GRIFF THE INVISIBLE Review

I believe it was last year when the hip/smart National Public Radio program "This American Life" ran a segment asking random people whether they'd rather have the super power of flight or invisibility. They could only have one or the other, not both. If I remember correctly, the results were nearly fifty-fifty, with lots of people having a tough time choosing. The question is as intrusively psychologically probing as it is interesting; (something that "This American Life" seized upon,) but for most of us is in fact not so easily answered.

Meanwhile, in Australia... One person who would have no problem choosing between flight and invisibility is the reclusive yet curiously less reserved Griff, neurotically played by Ryan Kwanten (HBO's "True Blood"). Griff leads a double life: office cubicle drone by day, secret superhero by night. His crappy no-frills apartment is occupied by he and he alone, with the exception of an array of high-tech surveillance equipment (evoking Batman when he's at his Big Brother-esque worst), a super-telescope, and in the center of it all, in all its fetishized glory, a state-of-the-art black and yellow padded super suit, worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster. From within this inner sanctum, Griff takes missions from a faceless, unheard Commissioner (evoking Batman at his city-defending best), taking down hideous villains and their hench-thugs on the streets of the unnamed primary colored city.

But at work, a doggone bully won't leave him alone. This causes the nimble and socially awkward Griff to further his crime-fighting technology. At home, he figures out the recipe for invisible ink. It isn't long before he's whipped up a huge batch in his bathtub, dousing a disposable white suit in it in. He will have his greatest desire - to be invisible!

And here's where things take a turn. First-time feature film director and career actor in other projects (but apparently not this one) Leon Ford ambitiously and increasingly calls into question the validity of everything that's been established thus far. Is Griff a truly courageous vigilante of the night, or merely withering little man bearing an unhealthy anger and a damaged psyche? (Evoking Batman of the Tim Burton film era.) As the precise reality of Griff's world is called into question, the film becomes as increasingly intriguing as it does muddled. Granted, this is the sort of thing that rewards multiple viewings, which I've yet had the time to invest, but amid Ford's careful attention to visual detail and the characters psychological fortitude, there is an unavoidable greenness in his storytelling and pacing, betraying his lack of experience. Simply put, he's got an awful lot of balls in the air for a first-time juggler. "Griff" ain't bad, but had it been even better, this may've been a Great film.

But what hope does Greatness stand in the face of Love? None, although Griff does his best to challenge that classic either/or proposition as his life is invaded by the young, strange and beautiful Melody (Maeve Dermody). Melody, the most interesting character in the movie, develops a thing for Griff, and won't let go, despite his repeated rejections. In the film, she's the only one who sees the world the way he does - as a series of barriers that must be overcome. She exists to show Griff that transcendence lies just beyond those barriers, and director Ford seems to delight in sharing her perspective. Melody's oddball fascination with quantum physics and her obsession with harnessing the power to pass through solid matter mirror Griff's own invisibility obsession so closely that it's only fitting that he can't see it. Constantly emoting arbitrary mind-bending statements and quirk, she is (to swipe a concept from Nathan Rabin,) the manic pixie dream girl of Science Club run amok.

Empty spaces, willed absence of being, transcending the physical, theoretical dark matter, and the power to not be seen are concepts the film becomes increasingly enamored with. But above all that, while still tying in to those things, are notions of subjective realities; the validity, value and even credibility thereof. Every character of any weight at all in the film is subject to this angle of examination, not just the obvious socially outcast leads. Griff when we meet him is a super suit without an identity. The logo on his suit is after all a big G for Griff, even though when it comes to protecting his identity from visitors to his apartment, he's as conventional as Clark Kent. That's just one of the careful clues to the messed-up duality of the character. But does it matter? What is sanity, anyway? Is reality an either/or proposition? Pragmatists as well as mental health professionals may find the film's laissez-faire approach to the questions it asks troubling, but then again, the filmmakers seem to care less about that. There are no mental health professionals in the film, only realistically illustrated common people, eccentric and otherwise.

Amid all of this conceptual heavy lifting, Ford and his cast manage to imbue "Griff the Invisible" with a certain magnetic spark of fun and oddity - the kind of fun and oddity that mainstream Australian film imports have come to be known for in the States. (Thank you, Baz Luhrmann and Crocodile Dundee!) Innitially I thought "Griff the Invisible" was "Kick-Ass" meets "The Men Who Stare at Goats" with the color palate of "Dick Tracy", but really, it's a lot more like a four-colored genre-ized version Zach Braff's "Garden State". (First time director from an acting background? Check. Mentally questionable protagonist? Check. Baggage-laden manic pixie dream girl? Check. An early shot of the protagonist wearing clothes that exactly blends him into the wall he's standing in front of? Check, mate.) Anyhow, it's all to "Griff"'s credit, even as, with it's very limited release in the U.S., the film unfortunately most likely will live up its name at the box office. Here's hoping that in time, this interestingly off-kilter entry into the increasingly crowded domain of on-screen superheroes will fly with an audience.

- Jim Tudor