Although not nearly so prolific in its progeny as another 19th-century
novel, “Dracula,” Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” has generated numerous
adaptations to the screen, beginning with the classic 1931 version, starring
Boris Karloff as the monster. Since that time, both audiences and filmmakers
have confused the creature and his creator, so that the title often incorrectly
refers to the monster. The confusion makes a kind of sense because the
reanimated corpse, assembled from various body parts, serves as the alter ego
of the mad scientist who made him.
The name of the menace assumes a special importance in his
latest cinematic incarnation, “I, Frankenstein.” The monster himself, played by
Aaron Eckhart, narrates the movie, supplying a good deal of exposition,
explaining his history, the nature of his revenge on Victor Frankenstein, and
his alienation from mankind; as he says, he possesses a body and a brain, but
lacks a soul, something he more or less unknowingly searches for throughout the
film.
Although that concept provides a certain amount of interest
and even sympathy, the movie turns extremely weird, introducing a supernatural
component when the monster encounters two groups of warring entities, the
Gargoyle Order and the Demons. The Gargoyles, formed under the direction of the
Archangel Michael, their queen (Miranda Otto) explains, while regarded by
humans as mere architectural decorations, both assume human form and also metamorphose
into winged creatures who fight their sworn enemies, the Demons, with swords
and axes and other medieval paraphernalia. As their name suggests, the Demons
come straight out of Hell and return there forever when the Gargoyles kill
them.
Learning of the monster’s history, the queen names him Adam
and hopes he will join their fight to save mankind from the spawn of Hell. For 200
years, however, Adam chooses solitude, dispatching numerous demons on his own before
he finally enlists on the side of the good guys.
Mixing in with all this nonsense, the Demons, under the
command of Naberius (Bill Nighy)
in their human form run a sophisticated laboratory — it is a Frankenstein flick,
after all — where another scientist, the lovely Terra (Yvonne Stahovski), attempts to repeat Frankenstein’s creation of
life. Naberius wants to reanimate thousands of
corpses, infuse them with the souls of demons, defeat the Gargoyles, and
annihilate mankind. Instead of the foaming retorts, the burbling cylinders, the
flashing lights, the lightning, this lab employs a collection of modern
electrical devices and surgical instruments, an odd contrast to the Gothic
buildings and medieval weapons.
Although the writer-director kindly acknowledges Mary
Shelley’s contributions to his picture, he bases his particular interpretation
on a graphic novel, which explains a great deal about the film. For one thing,
it features that familiar combination of violent action, dark lighting (the sun
never shines in “I, Frankenstein”), and a kind of juvenile pretentiousness. The
characters frequently intone thoughts that they apparently believe contain
philosophical depth and significance.
Throughout the movie Adam fights a number of battles against
the Demons, who then are, as they say, “descended” in a fountain of fire to the
depths where they clearly belong. The Gargoyles, on the other hand, if killed
by Demons, are “ascended” in a pillar of light to Heaven: it’s a great place to
go, but you have to die to get there. Naturally an array of the required
special effects and stunt work intensify all this spectacular action, culminating
in the customary Armageddon that contemporary Hollywood loves so dearly.
As in most horror/science-fiction/fantasy spectaculars, human
performance counts for very little, and the cast meets those expectations quite
well. Aaron Eckhart snarls and glowers throughout until he finally achieves his
unusual quest — to find a name, to possess a soul, to acquire a companion. Everybody
else performs in a generally functional manner, entirely acceptable for the form
and entirely appropriate for their ridiculous assignments.
The monster who lumbers through the dreams of Hollywood and
the nightmares of viewers may now personify the strangest version of that
composite creature, and despite the ambitions of the graphic novelist, without
the pathos of Boris Karloff. That humming you hear is Mary Shelley, bless her,
spinning in her grave at about 3500 RPM.
This article appears in Jan 22-28, 2014.
