Notable Cast: Colin Clive, Mae Clark, John Boles, Boris
Karloff
Note: This review contains spoilers for the film.
“The man who made a monster.”
For a film released in 1931, which is quickly sprinting towards its 100th year
of existence in the world, it’s stunning to think about how close to perfect Frankenstein
is as a film. Just look at that tagline above. “The man who made a monster.” Not
only is it provocative in terms of its promises to its viewers, dissecting the
titular doctor who has reached infamy in the last decade of decades, but it’s a
tagline that seriously works on multiple levels for those familiar with
Universal’s iconic monster film. Yes, you will get men. Yes, you will get
monsters. Yes, you will see how intrinsically they are tied together.
The question that lingers over James Whale’s adaptation of
Mary Shelley’s novel is whether or not Frankenstein’s creation is actually a
monster at all, particularly compared to his creator, but the tagline - in all
of its simplicity - adds a layer to it. If Frankenstein is the monster and his
creation is the man, then is it the fact that he even succeeded in creating a
man that makes him the monster? Can a person, any person, be a monster if not
compared to mankind?
Yet, that’s the brilliance of what Whale has crafted with Frankenstein.
Cinephiles have surgically dissected it for decades, layer by layer, for its
themes and execution, yet it still remains a watchable slice of entertainment
that grows with repeated viewings. I watched this film repeatedly as a child,
rewinding my VHS copy again and again rather than seeking out the new Disney
film like some of my childhood friends did, and as an adult, it means even more
to me beyond nostalgia. It’s a film about the human experience, or lack
thereof, crafted as an early-era horror flick whose universal themes and
critiques stand the test of time thanks to its incredible execution.
Or, in more simplistic terms, a masterpiece of cinema.
With so many iconic choices made throughout, Frankenstein
is not the easiest film to write about. It’s history, and so many of its layers
have been discussed ad nauseam. Yet, for me, everything in this film comes down
to how Whale creates imbalance in almost every aspect. Not that the film itself
is imbalanced, hardly, but that Whale consistently focuses on the “sadness of
divide” in its script, visuals, and performances.
These imbalances start with Henry Frankenstein, played with
a gleefully tight performance by Colin Clive. Certainly, when it comes to
performances in Frankenstein, most of the attention gets pulled by Boris
Karloff’s incredibly physical performance as The Monster, but it works best in
juxtaposition to Clive’s Henry. Clive imbues Henry with a style that can
quickly ricochet between charismatic and horrifically unhinged.
Although the film mostly shows Henry as the latter, it opens
with him gravedigging and later shows him harnessing the power of a storm
(symbolism much?) to create life in his creation before announcing he feels
like God. Still, the way his fiancée Elizabeth and their friend Victor seem
worried about his actions and his absence from their lives suggests that, at
one point, he was, to them, something of a person. Whale and the screenwriters,
Garrett Fort and Francis Edward Faragoh, seem to disagree with these
characters' sentiments and rarely show Henry in a positive light, even on his
wedding day. The divide here, and the subsequent sadness, is that Henry
seemingly has everyone fooled that his own monstrous behaviors are the anomaly
and not who he is, and even though people are killed by his own egotistical
plights, he is never held accountable for his actions. All of which is hammered
home by the sheer devastation of its finale.
This, however, contrasts with his creation, again played by
the inimitable Boris Karloff. From the outset, his creation is seen solely as a
monster, horrifically mistreated, locked away, and eventually hunted. While
Henry makes mistake after mistake, he is given every benefit of the doubt, and
when Karloff’s Monster acts frightened of a torch in one moment, after a
touching sequence where Karloff makes his childlike and innocent performance so
believable, he is immediately cast away as a failure and an atrocity. Karloff’s
cries of fear and sadness as Henry’s assistant Fritz teases him with the fire
are something that haunts even beyond the narrative, and it’s the “humans” in
the film that seemingly bombard The Monster with cruelty and continually place
him into fight-or-flight mode.
Whale never hesitates to showcase just how sad the story is at
any given moment. The Monster’s interaction with a young girl results in a
horrific moment that Karloff and Whale showcase with almost no dialogue, and
the manner in which the young girl’s father carries her into town, her limp
body swaying with his brisk pace, and how long it takes for him to even get to
locals to report her death feel so harrowing. A grieving father essentially
blames another “child,” and within moments an entire village is out for blood
with weapons and fire. No one asks ‘why.’ The tragedy of mob mentality
and a system that protects those who fit in, not those who don't. Another
divide Whale critiques, without overstating his intentions.
Yet, for me, it's the finale that highlights the best of what Frankenstein has to offer as a film. Its gorgeous black-and-white cinematography, incredible production design, sharp performances, and themes of tragedy, nonconformity, and systemic division are at their best in these final moments.
Henry and his Creation's final ‘confrontation’ is set in an
old windmill, a place of hard labor and innovation, where people worked to
support their families, is brilliant. It’s set in a place Henry would never be,
because he couldn't comprehend the social and personal realities of that life outside
his ego and classism. He’s not a windmill person. He’s a castle-with-servants
kind of person, and the choice to have The Monster take him there is poignant. The
meaningfulness of seeing The Monster try to fight all of the social and
personal persecutions coming for him - his unhinged ‘father’ in Henry, who
abandoned him at the earliest inconvenience, the people who do not understand
him for his looks and see an accident as intentional murder, and a system that
would rather burn to the ground than take a moment of self-reflection - all
make these final moments some of the most effective and emotional cinema in
history - even after almost 100 years. I weep every time I watch it.
Then the film ends with Karloff’s Monster left for dead in
the fire, Henry alive and still unaccountable for his own monstrous behavior,
and the wealthy class toasting that Henry will be a father, which feels
particularly nihilistic as a critique of humanity. The audience just watched
him birth life, abandon it, and lead multiple plots to kill his ‘son.’ Yet,
here we are, watching Henry’s father toast for another Frankenstein to be
brought into the world. It’s an ending where people did not deliver justice to
the monster. He was celebrated while the only character with any real humanity
was left to die at the hands of those too brainwashed by a social structure to
see the difference between the two and ask the question, “why?”
Frankenstein is a film about monsters and men. It’s
paired with the perfect tagline “The man who made a monster,” and it’s so deft
in its execution that it has endured for decades. Yet, even after all this
time, knowing who the man is and who the monster is, it’s incredible to see how
James Whale and his team craft a film that critiques life's imbalances and the
tragedies they cause. Enough that, even in 2026, we can all take a few lessons
from Frankenstein and ask ourselves questions about the world around us
and whether or not we are adding to the sadness of division or fighting against
it.
It’s a choice. Everyday. Be the man or be the monster. That’s
the legacy of Frankenstein, and we should all care enough to be reminded
of what we are in the choices we make.
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