Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a combination of Gothic novel and science fiction. It unfolds the story of a scientist Victor Frankenstein who creates a hideous monster from pieces of corpses and brings it to life. But the monster eventually becomes the source of his misery and demise.
The plot of the novel is epistolary. The story is narrated through the first-person accounts of Captain Walton, Victor Frankenstein, and the monster himself. Moreover, Frankenstein is also a frame story. It means a story framed or surrounded by another story or a series of stories.
The novel begins with a series of letters from Robert Walton, an English explorer, to his sister, Margaret Saville in England, telling about his voyage. Robert Walton is at sea with a group of sailors traveling to the North Pole in pursuit of glory. He is a passionate and aspiring man with high hopes for important geographical and scientific discoveries. But his voyage soon interrupts when they find themselves trapped in Arctic ice.
From across the frozen sea, Walton and his crew witness a strange sight: a gigantic figure rushing by the ice on a dog-sled. Soon after, they find a haggard and frozen man floating on a slice of ice who seems to be on the verge of death. Walton’s crew immediately takes the stranger aboard and rescues him. The stranger reveals himself to be Victor Frankenstein.
For several days, Walton nurses Frankenstein back to health. When he sees him recovering from weakness, Walton begins talking to him. Frankenstein’s wisdom and cultivation impress him and the two soon strike up a friendship. Later on, Frankenstein, after becoming more comfortable with Walton, starts telling him his long-concealed tragic story.
Throughout the rest of the novel, Robert Walton is telling Victor Frankenstein’s tragic story to his sister in England through a series of letters. He takes the narrative only at the very end of the novel.
Movie review of the 'Frankenstein' 1994 version:
As conceived and written by Shelley, Frankenstein was more of a gothic melodrama than a horror story. Considered in its most basic terms, the tale is one of actions and their consequences, and of what happens when man, in his hubris, attempts to usurp the role of God. For the most part, however, motion pictures have chosen to ignore the weightier issues of the book to concentrate instead on the "monster movie" aspects. With this latest cinematic depiction, director (and uncredited co-writer) Kenneth Branagh has taken a less-traveled path. He has chosen to view Frankenstein as a tragedy of Greek (or, given his background, Shakespearean) proportions.
What Branagh should recognize better than anyone, though, is that tragedy is at its most effective when allowed to cook slowly, basting in its own juices. This version of Frankenstein moves so frantically that far too many subtleties get lost along the way. The result is a rousing, occasionally-chaotic (especially during the choppily-edited first half-hour) piece of work that, while undeniably entertaining, lacks a depth that might otherwise have been attained. Patrick Doyle's bombastic score helps only to underline the melodramatic elements of this production, rarely allowing a quiet or reflective moment.
As far as its faithfulness to the source material is concerned, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein frequently differs from the book on plot points, but the two are thematically in synch. Several movie characters bear little resemblance to their book counterparts beyond having the same name (Dr. Waldeman, Frankenstein's mentor, being a chief example), and there is a significant alteration in the last act. Surprisingly enough, although it reflects nothing written by Shelley, this scene is effective in underlining the weaknesses and strengths of both Victor Frankenstein and his creature.
Can a man create life, then abandon his creation because its appearance horrifies him? To whom are its actions then attributable: the creature or the being who brought about its existence? Shelley did not answer these questions, but she certainly posed them. Following her example, Branagh does the same.
The greatest strength of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is that it illustrates both the good and evil qualities in each of its main characters. Of the two - Robert De Niro's creature and Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein - the former is, perhaps surprisingly, the more sympathetic. In part because of the script and in part because of the acting (De Niro gives a far stronger performance than his director/co-star),the creature seems almost the more "human" of the two. In its own words, it is capable of great love and great rage. Frankenstein, on the other hand, often comes across as petty, self-serving, and ambitious. Only towards the end, when he finally grasps the full consequences of his actions, does the scientist capture a measure of our understanding.
Despite the presence of John Cleese - who is excellent in a straight, if somewhat limited, role - there is no comic relief in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (or at least none that is intentional - a few scenes here and there are too-obviously overacted, which can lead to a chuckle or two). However, since the screenplay is not relentlessly downbeat, the bursts of action and horror are effective enough in lessening tension that breaks of levity are not needed. In fact, given the tone of this film, humor might easily have seemed an unwelcome intrusion.
Shelley was never concerned about the scientific realism of Frankenstein's actions. She describes neither his experiments nor the practical (as opposed to the philosophical) reasoning that leads to them. In this film, while Branagh doesn't attempt to fully remedy this lapse (something that obviously can't be done), he presents enough pseudo-scientific evidence to suggest how the creation of a life might plausibly be accomplished. Suspension of disbelief is, of course, requisite for the viewer at this point.
One area where thisFrankenstein meets expectations is in its cast. The weakest link is Branagh, whose Victor is more than occasionally overwrought. De Niro, although buried beneath hours' worth of makeup, is less monstrous here than in films like Cape Fear and The Untouchables. The sequence where the creature befriends a family, anonymously providing them food (instead of firewood, as in the book) while observing and learning from them through a chink in a wall, is marvelously moving, and possibly the best moment offered by the film.
Helena Bonham Carter gives a feisty and fiery interpretation of Elizabeth, who eventually becomes much more than merely Frankenstein's love interest.
The film has a striking visual look, which owes as much to the set design and special effects as to the soaring cinematography of Roger Pratt. Although Branagh does not opt for straight horror, the gothic element of the tale is very much in evidence as a result of the carefully-crafted atmosphere of several key scenes. From the Arctic Ocean to the Swiss Alps and the plague-riddled streets of Ingolstadt, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is a wonder to behold.
Comparison's with 1992's Bram Stoker's Dracula are inevitable, especially since both came from Francis Ford Coppola's American Zoetrope production company. Considering the merits of both movies, however, there is little doubt which is more effective. Kenneth Branagh's film is stronger thematically and visually, possesses more solid characterization, and boasts Robert De Niro and Helena Bonham Carter rather than Keanu Reeves and Winona Ryder. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein may not be the definitive version of the 1817 novel, and the director likely attempted more than is practical for a two-hour film, but overambition is preferable to the alternative, especially if it results - as in this case - in something more substantial than Hollywood's typical, fitfully entertaining fluff.
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