And behold, Jesus mud-wrestled the creature amidst the uterine juices of damnation.
And lo, it was icky.

Frankenstein’s Mobster.

MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN has the reputation for following its infamous source material closely – Mary Shelley’s groundbreaking 1818 novel, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. The fact that it follows the book only barely, and the fact that people yet put on airs when lauding the movie as authentic shows how much people actually read.

Kenneth Branagh directs and stars in this fevered, overwrought encomium to mad scientists and the monsters they create. Young scientist Victor Frankenstein (Branagh), inspired by boundary-pushing life-preservation experiments in 19^th century Geneva, contrives a method to create the spark of life in dead flesh. After experimenting with animals, bringing them back from death, Frankenstein constructs a man from body parts scavenged in science labs and graveyards – and reanimates him. Then, like every good Reality TV parent, Frankenstein abandons the creature. The reanimated man (played by Robert De Niro, in what looks like extremely painful makeup) is shunned by his creator, and embarks on a killing spree as a cry for help. At least, that’s what the creature says…

Frankenstein keeps the “monster” a secret from his betrothed Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter), and best friend Clerval (Tom Hulce). (I feel so sorry for Hulce in this role. At the time, he was cultivating a reputation of accepting only noteworthy acting gigs, which were rare. After his magnificent turn as a titan himself in 1984’s AMADEUS, this period piece, with its caliber of talent and majestic intent, seemed like a natural progression for him. Alas, his talents are muted by the material and the lackluster filmmaking.) Ian Holm is dad, on his gigantic English estate; Richard Briers is the old blind man with whom the monster finds a moment’s respite, and John Cleese makes an excellent serious cameo as an outlaw professor.

Historical Fact: early dildos just looked like monkey paws.

An element of the film that fakes us into believing it is loyal to the novel is the opening sequence featuring Aidan Quinn as Captain Walton, helming a foundering ship through arctic ice and coming upon Frankenstein pursuing his creature. The whole tale is then told in flashback by Frankenstein. This device is also used to frame the novel, but the novel goes deeper, telling it from the point of view of Walton relating Frankenstein’s tale, who, in turn, devotes a large chunk of dialogue to relating his creature’s tale, so the book seems like three flashbacks in one.

Another significant inclusion from the book: THE CREATURE SPEAKS! We have been so inundated with the avalanche of Frankenstein media (starting with the original 1931 film FRANKENSTEIN, starring Boris Karloff as the Monster) that portrays the creature as a big dumb galoot that we forget the creature was endued with a functioning brain and was quite articulate. (We can’t help thinking of Marty Feldman in Mel Brooks’s YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, choosing a brain for the creature, marked “Abby Normal”…)

Of all the deviations from the book, there are two that benefit the film; first, John Cleese’s brain in the creature (Cleese is Professor Waldman, killed by a fanatic, whose head is cut into by Frankenstein for his intellect); second, instead of reanimating a nameless grab of body parts at the creature’s insistence of a female mate, Frankenstein reanimates his own lover – the murdered Elizabeth!

The Cleese-brain plot point is wasted, as the creature is struck on the head by a falling beam when birthed, effectively negating all those potentially interesting avenues involving a professor’s brain driving the leviathan. However, the reanimated-Elizabeth plotline is undoubtedly ominous and actually “scary.” In a weeping fervor, Frankenstein lops off the head of his original female (in this story, she is a relative of Frankenstein’s that the creature murdered; in the novel, a clutch of body-parts) and stitches on dead Elizabeth’s head (obviously following the handbook on Medical Procedures Made Simple.) When she comes to, Bonham Carter gives a disturbing performance as someone slowly discovering they are reanimated.

As Superman was the first true cinematic superhero, Frankenstein created the first cinematic Monster. In this telling, we sidle up pretty close to Shelley’s original vision of the creature itself – an intelligent being shunned and lonely, seeking revenge for the forced life thrust upon it – but even one of the world’s greatest actors cannot make us feel any compassion toward this poorly fleshed-out, tragic beast.

I truly think the problem lies in Shelley’s original work, for her Victor Frankenstein is a confused character whose emotions turn on a dime when it comes to desire to create a living being and then revulsion once that being is created. And so Branagh tries to portray that fickleness in the movie, but this is not a natural human reaction, so it misses the dramatic mark: When his new man-creature is birthed (in a scene that dwells too long on both Branagh and a naked De Niro entwined like female wrestlers in sensual amniotic slime), the creature is inadvertently chained and knocked unconscious. What does Franky do? Leave the creature hanging there and starts contemplating his navel. Are you a scientist, man?! Start doing tests, examining the creature’s metabolism, heart rate, skin regeneration, reflexes, etc.! What’s with all this philosophical mooning?

“We shall ride so hard that I will explode in my pantaloons from your mannequin buttocks rubbing urgently against me.”

Shelley creates a great allusion in the subtitle of her book, The Modern Prometheus, but chooses to go the route of simple-minded murder than the more interesting plot of society being exposed to this scientific wonder. As Prometheus stole forbidden knowledge of the gods and bequeathed it to Man, Victor Frankenstein treads that crucible, so we can excuse a modicum of self-examination and fear, but cannot we also revel in the unbounded excellence of the experiment’s success?

We must recall Mary Shelley was 18 when she penned this tale. Though her writing style is grandiose and exhibits a vocabulary which puts modern 18-year-olds to shame, her knowledge of scientific practices and story devices like characterization and motivation was virtually nil. She did a great job capturing the essence of a disturbing idea that probes at a primal fear of mankind – which is why the tale is so universally embraced – however she blithely set forth her characters’ actions, sprinkled liberally with flowery language, and hoped to disguise the fact there was hardly any substance behind their deeds.

The creature is also quite shallow, birthed with the intellect of an infant, soon turning to murder for no reason other than to jealously bait his creator. (And why do we perfunctorily call the creature a “monster” anyway? The “monster” epithet could probably be applied after he starts killing people, but we are conditioned to think of him as that from the outset!) And De Niro doesn’t help, seemingly just reading his lines and waiting for the knockoff bell to take off this goddam makeup. His leaden performance leads us to believe someone made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Shelley’s novel never mentions the process by which the living person is created, because – she was not a scientist, but every Frankenstein movie has utilized electricity/lightning to reanimate the creature. A creative new device here is – electric eels!

In the final telling, MARY SHELLEY’S FRANKENSTEIN has merits and demerits that cancel each other out. At least it’s sincere in trying to be authentic. But in its adherence to Shelley’s dated, drab approach, it becomes as inauthentic as all the other Frankensteins ever loosed into cinema. What do I mean by this? Well, as an example, the creature never raises his voice; he speaks calmly and articulately, because that was the ethos of the day – intelligent conversation, not Running and Screaming. The “terror” has not been updated to today’s “entertainment” standards.

The filmmakers also fail to convey the true intended horror of Frankenstein’s tale – the forbidden “tampering in God’s domain.” Although there is no religiosity in Shelley’s work, that unholy element was the unspoken heretical dread of creating life from nothing back in the 1800s. It was a trespass unforgivable. No one is getting that message now. Partly because we have become inured to the Frankenstein story over decades, partly because spiritual outrage is a thing of the past, and partly because the acting is so mediocre.

Next: THE GODFATHER PART IV, starring Abby Normal.

END

When holy barbecues get outa hand…

Frankenstein’s Glamster.

I, FRANKENSTEIN finds Frankenstein’s Monster in the modern world (which still resembles a big and brash medieval fantasy), immortal, an outsider caught in a war between two immortal clans – the Gargoyles and the Demons – that could damn the fate of humankind… if only humankind gave a toss.

Aaron Eckhart, ripped like a bridge cable, is the Monster, birthed from electric eel in the 17th century, walking the Earth a hunted, soul-less being. Dubbed Adam by the Gargoyle Queen (Miranda Otto, who looks like Jodie Foster when the light hits her at almost any angle), he’s fast, furious and toyt like a workout queen.

Adam (simply called Frankenstein as an easier point of reference) is sought by the Demon Prince Naberius (played with vampire brio by none other than vampire king Bill Nighy, UNDERWORLD), to discover the secret of how he could be animated and still have no soul. Naberius has been collecting soul-less corpses for centuries and apparently only soul-less corpses can be possessed by demons, so once he discovers how to animate the corpses, he summons his demons to inhabit this army to do his bidding on Earth. Yes, I’m asking the same questions as you: Was he banking on discovering Frankenstein at some point, even though he was probably collecting corpses long before Victor Frankenstein’s time, and what was he doing in the meantime when he needed evil helpers and all his corpses were just laying around gathering slime? But I call “bullshit” on “only soul-less corpses can be possessed by demons” anyway! What about THE EXORCIST, THE OMEN, THE LAST EXORCISM, THE EXORCISM OF EMILY ROSE, et al? Sigh. Onward…

So the Gargoyles, led by stone warrior Gideon (Jai Courtney) try to keep Franky away from Naberius, who has human scientists working for him, trying to emulate Victor Frankenstein’s infamous life-creating experiments. Female scientist Yvonne Strahovski (desperately looking like Rosamund Pike) would become Franky’s insipid “love interest,” if only he could stop staying out all night slaying Demons.

It’s an interesting plot pitting Frankenstein against two factions as a pawn in their war (from the graphic novel by Kevin Grevioux), but it’s executed with flash in stead of flair by screenwriter-director Stuart Beattie (only his second directorial effort, his writing credits including DERAILED 2005, AUSTRALIA 2008). Too much flash. Every time a Demon dies (or is “descended”) fireballs coruscate around the screen interminably, obfuscating the action. And every time a Gargoyle dies (or is “ascended”) a blue light like a stairway to heaven also obfuscates the action. In a lethal battle between Demons and Gargoyles, it’s a glam-slam Macy’s Christmas lightshow. And the ending – with fireballs ascending from hell into thousands of bodies on racks, and the CGI gargoyles killing them and turning them back into fireballs, and the mansion exploding and falling back into hell – is like a Disneyland fireworks display meeting the finale of a KISS concert. My eyes! I’m blind!—

It’s now a tossup between the ripped Aaron Eckhart and the solid Thomas Jane for the exact same roles. Who woulda thought the doughy guy with the porn-stache from YOUR FRIENDS & NEIGHBORS (1998) would make such a fantastic action hero? He’s alive! ALIIIIIVE!

END

Goolies Not Groovie.

I really wanted to like HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA: an animated comedy with a cute concept (iconic screen monsters gathering at a resort set up by Dracula, far from the persecution of humans) and a simple boy-meets-girl story, featuring the talents of director Genndy Tartakovsky (the wild mind behind DEXTER’S LABORATORY and THE POWERPUFF GIRLS) and writer Robert Smigel (the insurrectionist TV FUNHOUSE and the absurdly funny YOU DON’T MESS WITH THE ZOHAN); even Adam Sandler producing and starring as the voice of Dracula didn’t turn me off, as Sandler’s recent output has been skewing towards the good side of bad.

But as it goes forward HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA goes backward, with storyline that doesn’t make sense, and arbitrary magic – that last bastion for limp storytellers – and then conveniently forgets to use that magic when it’s needed most.

Dracula (voice of Sandler) has not only created this resort for monsters as a refuge, but has concocted a fiction that all humans are bent on murderous intent toward monsters. We have no idea how he can continue to perpetuate this fiction with all the monsters that patronize his resort, because one would think that the monsters, being from the outside world, are encountering humans daily and assessing their threat level accordingly. The movie is for kids, we remind ourselves, and move onward… Drac has also instilled this irrational fear of humans in his “teen” vampire daughter Mavis (Selena Gomez), who is celebrating her 118th birthday, and wants to explore outside the stifling walls of the resort. That’s a fine ambition – but – her desire is to visit a “human village.” The illogical storyline gives us no indication how or why. Consider:

When ideological media tries to indoctrinate us on Pearl Harbor’s “surprise attack,” Columbus “discovering America,” or Barack Obama’s “death panels,” we can pore through unlimited amounts of other media to mitigate the spin. But in HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA, Mavis is never seen absorbing any contrary information to counter her father’s spin – no monsters chat with her about the outside world, she is never seen on the internet or reading a travelogue, or doing anything that would plant a seed of doubt about her father’s word. Why then, does she want to visit the human village to “make new friends”?

Turns out this human village is fake anyway – with the zombie butlers of Hotel Transylvania masquerading as bloodthirsty humans, employed by father Drac, to scare Mavis home in case she wandered outside the resort walls.

Even when Mavis returns from the village in fear, movie never once indicates she has to overcome a fear of humans. When teen Jonathan arrives (Andy Samberg) and she discovers he’s human, she still can’t wait to get it on batty-style. In other words, the filmmakers were aimlessly trying to create the trope of the sheltered princess, to no avail.

Yes, it’s for kids – but do you really want your kids exposed to this contradictory trash?

Jonathan the Valley Boy hiker stumbles upon the resort and is ordered by Dracula to pose as Mavis’s birthday party planner until Dracula can sneak him off the grounds. But Jonathan endears himself to the patrons with his down-to-earth charm (i.e. stupidity) and captures Mavis’s heart with… uh, I dunno, his stuttering excuses? His cluelessness? The fact that he carries the only properly-formed penis of all her monster acquaintances?

So though the tagline is a funny premise – “Even Monsters Need a Vacation” – the film skews to that worn chick-flick trope of teen love against all odds. Stephenie Meyer in the front row gulping down popcorn…

When Jonathan admits to Mavis that he is human, she maintains, “I still want to be with you.” Whatever that means in Disneyspeak. Is she going out in the deadly sunshine with him on picnics? Is she comfortable consuming human blood in front of him? Are they going to tell his parents she’s undead? Is this a significant leap in tolerance across species lines? Rick Santorum did warn us that tolerance for other lifestyle choices would lead to man-on-dog; did he ever foresee bat-on-dope? Undead-on-alive?

Hey, it’s for kids, which apparently means it can be illogical and stupid. Meanwhile, all that money spent on producing this swill could have been spent on your kid for a better education system and healthier food in schools…

All the OG monsters are here, those classic icons of horror that made our grandma wet her bloomers: Frankenstein (Kevin James), The Wolfman (Steve Buscemi), The Mummy (CeeLo Green), The Invisible Man (David Spade), Quasimodo (Jon Lovitz), and there is much sideshow and background creativity in all the monster-centric gags. I don’t mind so much that these once-horrifying paranormal entities are being made to look cute and silly; it’s that it is happening in this badly-written movie.

Straight from the Because-It’s-For Kids bin: Direct sunlight is fatal to vampires, so Jonathan shows Mavis a sunrise from behind a ledge – but wait – if she is in shadow, how can she possibly see the sunrise? Because It’s For Kids. Drac eventually comes around to liking Jonathan – because it’s for kids. The human tourists that the monsters feared so much turn out to be loving fans of the monsters – because it’s for kids. Yes, everything’s for the kids – except quality entertainment.

Drac sees a snippet of TWILIGHT and laments, “This is how they represent us? Sheesh!” But waitaminute – look at HOTEL TRANSYLVANIA: This is how they represent you? Sheesh!

END

It was a Monster Mash!

How does Kate Beckinsale run in those stilettos? She is one of the most beautiful women on this ugly planet – but that Boris-and-Natasha accent is a real turn-off. Her Transylvanian is worse than Don Cheadle’s cockney.

In VAN HELSING, Beckinsale is Anna Valerious, a European village warrior woman with big hair, big sword and tight pants, whose quest is to destroy the monsters terrorizing her village. She is joined by one of the other most beautiful women on the planet, Hugh Jackman; curly cascading locks, magnificent chest, azure piercing eyes, aquiline nose, lips like sugar — waitaminute! Am I talking about him or her again?…

VAN HELSING is an old-fashioned monster tale with new-fashioned sex symbology. This ain’t your daddy’s Van Helsing. Vampire hunter Abraham Van Helsing was introduced to the world in Bram Stoker’s lavish 1897 novel Dracula, and in all successive media, we’ve grown used to Van Helsing as a crotchety old curmudgeon with a wooden stake in upraised fist ululating at the lightning. But Jackman is more like Ted Nugent hunting caribou in a loincloth (and without the idiotic Republican ideology); witch’s hat and rock star hair, flouncing floor-length leather and a repeating crossbow, his Playgirl muscles on standby for the final werewolf-vampire battle.

This Van Helsing is a hired assassin for Mother Church, hunting all manner of supernatural and unholy beast. They call him “The Left Hand Of God” (how Christian of them, as if that euphemism absolves them of their mortal crimes). He also gets bitten by a werewolf (shove that in your Van Helsing canon!), so his blood becomes mutated, his body becomes hairier than Paul Stanley’s chest and he grows long steely claws; in other words, he becomes Wolverine.

And he’s hunting… Dracula (Richard Roxburgh), who seems to have a clouded past with Van Helsing, calling him Gabriel in an avuncular tone, rather than Abraham (but in that pseudo-Transylvanian, so it sounds like Gabryelle, with umlauts and stuff).

All the old monsters are here, with in-your-face technological upgrades. Modern CGI animates gigantic werewolves, more powerful and vicious than we’ve ever seen, pale-blooded nude harpies devoid of nipples, vampire bat-babies and Frankenstein’s Monster (Shuler Hensley).

And there’s even Dracula’s craven assistant named Igor (Kevin J. O’Connor), who, whenever Dracula calls his name, must answer in that monster lisp, “Yesh, Mastah!” as he does that body-turn with arms flailing loosely.

David Wenham is Van Helsing’s friar sidekick, who is the voice of plot, outlining tales of intrigue with the convenient device of archaic tomes that always have pictures to illustrate exactly what he describes. This old cinematic technique – even in this fun-filled romp – is wearing on my patience. There are always PICTURES of the horrors that someone describes, like the listeners (audience included) cannot take the storyteller’s word for it unless we see those medieval hand-drawn Bosch-esque devil-drawings in a magnum volume guarded by monks. Even Beckinsale’s high tight corset doesn’t make up for that annoyance.

Dracula is trying to drain Frankenstein’s monster for the juice that will sustain his bat-babies. (Don’t even ask; I guess since Friar David read this plot from a medieval hand-drawn Bosch-esque magnum volume guarded by monks, it must be credible.)

A lot of work was put into this lavish production – most of it done by those computer nerds we take for granted – but Dracula himself is not selling me. Being fey is not a downfall when playing Dracula, but Roxburgh is not even selling the fey – only when he becomes a computer-nerd-created monster to battle Wolverine’s computer-nerd-created werewolf does he approach any level of monster mash.

And then – it was a graveyard smash!

END