Bride of Frankenstein

by | Dec 24, 2014 | The Horror Review News | 0 comments

“An audience needs something stronger than a pretty little love story.” –Mary Shelley

James Whale was initially apathetic to the notion of creating a sequel to Frankenstein, which was partially justifiable considering that interest in monster films was on the decline during the time. However, after consenting to direct such a project–much like he did in 1931–Whale kept himself amused by installing many subtle, oftentimes humorous, themes throughout his work. With Bride of Frankenstein, he did just this to–arguably–the most cunning, subversive effect to date as the work is laced with homosexual and sacrilegious themes, which remain fluidly innocuous due to the masterful script, humor, visuals, and acting, the most phenomenal of which is seen in Elsa Lanchester’s depiction of the Mosnter’s mate as she appears in a Nefertiti hairdo while recalling Brigitte Helm’s performance in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis as Whale permits his Monster a voice to penultimate effect by the film’s climax.

When it is discovered that both Henry Frankenstein (Colin Clive) and his creation (Boris Karloff) have survived, Doctor Septimus Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger) kidnaps Frankenstein’s new bride, Elizabeth (Valerie Hobson), and holds her hostage until Frankenstein consents to reanimating another creature, this time a mate (Elsa Lanchester) for his Monster.

The most poignant aspect of Whale’s boredom made manifest, as well as a subsonic calling card to others who felt isolated–much like Whale’s antagonist (as well as the director himself)–as they moved throughout society, is evidenced in the theme of homoeroticism seen almost consistently throughout the film. Such discussions, which ultimately propose the elimination of the need for female companionship via science, is carried over from the original production. However, the theme of male homosexuality thus compounds and succinctly aligns itself with said fear.

Henry’s fiancée, Elizabeth, believes she sees an apparition, “like Death [ . . . ] reaching out for you [Henry], as if it would take you away from me,” before Minnie, the Frankenstein’s housekeeper, announces Pretorius (phonetically similar to “notorious”), calling him “queer-looking” (the colloquial use of the term to derogatorily cite homosexuals began in the late nineteenth century). We learn that Pretorius is a doctor of medicine as well as philosophy, who was released from his duties at the University (where he taught Frankenstein) for “knowing too much.” After his introduction and entrance into Frankenstein’s bedroom, he requests (not asks mind you), for Elizabeth to depart, before proposing that Henry postpone his nuptials in order for the two gentlemen to form a partnership by which they would create a monster of their own volition. After twenty years of research, Pretorius has fashioned his own human creations, singularly and from “seed” alone: Lilliputian animations of which, a miniature Devil (Peter Shaw) is commented upon as bearing a striking resemblance to his maker (doubly ironic in that Pretorius is an alter ego of the director). We watch as he manipulates his creations like marionettes, much in the same manner as he will control the central characters later in the film. Of course, the two doctors placed alongside the Monster (already) form a makeshift family in that Henry fathered the creature as Pretorius maternally looks after the delinquent.

The theme of homoeroticism is not exclusive to the figure of Pretorius. Perhaps most expressively, the motif is presented in the meeting of the blind hermit (O.P. Heggie) and the Monster, who is coaxed into the hermit’s house by way of the latter’s violin, music thus having, at least temporarily, soothed the savage beast. During this sequence, one of the most sentimental and renowned in all of cinema, the nonjudgmental hermit (thus his personality paralleling his handicap, which also compliments the Monster’s social alienation as well) notices that his guest is hurt but empathetically states, “You need not tell me about it [the possible “trouble” the Monster is in] if you don’t want to.” After introducing the Monster to his home, the hermit idealistically mutters that the two would work well together in that he could look after the his guest and the Monster could comfort his host before insisting that the Monster lie down as the hermit kneels beside him, calls him “friend,” and recites a prayer which ironically resembles the notice of a couple joined in marriage, mentioning that God, “has brought two of thy lonely children together.” Appropriately, after two villagers disrupt the couples’ idyllic Eden, the Monster goes on a rampage through a nearby cemetery, where phallic symbols, a dead tree and a statue, are vehemently thrust aside.

As subversive as the motif of homosexuality might have been during 1930’s cinema, Whale compounded his social dissention in wryly mocking religion throughout the film as he martyrs the town’s antagonist. After a posse comprised of the local townspeople locate the vigilante in a dead forest, the Monster is bound in a faux crucifixion (after being shot, not in the ribs, but in relative proximity via the arm) and is incarcerated. He is bound by chains, which are affixed to the floor by way of bolts, as we watch as the bolts are driven into the concrete floor next to his feet. However, once the creature escapes, when he happens upon the blind hermit, the two indulge in the Monster’s last formal meal, comprised of wine and bread. Lastly, as in Whale’s original, we see Pretorius blow smoke in the face of a skull, thus mocking death, just as Henry did when he tossed dirt on a statue of the Grim Reaper as he unearthed a cadaver for his reanimation experiment.

Yet Bride of Frankenstein isn’t merely an aggregation of insubordinate ideas the director imposes in hopes of sardonically catching the lay viewer unaware. It is a well-crafted work of cinema, its power derived by subtle details which allow the film to congeal into an aesthetically satisfying whole. For instance, Minnie frantically reports, “He’s alive” after witnessing the Monster crawl from the ashes of the windmill just as Henry awakens after returning home, thus Whale not only satirizes his original but coyly indicates the parallel between creator and created. Death and life are irrefutably aligned as the Monster tosses Karl from the top of the Frankenstein castle just as the Monster’s mate is reanimated. In a mirroring of the original power structure, we watch as the Monster, under the tutelage of Pretorius, demands that his creator “Sit down.” Karl (Dwight Frye), one of two Fritz-esque minions under the tyranny of Pretorius, baulks at his master’s request that a fresh heart be obtained for the experiment. However, after the offer of a thousand crowns, Karl happily concedes to the damnable task (Bride of Frankenstein was written and filmed during the Great Depression). (Also, this segment was Bowdlerized by the censor board: The victim of Karl’s assault was intended to be Elizabeth, thus aligning the title with the actions of the film by making her Henry’s bride twice over.) This follows shortly after Prohibition was repealed as Pretorius seduces the Monster with alcohol on more than one occasion. Of course, this says nothing of the self-referential derision on the director’s behalf of having a bored, lethargic owl look listlessly on as it witnesses the death of Hans (Reginald Barlow) and his wife (Mary Gordon) at the hands of the Monster, which occurs shortly after the framed narrative which takes place in the Villa Diodati on Lake Geneva in Switzerland as the character of Mary Shelley (Lanchester in duel roles) is prophetically referred to as an “astonishing creature” by Lord Byron (Gavin Gordon). Equally appropriate is the fact that Pretorius cites that he only has one vice on two separate occasions, not of being morally vacuous, but of drinking gin and smoking cigars.

Though a masterpiece, the work suffers in that its duel plotlines involving Pretorius and Henry alongside the plight of Monster dissipates the tension as well as the fact that Whale’s original didn’t have an explicit antagonist. Any and all of his characters in Frankenstein could be legitimately argued to be victims of circumstance whereas in Bride of Frankenstein he posits an overtly malicious mad scientist atop the Monster being willfully malevolent in lieu of the sympathy evoked when he commits suicide with tears streaming down his face after being rejected by his mate.

James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein stands as one of the greatest films ever put to celluloid. Not only terrifying in its visuals but also in its philosophical import, the work stands not only as a great work of dramatic horror, but also of wry cynicism as Whale covertly danced around censor boards in order to present one of the most notable works in homosexual cinema.

Conversation piece: The character of Pretorius was written with Claude Raines in mind. Also, Boris Karloff and Colin Clive both had broken legs during production (thus accounting for the Monster’s atrophied gait and Henry seen sitting or lying down throughout a majority of the film).

-Egregious Gurnow

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