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By L. B. C.

To see a man remove hat, gleves, coat, and face, and reveal nothing but the wall beyond him is not an entirely new sensation (c.f. Dracula looking into a mirror and seeing nothing); but it is none the less grotesque and even somewhat amusing. The producers of "The Invisible Man" have not taken their creation too seriously, and so they have him do a jig down a country road with nothing but his trousers and an hysterically fugitive old woman to indicate his presence.

Everything would have gone well with the Invisible Man if the drug which made him invisible had not also made him insane; and so, after becoming a wrecker of trains and a murderer, he is finally shot dead in his tracks as he emerges from a barn into a virgin coat of newly fallen snow.

The story, after H. G. Wells, is laid in an English countryside, and most of the accents are satisfactorily broad, the Invisible Man being, as far as it is possible to tell, of the Colin Clive type. On the whole, the picture is absorbing and mechanically deft, especially in the shots of rattling tongs, flying lamps, and moving furniture, all invisibly motivated. One of the few possible pictures now showing around Boston.

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