Overwrought & Flat Attempt at Horror

"Frankenstein" is the ultimate Gothic horror novel; written in 1818, just after the end of one age and before the dawning of another. It was a time of enormous change in society, with the coming of the industrial revolution and the rise of science, and Mary Shelley’s novel reflected the fears and apprehensions of many of the people. Frankenstein’s monster was a symbol of man’s growing power to alter the very fabric of life itself, and at the same time a warning to all who would meddle in God’s domain.

The story is familiar to everyone. A young scientist and medical student named Victor Frankenstein (Kenneth Branagh) is conducting a series of bizarre experiments, convinced that, in the newly-discovered science of electricity, he has found the key to creating life. Robbing bits of corpses from here and there, Frankenstein forms his golem and then infuses it with the precious gift of life.

The monster (Robert DeNiro), of course, is horrible to behold, ghastly both in appearance and in deed. He escapes from Frankenstein’s laboratory, fleeing into a world that is as frightening and strange as the monster himself. The Doctor suddenly takes ill and is nursed back to health by his fiancee (Helena Bonham Carter). He is devastated by his failure, but believes that his creation has died of cholera.

It is important to realize that Frankenstein’s monster is no bete noir. He is a thinking, feeling creature; a haunted soul whose torment is magnified a thousand times by his awareness of his own monstrous nature. Feared and reviled, his overtures of goodness and peace are met with hostility and hatred. He thus learns that he is not welcome in the world of man, regardless of his intentions.

It would seem that there is no better director than Kenneth Branagh to handle this story. His flair for hyper-dramatic material and penchant for excess are just what is needed for “Frankenstein.” Unfortunately, though, something is not right here. What should be the most exciting scenes in the film—the creation of the monster, for example—are instead flat and uninspired. The style of the film style is choppy and abrupt, the pacing uncertain, and the narrative muddled and uneven.

The fault must lie with Branagh. He has seemingly overextended himself, taking on too large a task, and his work suffers, especially his performance. He never seems to really get inside his character. It is particularly noticeable opposite the brilliant work of DeNiro. His monster is wonderfully wrought; his characterization, intricate and textured. Bonham Carter is also excellent, as is Ian Holm in a small role as the blind grandfather.

“Frankenstein” is not a terrible movie. The filmmakers, including producer Francis Coppola, are all too competent to allow that to happen. It is a big disappointment, though. I expected much better from such fine talent.