WHAT you can’t see might kill you in an ingeniously executed horror thriller from writer-director Leigh Whannell, inspired by the 1897 HG Wells novel of the same title.

Reset to present-day San Francisco in the shadow of Silicon Valley, The Invisible Man is a two-hour masterclass in sustained nerve-jangling tension, which cleverly frames each shot so characters hover in the corner of the screen and our eyes are drawn to open spaces where an unseen predator could be lurking.

Whannell indulged his penchant for gore when he jump-started the Saw franchise in 2004. However, the sadistic pleasure of The Invisible Man is not knowing when the titular stalker will play the next round of his diabolical game of cat and mouse. An emotionally wrought central performance from Elisabeth Moss firmly tethers an outlandish dramatic conceit to gut-wrenching reality.

We weather the storm of every tearful whimper and anguished plea for help as her unstable heroine fails to convince friends and family that her abusive ex – ‘a world leader in the field of optics’ – is cruelly unpicking the fabric of her existence.

Whannell holds us in a vice-like grip from the bravura opening sequence, which instantly whitens our knuckles as architect Cecilia Kass (Moss) silently sneaks around the clifftop home of her controlling beau, scientist Adrian Griffin (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), as he sleeps nearby.

She escapes the glass box prison with help from her sister Alice (Harriet Dyer) and goes into hiding in the home of police officer pal James (Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (Storm Reid).

Soon after, Cecilia learns that Adrian has committed suicide and bequeathed her $5million in his will, to be paid in monthly instalment via his brother Tom (Michael Dorman).

For the first time in years, Cecilia draws breath but a series of strange events convinces her that the news of Adrian’s demise is greatly exaggerated.

The Invisible Man is a wickedly entertaining allegory of our modern age of social media-driven gratification, in which cunning predators lurk online behind attractive avatars.

Moss captures her victim’s painful fragility and vulnerability with verve, securely locking us into a living nightmare as Whannell wreaks havoc using sleight of hand and digital trickery.

RATING: 8/10