The Invisible Man, but Make It Canadian
In Geoff Redknap’s The Unseen (2016), we’re treated to a film that dares to ask the age-old question: “What if your midlife crisis literally made you disappear?” This Canadian psychological horror isn’t your typical creature feature or superhero origin story — it’s a slow, sad, funny, and deeply weird meditation on fatherhood, failure, and the joys of turning invisible just when your family starts talking to you again.
It’s as if The Fly and The Ice Storm had a polite, maple-syrup-fueled child who apologized before disintegrating.
Meet Bob: Hockey’s Most Vanishing Act
Our protagonist, Bob Langmore (Aden Young), is a disgraced ex-NHL player whose body is slowly turning invisible. And no, not in the cool “Hollow Man” way — in the “my organs are transparent and I’m decaying faster than my marriage” way. It’s body horror with a tragic domestic twist, and somehow it still manages to be funny in that dry, Canadian “we’ll just quietly die, thanks” kind of way.
Once a minor sports celebrity, Bob now lives deep in the wilderness, working as a logger and self-medicating with whatever black-market drugs he can get from the local sketchballs. It’s like Breaking Bad, except the only empire he’s building is one of personal disappointment.
After eight years of isolation, Bob’s transformation has left him a half-faded husk — a man who looks like he’s been perpetually ghosted by life itself. And yet, when his ex-wife calls about their rebellious daughter Eva, he can’t resist diving back into society — even if society would probably rather not see him at all.
The Family Reunion Nobody Asked For
Darlene (Camille Sullivan), Bob’s ex-wife, is the picture of “moved on.” She’s built a stable life with her girlfriend Molly and raised their teenage daughter Eva (Julia Sarah Stone) into a sharp, independent girl with just the right amount of “haunted by family trauma” energy.
But Eva’s acting out — skipping college plans and exploring creepy mental hospitals, as teens are known to do when they sense a franchise-level family curse brewing. Darlene, understandably, calls in the one man who definitely shouldn’t help: her fading, drug-dependent ex-husband.
When Bob reenters the family home, the awkward tension could curdle milk. Darlene doesn’t hate him, exactly — she just seems perpetually exhausted by his tragic aura and patchy complexion (which, in fairness, may literally be decaying). Eva, on the other hand, vacillates between curiosity and disgust, like someone realizing their estranged dad has turned into a walking science project.
The Horror: Half Monster, Half Metaphor
The “invisibility” in The Unseen isn’t just a physical transformation — it’s an emotional one. Bob’s body is rotting away because he’s spent years suppressing guilt, grief, and too many substances. It’s as though the universe decided to make his internal decay an external reality.
And what’s worse than one man slowly fading into nonexistence? Finding out it runs in the family.
When Eva begins showing signs of the same curse, it becomes clear this isn’t just bad genetics — it’s generational trauma with a special effects budget. The horror isn’t just the body dissolving; it’s the fear of watching your child inherit your worst parts, invisibility and all.
Geoff Redknap, best known for his work in makeup and effects (Deadpool, The Cabin in the Woods), uses his practical expertise to make Bob’s decay feel grimly tactile. Veins vanish, skin becomes translucent, and organs shimmer through the flesh — it’s like a Cronenberg film, but with more emotional repression and flannel.
The Drug Dealer, the Black Market, and the Bear
Of course, because this is a Canadian horror film, there’s also a subplot involving organ trafficking, sketchy grocery stores, and bears. Bob, desperate for money and medical aid, agrees to courier a mysterious package for a crime boss named Crisby (Ben Cotton, whose name sounds like a breakfast cereal for sociopaths).
This leads to a string of encounters involving a dead bear’s organ, a truck crash, and a Chinese doctor fascinated by invisibility. It’s like Breaking Bad meets The X-Files, directed by someone who once lost their wallet in the woods and never emotionally recovered.
But these absurd detours never derail the tone. Instead, they add texture — a grim reminder that even in the world of supernatural decay, bureaucracy and bad deals still run everything.
Also, Bob feeding Crisby’s corpse to a bear near the end? Chef’s kiss. Nothing says “Canadian revenge” like using wildlife disposal.
The Emotional Core: Daddy Issues in Disappearing Ink
For all its gruesome imagery, The Unseen is surprisingly tender. Beneath the peeling skin and metaphysical horror lies a story about a father trying to reconnect before he literally ceases to exist.
Bob’s invisibility becomes an oddly poetic metaphor for parental guilt — how some fathers disappear into work, addiction, or self-pity until their families barely remember who they were. His decision to see Eva one last time before dying isn’t heroic; it’s just heartbreakingly human.
Eva, meanwhile, carries the film’s emotional climax with quiet strength. When she learns she’s inherited her father’s condition, her fear isn’t of vanishing — it’s of becoming him. Yet, through their shared affliction, they finally communicate. It’s as if becoming invisible finally forces them to see each other. (Yes, it’s on the nose. No, it doesn’t matter. It works.)
The Style: Grit, Fog, and Emotional Decay
Redknap’s direction is understated but deeply atmospheric. The British Columbia wilderness serves as both sanctuary and nightmare — a place where fog hides everything, including your mental health. The muted palette of blues and greys feels appropriately ghostly, while the slow pacing gives every moment of transformation a dreadful intimacy.
It’s the rare horror film that feels more like a slow symphony of sadness than a scream fest. Every crack of bone and glimpse of see-through flesh is accompanied by a quiet, tragic melancholy. The score hums like the soundtrack to depression itself.
But it’s not all gloom. There’s a darkly comic absurdity to watching an invisible man wrestle with fatherhood and organized crime. The film’s tone balances existential horror with moments of grim humor — like Bob casually discussing his vanishing limbs as if it’s a minor plumbing issue.
The Grand Finale: Fade to Black (and to Bear)
By the time Bob goes fully invisible, the transformation feels inevitable — both a tragedy and a release. He kills Crisby, saves his daughter, and finds some semblance of redemption in his final acts.
The ending — Eva deciding to go to college, the two heading back to find Bob’s father (who might still be haunting the countryside like a transparent Sasquatch) — manages to be oddly hopeful. For a story about people literally disappearing, The Unseen ends on a note of renewed visibility.
Because sometimes facing the invisible parts of yourself — the guilt, the regret, the unspoken love — is the only way to really be seen at all.
The Humor in the Horror
The Unseen could easily have drowned in misery, but it keeps winking at its own absurdity. There’s something inherently darkly funny about a man arguing with his ex-wife while his ear falls off. Or a drug dealer who insists on professionalism while haggling over bear organs.
It’s bleak humor, sure, but it’s the kind that makes you laugh through the discomfort — like watching someone slip on an emotional banana peel.
And honestly, if you can’t laugh while a man slowly fades out of existence, what can you laugh at?
Final Thoughts: The Feel-Good Invisible Horror of the Year
The Unseen is the kind of film that sneaks up on you — literally and emotionally. It’s tragic without being sentimental, horrifying without being gratuitous, and quietly funny in that “Canadian misery wrapped in politeness” way.
It’s less about monsters and more about the invisible things that consume us: addiction, depression, family shame. And yet, against all odds, it leaves you with a strange sense of hope. Because even when you’re vanishing, someone might still see you.
Final Rating: ★★★★☆
Mood: Existential Horror in Flannel
Best Watched With: A stiff drink, a flashlight, and one bear-proof garbage bin.
