Films: 1950s

(1957) The Curse of Frankenstein

Sunday, January 27, 2008

The Curse of Frankenstein
Director: Terence Fisher
Release: 1957

While watching Hammer Studios' 1957 adaptation, "The Curse of Frankenstein" I was plagued by one niggling question that I needed to answer before I could rest soundly or comfortably reach for another beer:  when exactly does this whole thing take place?  

Given my pre-existing awareness of the American franchise, I began to feel as if this British film was running roughshod over the axiomatic chronology of the accepted storyline and took brazen liberties with what I thought were the inviolate constructs of the Universal Studios' version.

But then I sat back, quaffed another beer, and wondered how the film made this happen and why I should be so distressed by it.

You see, my own experiential background (and sizable dearth thereof) initially prompted me to believe that director Terence Fisher was proffering some sort of languid prequel.  

Beginning at the ending with Peter Cushing's beset Victor Frankenstein entreated upon by a visiting cleric - and fully cognizant of the Frankenstein mythos - it was easy for me to deduce that I had enlisted for some sort of hackneyed back-story or worse, a sordid case of degenerate plagiarism.

But unlike the story with which I was conversant, much is made of the Baron's formative years following the demise of his mother in "The Curse of Frankenstein."  Most notably, the tutelage provided by Paul Krempe played by Robert Urquhart is given prescient weight in the early frames of the movie. I half-heartedly surmised that everything was not as it seemed, uncertain as I was as to the time period presented.

The years of home schooling precipitate a dynamic relationship between tutor and impressionable tutee.  The latter's thirst for knowledge eventually manifests itself in an unquenchable quest to more fully comprehend the essence of life by "fuck[ing] death in the gall bladder" (to quote a snippet from Andy Warhol's "Frankenstein" celluloid incarnation). This desire then manifests itself in the creation of life from death and the resurrection of the undead monstrosity I was expecting.

The composite creature does not suffer the actual curse of Frankenstein, in this instance. The titular hex is consigned to the sartorial scientist.

Unlike the Universal Studios picture, Fisher's concern is clearly directed away from the malevolent meanderings of the monster and squarely cast upon its progenitor.  We don't even get a look at the grisly pastiche until well into the second half of the film.  This is deliberately designed to force us to consider the doctor as the protagonist rather than his sordid offspring.

Similarly dissimilar from Universal, Christopher Lee's portrayal of the nominal character in the Hammer Studio version is completely bereft of that softer side. Gone are the regrets and doubts steeply implied in Karloff's character. The creature in the Hammer film is a spliced-up simpleton devoid of the electrode finials and incapable of such emotion; he just wants out of the unpleasant situation foisted upon him.

There's suspense here but it's not reminiscent of Universal's "Frankenstein."  

In "The Curse of Frankenstein," it's borne solely by the display of Peter Cushing's conniving and diabolical countenance.  As such, this is not your daughter's modern-day slasher film brimming with violence and sinister boogiemen. The bulk of the drama here is conveyed by the simple on-screen emoting of the doctor and the swirling crescendos of the off-screen string section.

The uninformed viewer (like me) will also be perplexed by several other seemingly familiar notions which don't pan out the way we might expect if our only frame of reference was the more popular film from Universal.

For example, when you see Lee's monster lumber off into the woods and accost a little boy gathering unspecified berries by a pond, you will no doubt wonder why Fisher made such a curious choice.

You'll also be teased into thinking that a visiting fellow will someday evolve into the gibbously obsequious assistant, Igor.  When you do, that only means that you've surrendered your forethought at the door of the Bastille and bought into the prequel notion (like me).

When Paul and Victor surreptitiously finish tamping the sod o'er a recently deceased project, I was hoodwinked into assuming that they had interred some sort of malfunctioning prototype...quickly scampering back to the lab in order to redouble their efforts.

But in one of the more sublime moments of shock, we are cut back to see the exhumed carcass gibbeted in the rafters of the grafter's laboratory, which  - while visually inventive - only confounded my preconceived timeline.  

I reckon Fisher consciously orchestrated all of this is to retell a story with which we're familiar while at the same time embellishing it and re-focus it.

The nexus of the film is something of which the ancient Greeks would be proud. Their tragedies revolved around the notion of the protagonist being destroyed by the actions and decisions of him alone; succumbing to the devices of those around him might be unfortunate or comedic but it is never tragic. It's an important distinction that renders contemporary usage of the word "tragedy" implausible and wholly inappropriate.

The unmitigated hubris of Dr. Frankenstein is most assuredly the impetus for the cataract of events resulting in his undoing. His unfettered ego and concomitant aplomb are the only attributable elements to his incarceration and castigation.

Hammer Studios' Fisher film bests Universal by using this conceit as the story's trajectory; and, as such, this is not your father's monster movie, simply presenting the grotesque as fearsome.

Frankly, viewers like me may not be ready for such heady material infiltrating a good old-fashioned monster movie.

Jeffrey K. Wahr
Cinescare Correspondent

updated 2 years ago