The Best New TV Shows & Movies This Week: 'The Invisible Man', 'Curb Your Enthusiasm', and More

Image via Complex

Where to Watch: HBO Now

After eight episodes of suspense and doubt, we finally experience a landmark payoff for the series—Ralph is starting to believe in El Cuco. It’s a point in the narrative that’s somehow more satisfying than watching Holly uncover El Cuco itself. And that satisfaction possibly comes from Ralph serving as the series’ most realistic character, but not the most sensible. He’s so dedicated to physical proof and logic that’s it obstructs him from doing his actual job. While Holly is hands down the most intuitive character in the series, it’s specifically her ready willingness to believe that makes her less empathetic than Ralph. Having Ralph believe her and finally accept the supernatural monstrosity is the true turning point, albeit if it’s towards the end of the series. 

The episode starts with Claude traveling to Tennessee to see his brother. He’s inexplicably paranoid and desperate to leave his hometown, behavioral traits that we’ve never seen (or at least been shown) with Terry, Heath, or Maria. In the meantime, Holly is insistent that the police department follows him to Tennessee to keep an eye on him, a surprisingly foolproof way of having strong witnesses in case Claude’s dopplegänger plans another murder.

The investigation has taken serious toll on El Cuco, who is too weak (not fully in Claude form) and vulnerable (from the investigation) to move around on its own. It commands Jack to kill anyone for food, even adults. Now on the watchlist by the police, Jack steals his own car and breaks into his apartment to obtain all of his weapons in order to essentially do whatever El Cuco forces him to do. 

We see a lot of car rides in this episode—one between Holly and Ralph and another with Yuni and Andy. The scenes are mainly for exposition and can drag on at some points. We learn that Jack has dreamed of being a sniper, going through basic training and becomes the top of his class. However, after failing the mandatory psychiatric evaluation, his dreams were killed. With Jack’s volatility, he’s a serious enough threat to the investigation but also the innocent people that he will hunt down for El Cuco. 

Part of the plan to protect Claude involves Yuni calling ahead to the police department to arrest him, which seems unconstitutional but borderline brilliant—how can Claude be guilty of a potential murder if he’s arrested at the same time? The worst part of Holly’s plan is that it’s predicated on the unavoidable murder of a child in order to prove his eventual innocence. It’s the darkest Catch-22 that they have to grapple with. 

In the meantime, the episode moves back and forth with a family heading to CaveStock—we see a young boy who is not unlike Frankie Peterson and we know that he will be El Cuco’s next victim. However, the boy’s family stops El Cuco and witnesses circle it, with their phones out and ready. We see Claude’s inchoate face, not fully transformed. The largest takeaway is when Ralph sees the footage and finally believes. Now they finally stand a chance to stopping El Cuco.

The final shot of the episode is probably the most Stephen King-esque of the series, with El Cuco’s Claude bent over, monstrously tearing into a deer carcass. It’s getting desperate but getting more volatile. We have yet to see it in its full form, but can’t wait for what the next two episodes bring. —Andie Park

Where to Watch: HBO Now

At this point it's a broken record, but Curb is on a run reminiscent of their classic swag. There's a lot going on in these episodes; it's a perfect Big Mac-layered storytelling going on here. But it's the little stuff eeking out—the way Larry carries on with receptionists, or how quick he is to believe Susie is trying to kill Jeff. The whole urinal situation coming to life, built by a guy with what can only be described as a racist dog(?). It's a quality season; here's to it ending on a high note. —khal

Where to Watch: Netflix

A warning to the Anti-Pete Davidson Hive: Alive From New York is just the first volley in what is—whether incidentally or strategically, who can say— lining up to be the Spring of Pete. It arrived this week on the heels of an equal-length sitdown with Charlamagne; the premieres of Big Time Adolescence and his Judd Apatow-helmed King of Staten Island are set to follow. Stand-up is probably the weakest of his powers. No shots intended: it's just, there's a rigorous effort put into precision, timing, and pacing that goes into the art form. The best can still make it seem as if they're rattling off observational punchlines off the top of their head; Pete lets you see the rehearsal and nervousness with every stammer, stutter and stumble. Which is a shame because he is genuinely funny and unique—a fourth-wall joke about pausing and resuming for sex would've killed with a top edit.

What does it say that I laughed the hardest during the inevitable Ariana Grande section? It reminds me of when Big Sean dropped his now biggest single to date, "IDFWU," in the wake of his own failed engagement a cathartic indulgence of pettiness that some rap critics deemed as his most interesting moment on wax to date. Pete comes, well, alive, in this stretch moreso than any other part of the special (which only runs at a slight 45 or so to begin with), clearly rankled and eager to tell "his side" in the manner least likely to get him canceled. The rest of the spring will likely decide what version of Pete we see going forward: in tandem with an almost assured exit from SNL, he may go full movie star and never do stand-up again. Either way, Alive From New York shows potential for standup as self-therapy. A special that took off the kid gloves and leaned all the way into the skid (Ariana jokes were almost a must but imagine if he went full heel about his Beckinsale dalliance or dating Larry David's daughter) while putting in the work to truly own the stage, and he might not need to make self-deprecating "Netflix is handing specials out to anyone" jokes. He'll be a must-have. —Frazier Tharpe

Where to Watch: In theaters

There’s nothing scarier thinking something or someone is lingering just around the corner, just out of sight. That fear often dominates our childhoods—the boogeyman hiding in your closet or under your bed—but the mind game it plays on us lasts long into the daylight. How could we be so sure something was present, only to have parents, siblings, friends confirm to us otherwise?  

This horror is what drives the core of writer/director Leigh Whannell (Upgrade, Insidious: Chapter 3), Universal, and Blumhouse’s The Invisible Man remake. Born out of the corpse of Universal’s poorly executed Dark Universe initiative that would see all the classic Universal Monsters—Frankenstein, Mummy, Dracula, Creature from the Black Lagoon, and so forth—come together in an MCU-like crossover, the 2020 remake of the classic H.G. Wells novel pulls the ‘invisible’ and ‘man’ parts from the source material before running off to tell an original tale. The decidedly modern reworking focuses on Cecilia (Elizabeth Moss—more on her in a bit), as she escapes her manipulative and controlling husband tech guru husband Adrian (The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), only to seemingly be haunted by him well after she’s told he’s taken his own life. From here, we’re off to the races—and given the first must-see major studio release of the year.

While the phrase is never specifically evoked, gaslighting lingers over the film the same way Adrian lurks the edges of the frame. It’s clear Cecilia’s sister Emily (Harriet Dyer), best friend James (a most welcome Aldis Hodge) and his daughter Sydney (Storm Reid) want to believe her, but with no tangible evidence, it’s hard to believe Cecilia is anything other than, well, crazy. Whannell’s script steers directly into much of our modern dialogue; on his now third directorial feature, Whannell asserts himself as a craftsman. Many of the film’s shots are lingering wide angles, leaving wide open spaces to draw the mind into where Adrian might or might not be present. It’s fitting Whannell cited Rosemary’s Baby as an influence, as these shots evoke a feeling not dissimilar to the one audiences had trying to lean around a corner while watching Roman Polanski’s 1968 horror masterpiece. 

And at the center of it all is a firecracker performance from Moss. Anyone who has kept track of the actor in her post-Mad Men career will know she’s one of our best working performers, but The Invisible Man sees her taking things to another level. The film will hopefully alert audiences who didn’t see Her Smell or can’t get past the dourness of Handmaid’s Tale to her astonishing prowess. The only question now is if she’ll pursue more horror, upon which she’d easily mint herself a brand new scream queen. Tense, gripping, and satisfying in a way that would be a breath of fresh air at any point in the year—let alone Dumpuary—The Invisible Man is certainly a most welcome surprise. —William Goodman