Deprive the average special effects film of its visual tricks and you rob it of its heart and soul. The Invisible Man, Universal’s superb 1933 filmization of one of H.G. Wells’ most enduring novels, is a firm exception to this rule. One of the handful of fantastic films unblemished by the ravages of time, The Invisible Man is a monument to the genius of four remarkable artists: director James Whale, screenwriter R.C. Sherriff, special effects ace John P. Fulton and star Claude Rains. So brilliant is  this  diverse combination of talents, it’s difficult to image what the film would have been like minus the participation of any one of them. […] The film was released at a time when the literary reputation of H.G. Wells was near its peak. Film reviewers, ever respectful  of the distinguished man of latters, applauded Whale’s good intentions with a shower of enthusiastic notices. (Actually, only the first third of the picture is truly faithful to Wells.) The Invisible Man instantly became one of the most acclaimed fantasy films of its day, and its reputation more than half a century later remains intact. […] Again, the director stubbornly avoids most of the formulaic, heavy-handed horror movie conventions. The best moments combine black comedy with a sense of awe (for example, the superb unmasking scene). The laughably pompous Constable Jaffers (E.E. Clive) struggles to keep his authoritative pose as Griffin whisks off his clothes. A madcap chase ensues as Jaffers and the villagers, literally tumbling over one another, try to handcuff the prancing shirt. John Fulton’s inventive technique was soon to become commonplace in pictures, but the effects here remain fresh and witty because Whale never allows The Invisible Man to become just a special effects picture. The director’s splendid build-up in the expertly paced opening reels makes the film a dramatic as well as a technical tour de force. In another memorable confrontation with the law, Griffin pulls the trousers off a bobby. Moments later, we see a terrified woman charging down a country lane, pursued by the same pair of trousers merrily skipping along to a jaunty ditty. It’s still a great scene, and one has to appreciate the shock value these episodes must have had on a 1933 audience experiencing them for the first time.

Michael Brunas, John Brunas, Tom Weaver, Universal Horrors. The Studio’s Classic Films, 1931-1946, McFarland, Jefferson, NC-London 1990