FRANKENSTEIN (1931) *** It's difficult to imagine that James Whale directed this and Show Boat. They're both tremendous films, but how different can you get? The irony is that Whale's own touch is so upfront in Showboat, and so understated here. He keeps so much of the action, particularly the portentous action, in the corners of the frame, works so well with, and in the, shadows. It all looks so perfect: the tower, the home, the windmill, Mae Clark's dress, the rock formation and fake (is that a curtain or painted wood?) clouds set...and that's before we even get to the greatest angry villagers ever filmed. Boris Karloff presents the monster pretty much as he should be-that is, with a fairly flat brain scan (think George W. Bush in his drunken days)-but he's outplayed on all fronts. Dwight Frye is much more ominous and entertaining, before he turns bad; and Frederick Kerr clearly wins the grunting and existential noises competition. It's sad to be thrown onto a windmill by a monster on your wedding day, but isn't too much emphasis placed on the plight of Henry Frankenstein? (conspiracy theorists, which class do you think produced the film) What about the villagers, who were at one time so happy drinking bier and dancing about in liederhosen? It's all too hokey to be taken seriously, and there's too much adverse manipulation of the plot for it to be entirely funny, but it's way too good not to thoroughly enjoy.
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