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- <text id=94TT1542>
- <title>
- Nov. 07, 1994: Cinema:Boris Karloff, Where Are You?
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
- Nov. 07, 1994 Mad as Hell
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- ARTS & MEDIA/CINEMA, Page 73
- Boris Karloff, Where Are You?
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p> The latest version of Frankenstein is overblown and unscary
- </p>
- <p>By Richard Schickel
- </p>
- <p> The exterior of the Frankenstein house, as it is presented in
- Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, is well proportioned and nicely
- balanced; the mansion appears to be an entirely suitable residence
- for a prosperous, rational 18th century doctor and his cheerful,
- loving family. But the interior is something else again. It
- includes a vast, vaulting staircase that couldn't possibly fit
- inside the house we have seen from the outside and that seems
- completely at odds with the family's sensibility. The house
- is rather too obviously meant to act as a metaphor for the character
- of the Frankensteins' son Victor, played by Kenneth Branagh,
- who also directed. On the surface he seems to be quite a reasonable
- fellow, a medical student eager to follow in his father's footsteps.
- On the inside, though, it turns out he's as loopy and out of
- scale as that staircase. Chap wants to play God, create life
- in his laboratory. Mortality, which took away his beloved mother,
- seems to him a dirty trick he must do something about.
- </p>
- <p> But you know all that, don't you? Even if you haven't actually
- read Frankenstein, you have seen the classic horror movies based
- on the novel. From these sources you will have gathered that
- no good can possibly come of messing around with the secrets
- of life and death. You probably don't need half an hour of talky,
- tedious back story, as you get in this screenplay by Steph Lady
- and Frank Darabont, explaining why Victor is driven to reanimate
- a corpse. They used to dispense with his hubris in half a dozen
- lines of hysterical dialogue, the better to get on to the good
- stuff.
- </p>
- <p> Unfortunately, the good stuff here isn't so good. Branagh doesn't
- evoke terror, only repulsion. Frankenstein's laboratory is a
- mess, with amniotic fluid sloshing all over the place (never
- mind why). Even lovely Helena Bonham Carter, playing the doctor's
- wife, is not spared hideous disfigurement. The most authentically
- bizarre thing about the film is that John Cleese appears as
- a heavy and does a very nice job.
- </p>
- <p> As the monster, Robert De Niro looks like an aging Marlon Brando
- with his head stitched together. And De Niro acts like Brando
- too--fake intellectual mumblings and unsuccessfully suppressed
- rage. His creature is somewhere between Shelley's monster, who
- quoted Milton and Goethe, and Boris Karloff's, who was a preliterate
- child. There is much to be said for the latter conception. The
- fact that his depredations stemmed from clumsy innocence made
- the monster sympathetic in a way.
- </p>
- <p> This is not to suggest that a bunch of 1930s scenarists were
- better writers than Mary Shelley, only that they had a clearer
- sense of their medium's imperatives than her present servants
- do. James Whale, who made the 1931 version and its even stronger
- sequel, The Bride of Frankenstein, certainly was a better director
- than Branagh. The latter has just created isolated sensations
- that aren't even frightening. Whale had real style. He understood
- that if it was too late to take this tale completely seriously,
- it was too soon to camp it up or make it an exercise in empty
- disgust. Delicately poising irony, dark sentiment and terror,
- he drew you into his web. Branagh never weaves one. He's too
- busy serving his own expansive ego.
- </p>
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
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