The only thing odder than director James Whale making "Bride Of Frankenstein" after "Frankenstein" would have been if George Lucas had made "The Empire Strikes Back" as a musical.
Whereas "Frankenstein" presented a serious-as-death horror flick, "Bride" presents us with over-the-top comedy. The continuity is off, with some characters like Victor and the Baron disappearing. Others reappear played by different actors. Most seriously, the most important role, and one played by the same character, goes from being a mute walking corpse to a chatty dancing machine, albeit still with homicidal tendencies.
Okay, the Monster (Boris Karloff) doesn't dance so much as bob his shoulders in time to violin music, and his chattiness is mostly monosyllabic. Though last seen pinned under a burning rafter, he emerges in "Bride" none the worse for wear. Soon he is loose in the countryside again, while Dr. Frankenstein (Colin Clive) is approached by the mad, amoral Dr. Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger). Pretorius demands Dr. Frankenstein take responsibility for his creation and replicate his "success" by building another beast.
The comedy of "Bride" would be more welcome if it worked within the context of horror. Instead, it feels absurd for the sake of absurdity, like Una O'Connor playing the hysterical servant Minnie or the tiny people Pretorius keeps in jars. "Frankenstein" works as an exercise in existential bleakness. "Bride" plays itself off as a nihilistic joke, less a true horror film than a Monty Python bit with lamer humor.
What does work in the film is Karloff as the Monster. Despite the miscue of letting him speak this time, Karloff does bring empathy to his role. It's enough to almost allow for Whale's unsure handling of his character. Half the time the creature is a mad killer, and the other half of the time, merely misunderstood. At least with Karloff at the controls, you know the Monster will give the right amount of chills, and he does.
Also good is Dwight Frye, returning from "Frankenstein" this time in the role of another henchman figure, just as compellingly creepy. Thesiger is also compelling that way, a lively figure amid an otherwise sleepy cast. "You and I have gone too far to stop, nor can it be stopped so easily," he tells Frankenstein. To the Monster's comment "I love dead...hate living", Pretorius deadpans: "You're wise in your generation." He's a bit problematic in his arch drollery, but at least he adds to the proceedings, even if he distracts from the film's menace.
Whale doesn't do nearly so well with the other actors. Even Clive seems miscast playing the role he established so effectively four years before. The story goes off in weird, unresolved tangents like the strange fate of the Neumanns that never are properly explained. None is weirder than the opening, where we see Frankenstein's creator, Mary Shelley, with her lover Percy Shelley and their friend Lord Byron. I should say "Lorrrrrd Byrrrrron" for the way the guy rolls his R's. (I enjoyed "haygraphs" bright comment from March 2004 about how the prologue has the characters "looking back" on events taking place a century hence.)
Whale may be celebrated today as an early gay director, but his penchant for jump cuts, awkward close-ups, and florid overacting should have stayed in the closet. "Bride" may have a certain camp sensibility its enthusiasts enjoy, but as a horror film it is neither scary nor successful.
Whereas "Frankenstein" presented a serious-as-death horror flick, "Bride" presents us with over-the-top comedy. The continuity is off, with some characters like Victor and the Baron disappearing. Others reappear played by different actors. Most seriously, the most important role, and one played by the same character, goes from being a mute walking corpse to a chatty dancing machine, albeit still with homicidal tendencies.
Okay, the Monster (Boris Karloff) doesn't dance so much as bob his shoulders in time to violin music, and his chattiness is mostly monosyllabic. Though last seen pinned under a burning rafter, he emerges in "Bride" none the worse for wear. Soon he is loose in the countryside again, while Dr. Frankenstein (Colin Clive) is approached by the mad, amoral Dr. Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger). Pretorius demands Dr. Frankenstein take responsibility for his creation and replicate his "success" by building another beast.
The comedy of "Bride" would be more welcome if it worked within the context of horror. Instead, it feels absurd for the sake of absurdity, like Una O'Connor playing the hysterical servant Minnie or the tiny people Pretorius keeps in jars. "Frankenstein" works as an exercise in existential bleakness. "Bride" plays itself off as a nihilistic joke, less a true horror film than a Monty Python bit with lamer humor.
What does work in the film is Karloff as the Monster. Despite the miscue of letting him speak this time, Karloff does bring empathy to his role. It's enough to almost allow for Whale's unsure handling of his character. Half the time the creature is a mad killer, and the other half of the time, merely misunderstood. At least with Karloff at the controls, you know the Monster will give the right amount of chills, and he does.
Also good is Dwight Frye, returning from "Frankenstein" this time in the role of another henchman figure, just as compellingly creepy. Thesiger is also compelling that way, a lively figure amid an otherwise sleepy cast. "You and I have gone too far to stop, nor can it be stopped so easily," he tells Frankenstein. To the Monster's comment "I love dead...hate living", Pretorius deadpans: "You're wise in your generation." He's a bit problematic in his arch drollery, but at least he adds to the proceedings, even if he distracts from the film's menace.
Whale doesn't do nearly so well with the other actors. Even Clive seems miscast playing the role he established so effectively four years before. The story goes off in weird, unresolved tangents like the strange fate of the Neumanns that never are properly explained. None is weirder than the opening, where we see Frankenstein's creator, Mary Shelley, with her lover Percy Shelley and their friend Lord Byron. I should say "Lorrrrrd Byrrrrron" for the way the guy rolls his R's. (I enjoyed "haygraphs" bright comment from March 2004 about how the prologue has the characters "looking back" on events taking place a century hence.)
Whale may be celebrated today as an early gay director, but his penchant for jump cuts, awkward close-ups, and florid overacting should have stayed in the closet. "Bride" may have a certain camp sensibility its enthusiasts enjoy, but as a horror film it is neither scary nor successful.