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Rating:  - this gets crapped on too much
not everybody likes the book, which i can understand (it took me some effort to get into), but if you're a fan of shelley's frankenstein i dont see what's to hate about this movie. personally i like it a lot.
Rating:  - Frankenstein: who's name is it?
The previous review says it all. "Frankenstein", however, is the name of the scientist (Victor Frankenstein) who created the monster, not the name of the monster himself. The monster is nameless.
Rating: - This Movie Rocks! Emotion always wins a movie over
I'm going to be quite honest with the readers of this review;I cried my eyes out when the ending of Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein came to. It was unbelieveably touching. A wonderful Sci-Fi film in its own right, Branagh's version of Mary Shelley's tale is a must see for movie fans in general. Unlike Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula, which is a great remake of the Tod Browning/Bela Lugosi film, Branagh's Frankenstein is far surperior to James Whale's/Boris Karloff's film from 1931. One thing's for sure, it's far more accurate to the original text, despite the liberties it takes. *****, hands down.
Rating:  - A camp classic
As a literary adaptation, and as serious cinema, Kenneth Branagh's film is a total obscenity, one of the worst films ever made. But as giddy, schlocky so-bad-it's-good entertainment, it's hard to do much better than Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Even the illustrious Mr. Ed Wood would have been envious.
As a quality film, one star. As a camp classic, an unqualified five.
The title of the film is a misnomer, for it implies that this tasteless abomination is true to Ms. Shelley's brilliant novel. It isn't. This is Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein, not Mary Shelley's. In other words, virtually every trace of existentialism, of trenchant social commentary has been been violently ripped out, cast aside, just like Helena Bonham Carter's heart in one of the film's more gruesome sequences. Branagh, like the scientist he portrays, might have intended to create an intelligent and beautiful work of humanity, but instead the result is crude, ghastly, violent, abhorrent, monstrous, like Robert DeNiro's fractured beast man. If you take the film seriously, you're sure to be disappointed, but view it in the light of garish, tacky entertainment and you're in for a real treat. In fact, you'll be rolling on the floor.
Fortunately, I had just reread Mary Shelley's classic prior to watching this, which only served to up my appreciation for how gloriously awful this movie really is. Branagh directs as though he's trying to break the four minute movie. Events that unfold with calm deliberation in the novel flash across the screen at a pace that makes your average episode of CSI: Miami seem sedate. For instance, the murder of Victor Frankenstein's brother Willie at the hands of the monster, the framing of a family friend and her eventual execution form a long, detailed episode in the book, devoid of sensationalism, whereas the movie version barrels right over any hope of subtlety, with Willie's disappearance, a frantic search, the body being carried home, and the poor falsely accused young woman precipitately lunging to her death with a noose around her neck all taking place within the course of a couple of breakneck(no pun intended) minutes. Likewise, Branagh dementedly flits about the screen like some warped cross between a court jester and Errol Flynn on amphetamines. I can't tell you how many times Branagh, or some other character, rushes into the middle of some scene of dire peril and shouts out, "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The whole film is like that, people running around, shouting like madmen. Scenes zoom by like billboards through the window of a bullet train. Abetting this atmosphere of hyperbolized insanity is a dreadful, bombastic soundtrack. The director also takes liberties with Shelley's narrative. Frankenstein rejuvenating his dead wife into some sort of pathetic rag doll rendition of Elsa Lanchester so she can become the source of a rivalry between him and his creation is nowhere to be found in the novel, and makes little sense, other than to add to the already meretricious proceedings.
For a great story about a scientist going too far and having to live with the consequences, read Shelley's novel, a classic not only of the horror/sci fi genre but of literature in general. For a classic of a different nature, watch Branagh's hyperactive campfest. It's lively fun, and proof that great-bad movies aren't dead...they've been hideously reanimated!
Rating: - Brilliant adaptation
The term "horror" for this film is quite a disservice to the film. True, it is horrific, but as with the book, I'd call this film a tragedy. Frankenstein is a tragic character in that he sets out to create a superior man - stronger, more clever, more durable - and the tragic irony is that he succeeds. If not for his hasty and careless aesthetic craftsmanship, he would probably have regarded his creation as a god. But he was so caught up in throwing it together, he missed details: the eyes were mismatched, the mouth uneven... if you watch him walk, you can tell that his legs aren't even the same length. Yo, Victor! "Measure twice, cut once!" Know what I'm sayin'? His vanity wouldn't allow him to see his success, only focus on the grotesque outward appearance, and was quick to dismiss him as dead from exposure.
The creature's tragedy is that he was brought into a world of shallow sensibilities, and wasn't given any kind of compassionate upbringing. He seeks love and acceptance from a world incapable of granting either.
Here is a magnificently represented tale of alienation - talk about Stranger in a Strange Land. Much is overdone, true, particularly the acting on the part of Mr Branagh and Ms Bonham Carter, but the lush look and feel of the film, and the emotional depth DeNiro achieves more than make up for it.
And Patrick Doyle's score does a wonderful job of capturing the energy, the dread, the sorrow that infuse the story. I'll post a review on that CD as well.
Curious side-note: In "Untouchables", DeNiro had a line to the effect that he wanted that dancing boy Ness dead, his family dead, and his house burned to the ground and piss on the ashes.
Well, we didn't see the creature piss on any ashes, but what Capone failed to achieve on Ness, the creature scored on Victor, didn't he?
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