Sunday Cinema
Today we conclude the Subliminal Cinema chapter on Mad Science. Not only does this section offer a special pre-Halloween update of the Invisible Man, it also gives some final career advice for aspiring young Dr. Frankensteins. It's by Scott C., so you know it's good.
Hollow Man (2000)
Directed by Paul Verhoeven
Written by Gary Scott Thompson (story) and Andrew W. Marlowe (story and screenplay)
The Hollow Man, while boasting some astonishing special effects, is not a very faithful adaptation of the poem by T.S. Eliot. Nevertheless, even when the story bogs down, the presence of star Kevin Bacon allows the audience to while away the time with that popular parlor game, Six Degrees of Crap.
As our story opens, a brown Norway rat is twisted in half like a balloon animal, then it’s head is bitten off and eaten by an invisible...rat head-eating thing. Cut to Kevin Bacon, who is attempting to use recombinant DNA technology on Scrubbing Bubbles. When his efforts fail, he pauses to peep at his neighbor as she strips down to her underwear. His scientific genius rekindled by voyeurism, Kevin returns to his computer, and with a few keystrokes, creates a perfect three dimensional model of an Everlasting Gob-Stopper.
Next day at the lab, Josh Brolin gets lightly mauled by an invisible gorilla. Kevin and Josh join forces, and hunt down the diaphanous primate with infrared goggles in a sequence that’s sort of a cross between "Predator" and "Donkey Kong."
Having tranquilized the ape, they inject it with Orange Crush, which causes the invisible beast to slowly reappear, organ by organ–first the circulatory system, then the viscera, and eventually–after we’re all mildly nauseated–the flesh and pelt. Kevin’s team is ecstatic. He’s done it, he’s finally realized one of man’s oldest dreams--showing a gorilla its own guts.
To celebrate, Kevin tries to seduce Elizabeth Shue, his research partner and former girlfriend, but having just seen an ape’s endocrine system, she’s not feeling aroused.
Against the advice of his colleagues, Kevin decides to test the invisibility process on himself, since this will allow him to avoid appearing in the rest of the movie. He shoots himself up with a vial of Windex (don’t try this at home), then screams and flops around nude on an operating table, frightening his team with the possibility they might glimpse his scrotum.
The formula works, and Kevin disappears–skin first, then nerves, organs, and finally bones. It’s an historic moment; Kevin has achieved a quantum shift out of the visible spectrum, and immediately realizes the scientific potential of this breakthrough technology by molesting a veterinarian.
Alas, the Orange Crush fails to reverse the process and return him to visibility. Elizabeth creates a mask for Kevin by pouring flesh-colored pudding over his head, which makes him look like Mr. Clean after an industrial accident.
Kevin goes insane, in the time-honored manner of invisible men, giving the old You-can’t-imagine-the-FREEDOM-and-POWER speech, and then decides to kill off the rest of the cast before the critics do. After trapping them down in his secret underground laboratory complex, he deals out a succession of head wounds to the supporting players, then stabs Josh with a crowbar, and locks Elizabeth in a walk-in freezer. But, as Nietzsche said, Whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you into McGyver, and she promptly concocts an elaborate escape utilizing a defibrillator, a length of heavy gauge plastic tubing, the handle from a file cabinet, and a Hostess Ding Dong. Not to be outdone, Kevin crafts a powerful bomb out of duct tape, some orange juice, and a snowglobe.
Inspired by her success, Elizabeth whips up a flamethrower out of ordinary items you’d find around the house, and roasts Kevin at close range. But, as Nietzsche said, Whatever makes you invisible, apparently makes you flame-retardant too, because after screaming in agony and burning to a crisp, he shakes it off and resumes killing her.
Josh, inexplicably back from his near-death experience, caves in Kevin’s skull with the crowbar. But, as Nietzsche said, whatever makes your screenplay stupid and implausible makes your climax laugh-out-loud goofy, and Kevin bounces back from his subdural hematoma and takes a swing at Josh with the crowbar. Missing, he hits a high voltage...something on the wall. Fuse box, I guess, and is electrocuted. As a bonus, death renders him partially visible, so we get to ponder his lymph nodes again.
Fleeing Kevin’s homemade bomb, Elizabeth and Josh climb up the ladder inside the elevator shaft. They’re nearly to the top, when we learn anew the truth of Nietzsche’s dictum that Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you incredibly anti-climactic, because Kevin appears out of nowhere, and suddenly Elizabeth is locked in a life and death struggle with the Transparent Man from high school biology class.
Eventually, Kevin dies as he lived–hamming it up with his skin off. Back on the surface, there’s a bunch of fire trucks, and an ambulance pulls away as the credits roll, giving you the odd feeling that you’ve just watched a really perverted episode of "Emergency!"
I don’t know what kind of weed they’re smoking in those Amsterdam hash cafes, but in my opinion, it’s time that director Paul Verhoeven learns when to say when.
* * * * *
A grim tale, but one that offers several important lessons. For instance, while the medicinal properties of Orange Crush has been known since the Middle Ages, it does not have a 100% success rate in curing quantum shifts out of the visible spectrum. (Although we shouldn’t discount the possibility that the government, in attempting to save tax dollars, might have scrimped and used Orange Nehi, or even Fanta.) Also, if you’re a middling actor who got the part because your dad is a former TV star and transmission-repair spokesmodel, you might get the girl, but you’re more likely to get your colon pierced with a crowbar. And finally, if you’re going to have Kevin Bacon naked in your movie, it’s best to also have him invisible, and as far underground as possible.
* * *
But what’s the broader lesson we can draw from these films spanning the latter half of the 20th century. In short, to be a successful mad scientist, you must always remember these three words: Location, location, location. Find a secluded, preferably subterranean spot with plenty of closet space and fresh batteries in the smoke detector. Otherwise, after tampering in God’s domain, you might find your unholy, misbegotten creature giving you a wedgie in front of Westminster Abbey. And let’s face it—that’s gotta come up at your next class reunion.
2:19:34 AM 
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