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Universal Monsters in review: Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Lock your gates. Shut the doors. The monster has returned!!! And I’ll keep my little intro here brief as our esteemed guest writer today has given us a magnificent opus on what many consider to be James Whale’s masterpiece, The Bride of Frankenstein. The Bride certainly has it all, social satire, horror, wit, comedy, and perhaps even a nuance of sexuality (homosexuality, to be bold). While Whale’s private may have private, not surprising considering how homosexuality was believed to be a mental disorder by the majority of Americans up until the 1970s, in Bride we get a little glimpse of satire to his hidden persona. Many symbolism’s I’m surprised survived the sharp blade of the Motion Picture Production Code censorship goons, now known as the MPAA, especially the scene in which the Monster is hoisted up in a near crucifixion pose.  However, I do not wish go too deeply into this topic, as there have been tons of scholarly paper written in its regard. If you are curious to dig deeper into what I’ve mentioned above, feel free to check out the following site I found, the research I found to be quite interesting, here. So, without further delay, let us see what our guest has in store for us today!

Would You Like To Hear What Happened After That?

By: Kit Power

 

So basically, this’ll be the ‘ignoramus’ portion of this blog series.

You see, I know nothing about the Universal monster series. Absolutely bugger all. Never one to let ignorance stop me writing (as those familiar with my work will no doubt attest), when Thomas S. Flowers approached me to take part, I lept at the chance – it felt like an opportunity to make a long-overdue correction, and fill one of the many many embarrassing gaps in my cultural knowledge.

Having been advised that the ‘marquee’ debut pictures were all already spoken for (The Mummy, The Wolf Man, Dracula etc) I was given a choice of over fifty titles. Scanning that list, Bride Of Frankenstein lept out at me immediately.

Because of the pinball table.

No, really.

See, of the many, many displacement activities I have to distract me when I really should be writing, pinball is one of the most consistent. The Pinball Arcade, a company dedicated to digitizing real world pinball tables to produce painstakingly realistic simulations pretty much owns a portion of my soul. Fortunately, all this play happens on the PS3 – if I was a Steam gamer and could readily see how many hours of my life have been sunk into the quintessentially pointless activity of using (digital) flippers to propel a (digital) steel ball around a (digital) table to make (digital) lights flash and bells ring, I suspect there’d be very little reason not to just end it all.

Anyhow, one of my favorite tables is ‘Monster Bash’, a 1997 table from Williams that features the Universal monster menagerie – specifically, The Wolf Man, The Mummy, Frankenstein’s monster, Dracula, The Creature From the Black Lagoon… and The Bride. If I tell you that ‘The Bride’ mini game consists of hitting a series of ramps, causing her digital counterpart to whack Frankenstein’s monster over the head with a frying pan while ‘Here comes the bride’ plays on a heavy metal guitar, you’ll perhaps get a flavour of how seriously the source material is being treated. That said, it’s a genuinely fun and well designed pinball table. My high score is in the 800 million range (more on this story later in the series).

So ‘Bride…’ felt like an obvious choice. A quick Amazon search to confirm that it was available in the UK (it was, as part of a BluRay set of 8 Universal monster movies for under £20 – sold!) and I was in.

I watched Frankenstein first, just to try and get some context, before settling down to Bride. I noted that Boris Karloff didn’t get a named credit in the original movie, but is absolutely star billing in the sequel. And I mean, fair enough, because he was fairly awe inspiring in the first movie, but it’s still interesting the degree to which this has become the Boris Karloff show.

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The opening five minutes didn’t inspire me with a huge amount of confidence, I have to say. The actor playing Byron is operating like we’re on the back row of a 1,000 seater auditorium, and at least to a modern eye, he’s camp as ninepence. It’s not a serious problem, but I did find myself trying to frantically readjust my sensibilities to 1935 settings.

And then the movie proper started, and none of that mattered.

I found this film to be so thunderingly good I watched it twice, and I’m still not sure I’m going to be able to do full justice to it. After all, there’s a ton of elements that go into making a good movie. When a film is actually great – as I think this one is – each of those elements could fill an essay in their own right. I’m going to try and talk about most of the elements in the order they occur in the film, but that won’t always be possible. I will also talk spoilers, for both this movie and it’s predecessor, Frankenstein, so  please, please, if you haven’t seen these movies yet, go away and come back when you have, okay? On the other hand, if you’re an aficionado, apologies in advance for my no doubt shocking stupidity and ignorance.

The first thing to note is that it’s an immediate sequel, in the style of Halloween 2 or Hellraiser 2, beginning where the drama of the first movie ended, with the burning mill. And it looks brilliant. I mean, there’s a gorgeous effects shot of the outside of the mansion that the prologue is held in – crashing thunder, torrential rain – which logic dictates has to be a model shot, but… well, I guess back then they knew how to sell a model shot. The burning mill is similarly spectacular, the black smoke against a grey sky, the roaring timber frame collapsing.

And there’s a weird thing about the acting. Because on one level, for many of the performers (cf. Byron, above) there’s a clear sense that these are stage actors who simply don’t get how film acting is different. So there’s a lot of what we might charitably call broad performances, especially from some of the bit players, like the burgermaster, and the maid. And you can absolutely chalk that up to the fact that it’s 1935, and ‘talkies’ have only been a thing for 8 years, especially with the older performers.

Except then, there’s Karloff.

And I mean, sure, the makeup does at least some of the heavy lifting. It’s absolutely iconic. It’s so good that I’ve seen it a million times, from Halloween masks to coasters to T-Shirts to  pinball tables to, shit, everywhere, same as you. And still, the moment that he stands out of the water and that face fills the frame is genuinely chilling. And that’s not all the makeup.

There’s something in his eyes.

There’s this terrifying blankness, with just a hint of… something. Some spark.

BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, Colin Clive, Elsa Lanchester, Boris Karloff, Ernest Thesinger, 1935

The movie wastes no time in reestablishing the monstrosity of the creature, with him committing a swift double murder of the parents of the child he killed in the last movie. There, of course, it was out of a tragically misguided sense of play. Here… well, he’s a wounded, terrified animal, cornered and burned, and righteously pissed off. And it’s not like he knows who he’s fighting with, or why.

Still, it’s uncomfortable – a genuinely grizzly fate for a blameless couple that have already suffered more than anyone should. It was an interesting decision to link the beginning of the movie so explicitly to the most horrific sequence of the original. It’s a clear statement of intent, but also reminds us how dangerous the monster really is.

From there we are acquainted with Dr. Henry Frankenstein, and his suspiciously young bride –  and I can’t tell if it’s comforting or depressing to know that even 80 years ago, actresses would get swapped out from one movie to another, but there it is. It’s also interesting to me to note that the technique of having the characters explicitly talk about the themes of the story via argument/dialogue, which has really been in vogue in a lot of TV writing of the last few years (I’m thinking particularly of Moffat era Doctor Who, here, but I’m sure you will have your own examples) was, again, clearly standard practice in 1935. In once sense, of course, that’s really a happy accident – likely if I’d seen this movie ten or fifteen years ago, there’s every chance this scene would have felt far more clunky and old fashioned that it does now. On the other hand, I found it surprising to find that modes of storytelling like this can apparently be both fashionable and cyclical, such that a film from 80 years ago can feel almost anachronistically modern.

And I guess this is a good time to talk about Colin Clive as Dr. Henry Frankenstein. I mean, the headline is, he’s brilliant, but it’s worth unpacking why, I think.

For starters, there’s a real range to his character. In this scene alone, he goes from romantic lead, to remorseful, to wistful dreamer, to a hint of the manic driven scientist from the first movie, then back again. In a single short monologue. The way Clive plays it is really clever, fluid, transitioning from one to the other smoothly, generating real unease in the process. Given the title of the film, and the tagline on the poster (‘The Monster demands a bride!’), there’s no real suspense about where the story is actually going. Nonetheless, the conflict evident in the character serves well to re-establish him as sympathetic, as well as laying the groundwork for the inevitable tragedy of his temptation and fall.

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And then of course, there is the agent of temptation himself – Dr Pretorious himself, played by Ernest Thesiger.

Again, you really could do a whole essay just on this guy. Possibly even a book. He really is that good, the performance that deep. There’s elements of Peter Cushing, for me, albeit camper and less restrained. It’s a fascinating performance – I mean, morally speaking, he’s unambiguously the villain of the piece, the snake in the garden tempting Henry back to the forbidden fruit of even more forbidden knowledge. He compares himself to the devil at one point, so you couldn’t fairly call it subtle. At the same time though, it’s not quite the flamboyant villain of, say Rickman in Robin Hood, (or, for that matter, the cold calculated villainy of Die Hard). He occupies a strange space, suave, but not too suave, persuasive yet sinister. It’s a fine line to walk, and for my money he walks it to perfection. It also reinforces my point earlier about stage vs. screen actors, because this guy has absolutely gotten the memo – so much of his performance is in his face, his eyes.

As befitting the Devil, he also gets all the best lines – ‘A new world of Gods and monsters’, of course, but even more striking to me, perhaps because I hadn’t heard it before, ‘Science, like love, has her little surprises’. The scenes with the two doctors talking, one by turns pleading and manipulating, the other drawn in against his will reminded me strongly of the classic ‘Doctor vs Davros’ conversations from Doctor Who (if you don’t know what I’m talking about get out. No, really. Get. Out). While the power dynamic is of course quite different, there’s still that tension of intellects being attracted even as the divergent morality creates repulsion. it’s potent stuff.

I’m conscious that I haven’t talked much about one of the absolute crown jewels of the movie yet; namely, the direction. In this regard, it’s instructive to watch this movie back to back with the 1931 original, because one of the things you realise is just how much technique improved in just four years. Not that the direction for Frankenstein is bad – quite the reverse. But here, less than half a decade later, director James Whale has improved his already considerable skills dramatically.

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I mean, you can take your pick, really. As in, put the movie in and scene select at random, I guarantee you’ll see something within five minutes that, if you know anything about film making and what it must have been like in the ‘30’s, will just blow your mind. There’s an effects shot involving little people in jars at one point, during one of Dr. Pretorius’ seduction attempts, and I just flat out do not know how it was done. I mean, I know how you’d do it now, in 2016 – piece of piss. But 1935?!? It’s insane.

But in some ways, it’s the things you don’t notice that are the most powerful. Like just how amazingly well lit Dr. Pretorious face is, especially in a few pivotal dialogue free scenes. Or how – and this I only spotted second time through – almost all the shots it the lab have the camera at a slight angle, creating a subtle sense of disorientation, dislocation – an unease that you can’t even quite put your finger on. It’s powerful enough that they’re still using techniques like this today.

But I’m getting a bit self conscious, to be honest, because I have no doubt that a real film buff will see a hell of a lot more than I did, so I guess I’ll attempt to quit while I’m ahead on the direction, and just say that if you want to know more, I’m sure there will, again, have been many books written.

Getting back to the story, there’s an interesting runaround where the monster is found, captured, then escapes again into the woods. In a modern film, you’d cut between these scenes and those of Dr. F and his old friend having their ‘will they/won’t they’ chats, but it doesn’t detract from the storytelling that they don’t do that – indeed, it’s a pleasure to spend such an unbroken amount of time in the presence of Karloff’s monster, because it’s an amazing performance.

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Especially in this sequence. Because, after a bit of good old fashioned growly rampage, we get to one of my favorite sequences in this exceptional film – the blind hermit. It’s lifted straight from Shelley’s novel – the blind old man in the woods who befriends the monster because he cannot see his monstrosity. And again, as ideas go, not exactly subtle, right? But what sells it is the performances from both players. The old man is superb – ernest, yes, but with a drive to kindness born of desperate loneliness and desire for companionship. And of course, the monster responds to that kindness (after some initial understandable suspicion) with a joy that’s just heartbreaking.

One of the reasons it’s so powerful is because it highlights again one of the core traits of the monster, which is that he is innocent. Not good – he kills from rage, and indeed killed a child, albeit from a misguided spirit of play – but innocent nonetheless. And innocence is a term we normally associate with either goodness (as in children) or blamelessness (as in victim). To have an innocent murderer, an innocent monster… I mean, never mind 1935, that’s a sophisticated and difficult idea in 2016 to put out there. There’s echos of it in other movies – King Kong, most obviously (I can’t be the only one who cries at the end of that picture), and even The Incredible Hulk, to a lesser degree, but I can’t think of a purer expression of it than the ten minutes or so of screen time where the blind man teaches the monster to talk, to smoke (!). When the monster grins and yells ‘Friend!’ while grabbing the woodsman’s hand and shaking it, your heart creaks a little. When the woodsman tucks him in, and the camera fills the frame with Karloff’s scared, discoloured face, and the tears start to flow from the monster, overwhelmed by simple kindness… I mean, that’s pathos.

Because, of course, it can’t possibly end well, and when a couple of hunters inevitably turn up and attack the monster, he’s left in a burning house as his blind friend is dragged away.

There’s an incredible effects shot here as a ball of fire rolls out the window of the burning cottage, and I’m no expert, but it looks bloody dangerous to me.

The circumstance that brings Dr. Pretorious and the monster into contact does seem suspiciously convenient in retrospect, but I have to say it’s not something that jumped out on either of my viewings. I think the performances are a big part of why – Thesiger is on fire in this scene, moving from imperious and overbearing with his hapless graverobber flunkies, to drunken revelry when he thinks he’s alone, to the look on his face when he realises he isn’t. From there, his interaction with the monster is just superb – you can almost hear the gears in his mind turning as he reacts to the creatures’ newfound ability to talk (which he later casually takes credit for as he confronts Henry Frankenstein, in a deliciously subtle character moment).

And of course, on the other end of that equation is Karloff. It feels dumb, if not outright surreal, to be talking about the emotional arc of a creature in a 30’s monster movie, but what the hell, we’ve come this far, right?

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Because this is where the tragedy of the monsters innocence plays out, in the process again highlighting the difference between innocence and goodness, and the inherent exploitability and danger of innocence wedded to strength. The monster here is traumatised, desolate even – having unexpectedly been given, all too briefly, something that had been outside of his realm of experience – kindness, friendship – only to have it inevitably snatched away again. His desire to rekindle that is as palpable as it is desperate, and the way both Karloff and Thesiger play it establishes the true depth of Pretorius’s callousness in a far more profound way than his causal pronouncements about the nature of good, evil, and science ever could. His manipulation of this innocent creature reveals him to be by far the darker and more evil monster. Similarly, the desperation of Karloff’s repetition of the word wife, the awful hunger in his voice, manages to elicit sympathy and fear in equal measure.

From there, the inevitable dragging of Henry Frankenstein back to his ‘extreme stitching’ antics (aided and abetted by the monster kidnapping his wife, of course) is handled with commendable pace – though the scene where Henry is confronted by the monster, and the Doctor’s reaction to his creation having rudimentary language skills, is wonderfully played by all concerned. Similarly, Clive’s performance as he returns to his laboratory is superb – the manic, driven scientist of the first movie is there, but more haunted, desperate… and, when he remembers, guilty and remorseful. A more pitiful and accurate portrayal of a regretful addict, succumbing to their demons despite the voices of his better nature crying out, you will not find. I’ve generally avoided metatextual knowledge here, but I can’t help but note that this was a struggle Clive was all too familiar with, as by the time of making this picture, he was already deep in the throes of the alcoholism that would kill him just five years later. I didn’t know that when I watched his performance, of course, but it surely makes sense of just how well he nails that desperate energy.

Then we hit a sequence where it just all comes together – the direction, the acting, the lighting, the sound, the set design, the effects – In a set piece that, 80 years on, is still thrilling and mesmerizing – the awakening of The Bride. I mentioned earlier the slightly off-kilter camera angles, but it’s something I only noticed second time around, because there’s so much else going on, and none of it remotely that subtle. There’s the enormous crashing and booming of the storm, for starters, and maybe it’s just my BluRay remaster, but it’s a glorious cacophony, especially mixed with the static bursts from the machinery in the lab. The lab set itself is enormous, and tall – the gurney that lifts the Bride up into the storm must be 70 or 80 feet, maybe more, and it’s amazing watching it go up, with all the thunder and lightning crashing around, under the fixed stares of the two Doctors, their faces underlit to perfection.

And so, at last, we reach the portion of my notes labelled simply The Bride.

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There’s a genius cut, first of all, where they start with the bandages, and reveal the feminine eyes, before jumping to her fully unwrapped and robed. It means we as the audience have no time at all to get introduced to her gently, instead being given the full-on impact of a full length shot of her awesome weirdness with basically no chance to prepare.

And, I mean, bloody hell, it’s an amazing piece of costume/makeup/effect work. The Bride in on screen, all told, surely no more than ten minutes (I suspect less) but that initial shot alone is enough to understand why this creature is so utterly iconic. To the extent that there’s an excellent chance, bordering on near certainty, that you already know exactly what I am talking about – can picture her clearly in your mind’s eye right now. And in the unlikely event that you can’t – firstly, I’m envious, but secondly, go watch the damn movie, okay?

It’s possible what you may not be as familiar with is how she moves – and here, Elsa Lanchester earns her stripes with a truly remarkable performance. There’s a fragility, utterly at odds with the solidity of Karloff’s monster, but at the same time, underneath is that same blank innocence, that same animal fear. She is uneasy on her feet. Her head snaps about, eyes flitting, like a bird about to take flight. The score swells with wedding bells as Praetoris declares ‘The Bride of Frankenstein!”, but they are discordant, cacophonous, eerie.

A fade cut, and the monster is introduced to his bride. Karloff’s desperate hunger here is palpable, his instant infatuation heartbreaking. And I mean look, there’s something about this scene and how it plays out that I think connects to a fundamental element (of at least the majority of) the hetrosexual male pyche, so I’m just going to lay it out here: I think most straight men, when we are around a woman we desire, kind of feel like the monster. We feel clumsy, inarticulate, ugly, undesirable. Inadequate. This is irrespective of how the lady in question feels about us, incidentally – this is about especially the moments before first contact, when we’re torn between our desire to reach out and our abject terror at being rejected. We are all, in that moment, the monster. And Karloff just nails it. Agian. His dopey grin as he lurches towards her is – there’s that word again – heartbreaking.

As is her reaction.

Because she’s an innocent too. Everything that applies to the monster applies to her. Moreso for her, in fact, since at this stage it the story she’s effectively maybe an hour old. And it’s fascinating, because there’s a moment in the story, right here, where the whole structure, the type of story being told, is hanging by a thread. If this is ultimately a comedy, in the classical sense (and the film is not devoid of humor, making this genuinely plausible)  it will end in a wedding, after all.

“Friend?” The monster asks, hopefully. Her reply is a sharp short noise, a maybe-laugh, and a maybe-grin. The monsters’ smile wavers, grows. he staggers towards her, as she lurches on the spot, uncertain, her actions unclear. He reaches for her arm.

Then she screams.

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It’s a powerful moment. Heartbreaking, of course, for the monster, but perhaps even more chilling for what it tells you about the Bride. All at once, it is clear that, despite all the callous assumptions of the arrogant men around her, she is a creature of independent thought and mind. And she does not like what she sees. In some ways, it’s an inversion of the blind man sequence; there, a man with no sight could, with mindfulness, find the innocent inside the monster, and speak to him. Here, an innocent has only her eyes to guide her, and her response is as predictable as it is chilling.

Chilling, because it brings home the horror of what the doctors have done, in their arrogance and the kind of stupidity that only very intelligent men can manage.

The rest of the courtship is brief, and excruciating. When the monster reaches out to embrace the Bride, and she screams again, Karloff’s face moves from fragile hope, to despair, and then to blank resignation.

From there, the end is swift.

And really, I kind of know how he feels. I’m sure, without checking Amazon, that books will have been written about this movie – at a guess, a lot of them. To come in as a green observer in 2016 and try and find anything original to say about it was always going to be an act of  folly, doomed to failure. Nonetheless, it’s been a privilege to take the journey. I hope this inspires people to rewatch this movie, because it’s a film the deserves to continue be seen and talked about.

Thanks for the opportunity, Thomas. Hope I didn’t stink the place up too bad.

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Kit Power lives in the UK and writes fiction that lurks at the boundaries of the horror, fantasy, and thriller genres, trying to bum a smoke or hitch a ride from the unwary. In his secret alter ego of Kit Gonzo, he also performs as front man (and occasionally blogs) for death cult and popular beat combo The Disciples Of Gonzo. He is the published author of such works as, GodBomb!, Lifeline, and has contributed to numerous anthologies, including The Black Room Manuscripts, Widowmakers, and upcoming Easter Eggs and Bunny Boilers.

 

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Universal Monsters in review: Frankenstein (1931)

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While Dracula (1931) may have been the first, the granddaddy of the Universal Monster pictures, it was Frankenstein who set the monstrous industry into a golden era of bringing frightful stage plays into the silver screen. And likewise became the highlight of eccentric director James Whales’ career. I’m sure you’re probably thinking, “But Tommy, wasn’t one of Whales best pictures Journey’s End (1930), a full year before Frank made the big screen.” And yes. I would agree. Journey’s End was a fantastic war drama depicting the lives of British soldiers as they fought in trench warfare during the Great War and equally important as one of the first talkies. Be-that-as-it-may, it was Frankenstein to which the director really shined. And perhaps one could argue, it was his 1935 sequel, Bride of Frankenstein to which we could pin as his masterpiece. But that review will have to wait for another day. Today, the lovely Dawn Cano will be taking us on a little journey into the macabre heart of Frankenstein, to whomever said heart may belong, we’ll have to discover on our own. Perhaps we’ll find pain. Perhaps we’ll find fear. Perhaps we’ll find something about ourselves in those melodramatic haunting eyes of Boris Karloff. Let us discover together.

Frankenstein:  A Real Tug on the Heartstrings

By: Dawn Cano

Released in 1931 and based on the 1818 novel by the same name, Frankenstein was directed by James Whale, and stars Boris Karloff, Collin Clive, Mae Clarke, and Dwight Frye. It tells the story of Dr. Henry Frankenstein who, along with his assistant Fritz, sets out to create human life by piecing together body parts from the recently deceased.

Of course, all bodies need a brain, and after unsuccessfully trying to acquire one from the graveyard, Dr. Frankenstein sends Fritz into a medical laboratory to steal a brain. Fritz grabs a healthy, normal brain and drops it, leaving the only alternative to be the unhealthy, or abnormal brain that once belonged to a violent criminal.

After acquiring the brain, the doctor gets to work on his experiment. Meanwhile, Frankenstein’s fiancee, Elizabeth, worries for his sanity because he’s locked himself in an abandoned watchtower and refuses to leave until he completes his work. She and her friends, Victor Moritz and Dr. Waldman, head to the watchtower to rescue the doctor before his experiment drives him mad.

Frankenstein is fairly annoyed that his fiancee arrived to interrupt his work, but soon ushers the trio into his laboratory to prove once and for all that he can create life, and that he’s not crazy. When they enter the room, they see a dead man lying on a hospital table and during a thunderstorm, Frankenstein and Fritz raise the bed up to the roof of the watchtower, where it is struck by lightning. The two lower the bed and soon, the dead man’s hand begins moving. It is then we hear one of the most iconic lines in movie history, “It’s alive!”

Frankenstein’s “monster” (I hate that term but use it in this article for the sake of argument) initially comes across as a docile creature until we see his violent reaction to fire. Frankenstein uses fire to control the beast and Fritz antagonizes the monster until finally, he can’t take anymore and strangles the assistant.  Knowing then that Frankenstein’s monster is dangerous and must be destroyed, Henry and Dr. Waldman decide to humanely end his life. Waldman puts the monster to sleep and prepares to dissect him, and Henry goes off to get married.

Waldman is ready to dissect Frankenstein’s creation, but the monster awakens, strangles the doctor and escapes. He comes across a little girl named Maria, who invites him to play. The pair throw flowers into the lake, watching them float, and when the monster runs out of flowers, he tosses the girl into the water to see if she floats too. She doesn’t, and drowns. Later, we see the girl’s father walking through the center of town carrying his dead child. Everyone knows the monster is to blame and several hundred residents form groups to find and either kill him, or bring him back alive. As Dr. Frankenstein leads one of the search parties, he comes across his creation. The monster knocks him out and carries him to the top of an old mill. Out of fear and anger, the monster throws his creator off the top of the mill and luckily, Frankenstein’s fall is broken by the windmill’s vanes, which is the only thing that saves his life. The villagers set fire to the windmill, seemingly killing Frankenstein’s monster.

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In 1931, Frankenstein was released on the cusp of Dracula‘s success, at a time when Universal struggled to pay its bills, so the studio needed this film to be as successful as Dracula. When filming began for Frankenstein, French director Robert Florey was set to direct, with Bela Lugosi cast as Frankenstein’s monster. Through some unknown twist of fate, (many rumors have circulated as to why these two left the project, but nothing solid was ever confirmed) James Whale, known for his sense of humor and often blasphemous take on things, took the helm and cast the relatively unknown Boris Karloff in the role of the monster. Lugosi eventually got his chance to play Frankenstein’s monster in the 1943 film, Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. That film was a feeble attempt to revitalize his failing career, but he was no Karloff, and the film was a flop.

By far, the best casting choice for this film, excluding Karloff of course, is that of Collin Clive in the role of Dr. Henry Frankenstein. Dr. Frankenstein clearly teeters on the edge of creativity and madness in this film, and Clive absolutely nails his performance. Not only does the audience feel the madness slowly creeping up on the good doctor, they also feel his need to do something dangerous and to take chances, which is something many of us wish we had the guts to do.

Cast in the role of Frankenstein’s fiancee, Elizabeth, Mae Clarke gives a stellar performance as a strong woman who can stand on her own (a rarity at the time), but one who is also afraid for the man she loves. I think this role would have been wasted on anyone else.

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Whale felt that because of the strong horror elements in Frankenstein, the movie needed a little comic relief, so he cast Dwight Frye as Fritz and Frederick Kerr as Henry’s father, Baron Frankenstein. The director incorporated subtle comedy in this film to break up the horror and give audiences a break from the most terrifying scenes ever shown at the time.

To 1931 audiences, Dracula was frightening. However, when Universal released Frankenstein later that year, it was considered so scary, it actually started with a warning, one that told people what they were about to witness. The message was delivered by Dr. Waldman himself, Edward van Sloan:

How do you do? Mr. Carl Laemmle (the producer) feels it would be a little unkind to present this picture without just a word of friendly warning. We are about to unfold the story of Frankenstein, a man of science who sought to create a man after his own image without reckoning upon God. It is one of the strangest tales ever told. It deals with the two great mysteries of creation – life and death. I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even – horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now’s your chance to – uh, well, we warned you.”

And there it is, the moral lesson Frankenstein left in the mind of its audience. Man shouldn’t “play God.” The 1930s saw a strong resurgence of religion not only in America, but all across the world. Church attendance was way up as the world pulled itself up by its boot straps and tried to recover from the Great Depression. Frankenstein not only made people question if playing with life and death was the morally right thing to do, it also subtly questioned the existence of God. (“Now I know what it’s like to BE God!”) Today, with things like cloning becoming more commonplace and atheism on the rise, playing God doesn’t seem quite so shocking or terrible as it must have 85 years ago. At that time, imagine how horrifying it must have been to see the doctor robbing the graveyard of fresh corpses, or watching a dead body come back to life. Frankenstein was well ahead of its time in the subjects it tackled.

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What I really want to talk about here, which is by far the best part of Frankenstein, at least for me, is its emotion. First we have the doctor, who wanted so badly to be remembered for something, he would do whatever it took to gain notoriety.  History would always remember him as the man who brought the dead back to life. First and foremost, he was a dreamer, and his dream almost tore him apart. Clive does an outstanding job making the audience feel scared for the doctor when it seems his sanity was on the line, and happy for him when he finally succeeds, even when what he was doing was so wrong.

As outstanding as Clive’s performance is, the real emotion in this film doesn’t come from the doctor. It comes from the “monster” himself. One particular scene comes to mind, and those of you who have watched the film will (hopefully) agree with me. When Dr. Frankenstein learns the monster is afraid of fire, he opens up the roof of the watchtower, allowing the sunlight to come streaming through so he can gauge the monster’s reaction. Frankenstein’s creation smiles, lifting his head and hands toward the light. It is a beautiful scene and although Karloff has no speaking lines, so much comes through in that one moment. People have often speculated about this particular moment, and I’ve seen folks guess that maybe the monster’s behavior was supposed to represent autism. Another fan theory is that maybe the man whose brain the monster inherited came from someone destined to go to Hell, and the sun represented Heaven, a place the deceased never thought he’d get to see. Either way, it’s a gorgeous, highly-emotional scene.

After the monster escapes, he finds his way to the lake and meets Maria, the little girl he later drowns. The two of them are sitting on the bank of the lake throwing flowers into the water, watching them float. The monster’s face during this moment is a mask of pure joyful innocence, and the only reason he throws the girl into the water is because he runs out of flowers and wants to keep playing. There is no malice in his action and he obviously realizes he did something wrong because as soon as Maria hits the water, he runs away. Again, Karloff expresses an abundance of emotion in this short scene without ever saying a word. The end of Frankenstein shows the monster carrying his creator to the top of the windmill. The fear and confusion the monster feels is palpable and despite everything he’s done, you can’t help but feel very sad for him that his short life ends so violently.

These are the reasons why I dislike calling Dr. Frankenstein’s creation a “monster.” He was never a monster at all. He was something created out of body parts, brought to life and left to his own devices,  and all of these things took place against his will. Fritz did nothing but torment him with fire until he eventually snapped, because he didn’t know any other way to make him stop. The doctor provided no guidance, no teachings of the difference between right and wrong, and mistakenly thought that this new person would automatically know how to think and behave, even after he found out the brain he used was abnormal. Without guidance, how could anyone expect him to automatically know what to do?

Another thing Frankenstein got right was the sets. Remember, the year is 1931, so cinematography and set design were still fairly new. Some scenes, like the scene where the monster is running away from the mobs are obviously fake. (take a look at the clouds) but some, like the one where Maria’s father walks through the center of town carrying his dead daughter are absolutely breathtaking for their time.

Riding on the success of the first film, more than 70 movies featuring Frankenstein’s monster eventually followed, and each had varying degrees of success. Some of the more popular Frankenstein films include Bride of Frankenstein, Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein, and Son of Frankenstein. No matter how successful these films are, none will match the vision, creativity, or raw emotion presented in the first Frankenstein.*

Frankenstein gets a very solid 5/5 from me.

frankandgirl

A horror fan from an early age, Dawn Cano loves everything about the genre and has just begun her journey into the world of horror writing. When not pounding away at the keyboard, she can be found reviewing books and movies for The Ginger Nuts of Horror and wasting time on Facebook. Dawn has also started what will no doubt be a fantastic career as a storyteller. You can find her books, including Sleep Deprived and Bucket List, *Warning: Some Scenes May Disturb for both of these wonderfully gruesome tales.