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| Oscar Isaac |
I was largely knocked out by Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein even though another go at this old chestnut was the last thing I desired to see. The film is impeccably cast and appointed, the rare sound spending of Netflix bucks. That said, the heroic cinematography of Dan Lausten and production design of Tamara Deverell is best suited to be enjoyed on a big screen, an opportunity not yet afforded the residents of my burg. I do admire the passion and scrupulousness that Mr. del Toro has applied to this project. Why though is this Frankenstein more effective than a similar del Toro Gothic fantasy, Crimson Peak, also lensed by Lausten. I think the primary reason is that the source material for Frankenstein provides a more interesting and involving plot.
Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley was a singular woman, the product of two brilliant and radical parents, whose life story is incredible gripping, even during her post-Percy period. Her Frankenstein holds up much better than any other Gothic novel of that period (1818). Del Toro wisely pares down the book, eliminating one of the novel's narrators and some superfluous supporting characters. In order to do all of the book, one would need the length of a mini-series. An attempt that is not half bad is the 1973 mini-series Frankenstein: The True Story, directed by Jack Smight and adapted by Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy. It enthralled me at twelve and is much better than the later Branagh film. Better than any previous version, del Toro captures the rebellious spirit of the Romantics. It is not just the matter of quoting PB Shelley and Lord Byron, though that helps, but it is also invoking the whiffs of Eros and Thanatos in their works and lives. Percy and Mary Shelley, after all, conducted their courtship by having clandestine midnight trysts beside her mother's grave. Del Toro also captures the Promethean rebelliousness of the Romantics. Oscar Isaac's Victor Frankenstein is all rock star magnetism and arrogance, but the audience knows he is heading for a fall. As he is warned by his benefactor, "I will be the eagle that feasts on your liver."
The director is true to Mrs. Shelley in his exploration of the religious themes in Frankenstein. The Romantics had rejected organized religion as calcified and contrary to nature. Nature is what made them fall into a swoon, so much so that one commentator wrote that they could "see the preternatural in a puddle." Under the sway of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, published in 1781, they also rejected scientific rationalism as a false god and any version of Frankenstein needs to acknowledge this. Del Toro utilizes a host of religious iconography and graven images, his Catholic upbringing I suppose, to buttress this theme. Most important is an icon of St. Gabriel who young Victor prays to. The saint later appears to an older Victor in a recurring and flame filled dreams. I think this represents the false god of science that Victor thinks will lead him to salvation. Instead, the apparition is a daemon who leads men astray, like the fiery angel of Bryusov's Gothic novel.
One curious change that del Toro has made to the material is to place the main action of the film in the 1850s. There is no obvious reason to do this, but the period better suits the film's steampunk goth look. Certainly, the massive, yet disused water works that serve as Victor's lab could not have been imagined in 1818. This timelessness helps the visual dynamism of the mise en scene. The director structures the film, excepting a wraparound prelude and coda, into two parts. The first is Victor's story with Oscar Isaac narrating. In the second part, the story shifts to the creature's point of view with Jacob Elordi narrating. Victor's section is mostly made up of baroque interiors, like his lab which is the film's ultimate cabinet of curiosities. These knotty interior set-ups remind me of William Holman Hunt's paintings in their combination of baroque symmetry with Christian allegory. The exteriors in the film, especially the Polar sequences, offers a different sort of tableaux: polar landscapes with the grandeur of Caspar David Friedrich.
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| Jacob Elordi |
No matter the visual execution of a film, it is the acting corps that brings it to life. Del Toro continues to improve in his ability to give time and space to his players. I especially appreciated the efforts of two old timers: Charles Dance with another of his dastardly Dads and David Bradley getting to play a nice guy for once as the blind man. Mia Goth is saddled with a rote role which too bladly proclaims the film's moral condemnation of Victor. Yet, she is marvelous, projecting both a corporeal and an ethereal presence that reminds me of Lillian Gish. I always found Mr. Isaacs to be a little cold, but that quality dovetails with his character here. He is both suitably magnetic and mad, an Elon Musk of the 19th Century. As the creature, Elordi is sublime, maybe a little too sublime. I was enthralled by his mellifluous narration, but thought he was too buff.
I have a few issues. The film is a tad long and the score was unmemorable, but those are about all of my caveats. The film balances well practical effects, especially the recycled cadavers, with CGI. Mary Shelley saw no need for ravening wolves, but I can see why del Toro wanted to pump up the film's action. Overall, Frankenstein strikes me as del Toro's best film since Pan's Labyrinth.
