Every decade has its ups and downs when it comes to cinema, no matter the genre. Horror fans love to loft on high the output of the ‘30s & ‘40s, the ‘70s & ‘80s, and the more recent decades. More often than not, however, the 1990s are labeled as the worst decade for the genre. Not only that, but ‘90s horror tends to be written off as a whole, beyond a handful of undisputed classics. The purpose of Exhumed & Exonerated: The ‘90s Horror Project, is to refute those accusations by highlighting numerous gems from the decade. Stone cold classics will be tackled in this column from time to time, but its main purpose will be to seek out lesser-known and/or less-loved titles that I think deserve more attention and respect from fans. Let the mayhem begin!
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
Directed by Kenneth Branagh
Screenplay by Steph Lady and Kenneth Branagh
Based on the novel by Mary Shelley
Produced by Francis Ford Coppola, James V. Hart, John Veitch, and Fred Fuchs
Starring Kenneth Branagh, Robert De Niro, Helena Bonham Carter, Tom Hulce. Ian Holm, Aidan Quinn, and John Cleese
Released on November 4th, 1994
After the death of his mother, Victor Frankenstein (Kenneth Branagh) becomes obsessed with using science to conquer death. Upon attending university, his “mad” ideas are further fostered by a friend (Tom Hulce) and an eccentric mentor (John Cleese), culminating in a horrific artificially-created man (Robert De Niro). When this “monster” is abandoned and forced to fend for himself in the wild, the cruelty he endures incites him to seek vengeance against his careless creator.
A few of the films I have covered in this column thus far have been critical darlings and/or commercial successes. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was neither. These days the film is rarely spoken of; seemingly lost in the cinematic ether of time. On the few instances where it is brought up, the film is almost never spoken of in a positive light.
Near as I can tell, this is not a well-regarded film. It bombed domestically upon release, with the larger portion of its earnings coming from international markets, and it was widely panned at the time. It currently holds a 39% critical rating and a 49% audience rating on Rotten Tomatoes. I don’t put much stock in aggregate scores, but it helps to illustrate where audiences stand on the matter. Furthermore, both producer Francis Ford Coppola and screenwriter Frank Darabont have virtually disowned the film.
I’m sure they have their reasons, but I do not agree with either of them. Both take issue most with Branagh’s interpretation of both the source material and the script, claiming that he simply went far to loud and theatrical in his execution of the tale. There’s no arguing that he did just that, but to both gentlemen (as well as those who agree with them), I ask only this: why in the world did you hire Kenneth Branagh to star in and direct your big, bold monster movie if you didn’t want him to bring his particular brand of theatricality to it? That’s like writing a quiet concierto, hiring Slayer to record it, and then wondering why the music turned out so loud and angry.
In many ways, this film mirrors its titular character. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a big, ambitious, ugly, raging, misunderstood, and unjustly abandoned piece of work. It’s also, in many ways, incredibly beautiful. This is a haunting and striking work that has gone under-loved and underrated for far too long.
I mentioned ugly a moment ago and I don’t mean that the production design and cinematography are hideous. While not as audacious as its sister film, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, it is beautifully design and shot. Like its predecessor, it also has an appropriately-bombastic score, this time courtesy of Patrick Doyle. Instead, the ugliness I was referring to involves the film’s portrayal of flesh and humanity.
While not an action-packed offering, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein portrays violence in swift and brutal acts. Stabbings, beatings, hangings, maimings, ripping out organs…none of it is nice to look at in the way that gory bits are supposed in horror cinema. Here such events aren’t meant to be marveled it, but instead cause reacts of revulsion. The scientific end is no different, with body parts, medical procedures, and bodily fluids (both blood and otherwise) treated in a very cold and matter-of-fact manner. At times, it’s just downright gross.
The ugliness of humanity within comes in many forms. Victor is a horribly selfish and irresponsible person. He might be a wealthy, healthy young man filled with intelligence and big ideas, but he’s incredibly selfish and tends to make the worst possible decision at every turn. These moments come not only in regards to the monster, but also his personal life. His treatment of friend Henry Clerval (Tom Hulce) and adopted sister/fiancée Elizabeth is abominable, especially the latter. Branagh plays the role as big as such an emotional, overzealous, and ambitious character requires, imbuing the part with so much passion that you want to feel sorry for Victor…even though you know he’s just a massive asshole.
Then we have the Monster himself. Unlike Victor, De Niro’s unnamed creature was born into a world of neglect and cruelty. Abandoned by Victor upon birth, his stitched together life is a patchwork of pain. It’s no wonder that, like a child, he resorts to angry tantrums when things do not go well for him. Problem is, unlike a toddler, he’s fully grown and super-strong. Instead of kicking and screaming, he’s hunting and killing. Despite his monstrous power, his needs are simple. He wants to be loved. Not by many, but only one, and De Niro sells every minute of it.
Fate is cruel, however, so every instance of love he finds is taken from him at every turn, even by Victor himself. As he says at one point to his creator, “I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” Which basically means “give me what I want and I’ll go away”, out of sight and out of mind, to leave both Frankenstein and humanity alone for all time. Victor being Victor decides not to comply, leading to two further deaths and his own eternal unhappiness. Forever immature and self-serving, that Victor!
Nothing in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is so monstrous, however, as what befalls poor Justine. One could argue that the off-screen death of child William is the most egregious act of murder within, but there’s also the simple fact that the Monster’s killing acts are always portrayed as uick and powerful elsewhere. As awful as the child’s death is, he likely did not suffer much. Justine, while meeting her end with a quick drop and a sudden stop, is tortured psychologically as she is led through the streets by a vicious mob intent on hanging her for a crime she did not commit. In an age where society is quick to pass final judgment on anyone and everyone without having all the facts, it’s a violent act that still stings of truth.
I could carry on more about the other performances and characters. Hulce, Holm, Carter, and Cleese are all great, with the latter giving a particularly memorable dramatic turn. I could also illustrate the ways in which it is far truer to its source material than the majority of the other adaptations out there. I think I’ve prattled on about this film for long enough, however.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is not for everyone. It is a far cry from most other incarnations of this oft-told tale and it is executed in ways that are clearly extremely off-putting to most. I completely get that. I just happen to love it and consider it to be among the better horror films of this oft-maligned decade. I urge you all to revisit it. When and if you do, you might find that you like it more than you remember. You could also find that you dislike it more than ever. Whatever reaction it elicits from you, chances are that it will be a strong one. That’s more than we can say for a lot of forgettable horror films that have been released, both in the past and the present.
I’ve been tackling a lot more well-known fare of late. I’ll be mixing it up by injecting more obscure and offbeat choices very soon. That said, now that I’ve gone down this particular rabbit hole, I might as well complete the journey and tackle its neighbor…
Up Next: Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)
Previously On…
Species | Mute Witness | Popcorn | Wishmaster | Alien 3 | Cast A Deadly Spell
Disturbing Behavior | The Sect | The Addams Family | The Ugly
Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer | Arachnophobia | Ernest Scared Stupid
Cape Fear | Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
