Hollow Man review

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Watching Kevin Bacon thrashing in agony as he dissolves layer by stomach-churning layer into a state of total invisibility has to be one of the more memorable moments in recent Hollywood cinema. Gruesome, yes, and the latest barrier-busting effects sequence for sure, but it's also an eye-popping lesson in biology. Why pick apart frogs in school when you can watch this mesmerising dissection instead?

Of course, it's what happens after Bacon can no longer be seen that interests Paul Verhoeven in his contemporary reworking of that HG Wells' warhorse The Invisible Man. Say goodbye to all-over body bandages and hello to kinky voyeurism and metal rods rammed through vital organs. Because what's preying on Verhoeven's mind here is how far would someone go if they thought they could get away with it?

Paul Verhoeven's warped sensibilities run amok in this B-movie psycho-thriller, which emphasises kinky eroticism over cleverness, and Kevin Bacon is a menacing treat, torn between the impotence of transparency and the intoxication of playing God.

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