"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
Frankenstein and The Bride Of Frankenstein: Two Monsters For The Price Of One
by Andrew E. Lindsay
Universal
released Frankenstein
in 1931, and The
Bride of Frankenstein
in 1935. As such, I never had the opportunity to see Boris Karloff in
these classic monster movies on the big screen. And then Turner
Classic Movies (my favorite TV channel) announced a one-night showing
in select theaters around the country, one of which happened to be
just a few miles from my house. So, just about 80 years or so after
they frightened audiences for the first time, I sat in an actual
theater and watched Frankenstein’s monster come to life twice
in the same night.
Frankenstein
is based on a novel by Mary Shelley and features a scientist who is
walking a disturbing line between genius and madness, and who is
obsessed with the idea of reanimating dead people. The scientist
(Colin Clive) is Henry Frankenstein (his name was Victor in the book,
but somehow became Henry in the film) and he is engaged to be married
to Elizabeth (Mae Clark).
His
father is a wealthy baron, and Henry has disappeared, run off to an
old windmill where he’s set up a rather impressive-looking
laboratory, complete with all sorts of electrical gadgetry and
gizmos, including an automated skylight, an operating table that can
be elevated up and out of the skylight, and of course, a slightly
humpbacked assistant whose IQ is in the low double-digits.
One
of the most remembered scenes happens early in the movie, when Dr.
Frankenstein harnesses the power of a terrifying electrical storm to
send the spark of life through the creature he has made from spare
body parts. “It’s alive! It’s alive!” he
screams maniacally, as the fingers on the table begin to twitch and
move.
Sadly,
his assistant Fritz botched the acquisition of the creature’s
brain, and instead of the good, healthy brain he was supposed to
steal, he grabbed an abnormal brain that was taken from a murderous
criminal. Dr. Frankenstein is unaware of this particular fact, and
so, in giving life to this creature, he has unknowingly and literally
created a monster.
It
doesn’t help that his idiot assistant, Fritz, is as mean as he
is stupid, and he enjoys tormenting the monster until the inevitable
happens: the monster kills Fritz. And then he escapes and kills a
bunch more people, all while Dr. Frankenstein is recovering from a
nervous breakdown.
The
climax of the movie has Dr. Frankenstein and most of the townfolk
holding torches and pitchforks and shotguns, tracking the monster
into the hills and eventually back to the very windmill where he was
born. Mob mentality being what it is, it doesn’t end
particularly well for the monster. Or the doctor, really. In some
ways, the crazed people of the village are scarier than the monster
ever was, rabid with fear and prejudice and anger.
The
second film, The
Bride of Frankenstein,
picks up where the first left off. Sort of. They had to replace a few
of the actors for whatever reason, so Dr. Frankenstein was the same
guy, but his fiancé was now played by Valerie Hobson, his
father, the Baron, disappeared altogether, and the Burgomaster went
from being rather portly to quite skinny. I suppose if your
intermission was four years long, you might not notice a few minor
details like these, but my intermission was only ten minutes.
They
also played a little loose with a few plot points, but it doesn’t
really matter. What matters is that Frankenstein’s monster has
survived and he’s back to killing people again. That is, until
he ends up stumbling into the cabin of an old, blind hermit (O. P.
Heggie) who plays the violin so beautifully that its sounds soothe
the savage beast, and the blind man invites the monster to stay with
him and be his friend. The monster and the blind man strike up an
unlikely friendship, and it isn’t long before the hermit has
taught him the beginnings of a vocabulary.
There
are some funny and touching moments that are born out of this union,
but, as you might imagine, it doesn’t last long. After all,
this is a monster movie, not a freak show buddy picture. The
monster’s newfound peaceful existence is interrupted when a
couple of lost hunters recognize him and alert the town. More torches
and pitchforks ensue.
In
the meantime, an old professor of Dr. Frankenstein, Dr. Pretorius,
shows up and convinces the convalescing bridegroom-to-be that he
should help him in his rather nefarious work. He does this by having
the monster kidnap Elizabeth, and thus Dr. Frankenstein is roped into
returning to his medically misguided ways. Together they set out to
build a female companion for the lonely, repressed monster with anger
management issues. The monster’s bride is played perfectly by
Elsa Lanchester, sporting perhaps the most memorable hairdo in motion
picture history.
What
makes these movies worth watching is not so much the complexity of
the stories, because they aren’t. And much of the acting is
consistent with the status quo of films of that time period, overly
dramatic and unbearably wistful, but never unwatchable. Just kind of
silly, by today’s standards. The outdoor scenes were obviously
shot on sound stages, and light supposedly thrown from candles is
clearly coming from well-guided spotlights.
But
what is truly magical is the monster. The genius of make-up artist
Jack P. Pierce and the truly impressive performance of Boris Karloff
make these movies masterpieces. They set standards that still are the
benchmark in Hollywood today. Karloff’s character was created
entirely without words in the first film, and precious few in the
second. There is a depth in his eyes that reveals the tormented soul
of the monster, and we find ourselves somehow filled with compassion
and pity for this childlike animal, even as he brutally murders
innocent people.
It
is also interesting to note that while we fondly think of these
Universal monster movies (including Frankenstein,
Dracula,
The
Wolf Man,
The
Mummy,
The
Creature from the Black Lagoon)
as “horror” films, they are hardly related to the horror
genre of today, which more often than not are gratuitous “slasher”
flicks. In these classic tales, there is very little blood, if any,
and the monster somehow always manages to win our sympathy.
Although
fantastic in its premise, the essence of the story of Frankenstein
and his monster is the story of mankind, of our struggle to tame our
tendencies toward wickedness and bridle our powerful passions. It
looks carefully at our innate desire to be like our Creator, and at
the same time reveals the evil in the assumption that being like Him
is somehow simply a matter of applied sciences.
And
while the appearance of the monster is, in its own right, horrifying,
there is an underlying and lingering question in both of these films
that keeps the audience uncomfortably on the edge of their seats —
namely, will the man emerge from within the monster, or will the
monster within the man consume him?
Andy Lindsay can frequently be overheard engaged in conversations that consist entirely of repeating lines of dialogue from movies, a genetic disorder he has passed on to his four children and one which his wife tolerates but rarely understands. When Andy's not watching a movie he's probably talking about a movie or thinking about a movie.
Or, because his family likes to eat on a somewhat regular basis, he just might be working on producing a TV commercial or a documentary or a corporate video or a short film. His production company is Barking Shark Creative, and you can check out his work here www.barkingshark.com.
Andy grew up in Frederick, Maryland, but migrated south to North Carolina where he met his wife, Deborah, who wasn't his wife then but later agreed to take the job. Their children were all born and raised in Greensboro, but are in various stages of growing up and running away.
Andy (or Anziano Lindsay, as he was known then) served a full-time mission for the Church in Italy, and today he teaches Sunday School, works with the Scouts, and is the Stake Video Historian.