Vague Visages’ Invader review contains minor spoilers. Mickey Keating’s 2024 movie features Colin Huerta, Vero Maynez and Joe Swanberg. Check out the VV home page for more film criticism, movie reviews and film essays.

Relentless stalkers and memorable masked predators have long haunted horror cinema. Iconic movie killers, including Michael Myers in Halloween (1978) and Freddy Krueger in A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), perfected this cat-and-mouse subgenre dynamic. In modern movies like Hush (2016) and Sick (2022), anonymous killers show audiences that the fear often lies not in the danger that the villains pose to potential victims but in the possibility that we may never find out their motives.

Mickey Keating’s Invader fits neatly into the stalker horror subgenre, but the director distinguishes his work through a willingness to experiment with pacing and structure, even if every risk doesn’t play off while exploring stylistic boundaries. The film opens with a wordless sequence in which an anonymous man (Joe Swanberg) trashes the interior of an empty house. It’s an aggressive introduction that then cuts to protagonist Ana (Vero Maynez), who arrives in Chicago after a long bus journey from Mexico and plans to reunite with her cousin, Camila. This cross-border setup adds a poignant layer to the story, and Keating’s decision to alternate between English and Spanish deepens the sense of Ana’s outsider status. 

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Invader’s shifting screenplay language subtly reinforces Ana’s loneliness in a foreign city. When the protagonist can’t contact Camila by phone, she heads to her cousin’s home, only to find it empty. Ana’s search leads her to a local grocery store, where she meets Camila’s coworker, Carlo (Colin Huerta). The two try to piece together what has happened and eventually get drawn into a harrowing confrontation with a masked stalker. Invader employs a disorienting filming style, most notably through its shaky, handheld camerawork. The frame often blurs Ana’s surroundings and keeps much of the environment out of sight. Keating’s shuddering framing, in collaboration with cinematographer Mac Fisken, mirrors Ana’s terror and generates a sense of dislocation that places viewers directly in the protagonist’s vulnerable perspective.

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What sets Invader apart from more conventional stalker horror films is its feverish aesthetic that owes more to the manic energy of 1970s and 80s exploitation cinema than modern genre trends. Fisken’s disorienting camerawork evokes the chaotic intensity of films like Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession (1981), where the claustrophobic, point-of-view perspective mirrors the heroine’s psychological turmoil. Keating channels this same experimental spirit, and Invader contrasts with the composed realism of more recent films like The Strangers (2008). For instance, while slow tracking shots in Bryan Bertino’s aforementioned film show hidden dangers to the audience, Invader’s handheld camerawork strips away this visual clarity.

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For audiences hoping for a deep psychological thriller, Invader may not quite deliver. The premise suggests a slow burn narrative that peels back layers of motivation and tension, but Keating doesn’t dig that deep into victim or stalker psychology. Even when Invader’s villain steps fully into view, he remains an enigma. However, Maynez and Huerta do a fine job of conveying both the growing terror as they search for Camila and their characters’ growing trust in each other as they navigate the Chicago suburbs.

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However, these more intimate moments pass quickly due to Invader’s raw, jagged energy. This sensory experience is driven more by the filmmaking itself than the performances, though the cast holds their own, slotting neatly into the film’s galloping rhythm. While the actors confidently keep pace, locking into Keating’s frenetic rhythm, various intimate moments flash by almost too quickly, swallowed up by the intensity of the pacing. The sound design, crafted by Shawn Duffy and paired with a menacing score from Shayfer James, is especially potent, creating a tangible atmosphere that practically seeps through the screen. This effect is particularly obvious in squalid interior scenes, which are so vividly rendered that viewers can almost smell the decay. 

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Invader’s formal techniques are most effective in the final act, where framing and camera angles work in tandem to heighten a suffocating sense of claustrophobia. As Ana and Carlo edge closer to uncovering the truth about Camila, the visuals grow increasingly disorienting and mirror the protagonists’ psychological descent. This won’t be to everyone’s taste, however, as Keating’s fragmented narrative offers little in the way of clarity or resolution, though the ambiguity feels like a calculated embrace of experimental disorientation over neat storytelling. 

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Ultimately, Invader offers a tense and grimy experience for those willing to surrender to the chaos. Keating’s film refuses to offer any catharsis and generates a memorably oppressive mood via handheld camerawork and disorienting visuals. At just 70 minutes, Invader leaves little room to breathe.

Invader released digitally on March 25, 2025.

Christina Brennan (@bigloudscreams) is a UK-based freelance writer with bylines in Little White Lies, Flux Magazine and Filmhounds. She has a soft spot for all types of horror movies and is currently writing a book on George Sluizer’s thriller The Vanishing (due to be released in 2025).

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