directors Jason Perrine and Justin O’Neal Miller do a marvelous job of enhancing the story through its set designs and impressive detail work. One particularly memorable scene is when Yunis Sablo enters the barn to investigate the bloodied clothes. The ensemble of cobwebs and old wood against the forensic spotlight leaves an impression onto the viewer’s mind, further following the show’s overall visual patterns. Aiding in the rendering of this frightening realism, the editing team, comprised of Tad Dennis, Leo Trombetta, Dorian Harris, and Daniel James Scott, proceed with great care as they weave the scenes together, delivering a smooth selection of haunting and petrifying moments. Frank Peterson’s suicide scene continues to haunt us, even now.

‘THE OUTSIDER’ (2020), ©HOME BOX OFFICE/HBO

In case you’re wondering why we’re going to such lengths to applaud each and every member of this production and post-production team, it’s because they all had a part to play in making ‘The Outsider’ a tour-de-force of modern television. 

They deserve a standing ovation, for it is truly rare and surprising for an adaptation to surpass the book’s original craft. It takes talent and visionaries behind and in front of the camera. 

Fortunately, when HBO gambled on this series, they understood its potential and assembled the right team to take on the project. Not only is ‘The Outsider’ loyal to its source material, it goes that extra mile of adding more, of seamlessly reproducing and magnifying that Stephen King vibe which is so difficult to attain.