Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1994)

When Puffy Pirate Shirts Decide to Direct.

This is one of those rare moments in cinema when the actors perfectly reflect the viewers’ facial expressions.

If poor Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley had known she’d get a possessory credit on this thing, she probably would’ve written the novel under the name Alan Smithee.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994)
Directed by Kenneth Branagh
Screenplay by Steph Lady (it would’ve been a lot classier if it had been written by Lady Steph, but I guess she was too busy wearing fascinators to Ascot, or whatever) and Frank Darabont, based on the novel by Mary Shelley

The Arctic Sea, 1794. Explorer Aidan Quinn is trying to find a short cut to India through the North Pole when the ship strikes an iceberg—it’s Mary Shelley’s Titanic. Then Kenneth Branagh stumbles across the ice and demands that Aidan and his men listen to a tale which will prove edifying to them. See, he’s Victor...Frankenstein. The freezing explorers couldn’t care less, but Ken’s the director, so...

Geneva, 1773. Kenneth is a tot of 5, and his mother tells him he’s the smartest, cutest, bestest boy in the whole world, which, unfortunately, he believes. Then Dad brings in an orphan girl whom Ken is to think of as his sister, meaning that he’ll be sleeping with her in a couple of minutes.

Now we jump forward some years, to when Ken is a winsome lad of 35. Mom, who is now younger than Ken and pregnant, tells him to quit being such a scientific genius and meet some girls—preferably ones he’s not related to. Then lightening hits a tree, causing her to die in childbirth.

It’s now three years later, and Ken is a strapping young man of 35. He visits Mom’s grave and tells it, “Mother, you shouldn’t have died. No one need ever die.” He vows that he will stop death or your money back, and commences weird experiments with electric eels and wind-up toys.

Having finally graduated from high school at age 35, Ken is getting ready to depart for medical school. He is sad about leaving his adopted sister, Helena Bonham Carter, despite her Lyle Lovett hair. He asks her, “How do brothers and sisters say goodbye?” then shoves his tongue down her throat. Well, not usually like that.

Ingolstadt, 1793. His instructors tell Ken that there is no such thing as original or creative thought, a view that the middle-aged filmmaker takes to heart. Trying to think up a good project for the school science fair, he decides it would be funny to put John Cleese’s brain in Robert De Niro’s body, so he calls up Ed McMahon and Dick Clark, then starts stitching the supporting cast together.

Now Ken is ready to create life. He removes his shirt (presumably so his patchwork creation can better appreciate his washboard abs). He puts the body into a copper vat full of amniotic fluid (collected from contented pregnant women). He powers up the pinwheels and jumper cables, and then tells the creature to LIVE! The Creature pounds on the vat, spilling amniotic fluid all over the place. It makes a big mess, and Ken decides that he really doesn’t want the responsibility of a Creature (sure, reanimating the dead sounds fun, but you have to feed them, clean up after them, and walk them every day).

The Creature turns to crime when rejected by society in Mary Shelley’s Scarface. After getting beaten up for stealing bread in Mary Shelley’s Les Miserables, he heads out to the country and lives with the pigs in Mary Shelley’s Babe. He spies on the nice family that owns the farm, learning to read by repeating with the young daughter “Frr-enn-dddz. Friends.” (The Creature is living in a pigsty, so his taste in sit-coms is only to be expected.) Now Creatch can read Ken’s journal, discovering that Ken considered him an abomination and not that good in Meet the Fockers. Creatch is furious, and vows “I will have my revenge!”

The Creature walks to Geneva, strangles Ken’s kid brother, and frames Justine, Ken’s childhood friend. He also writes some bad reviews of Ken’s Hamlet for the NY Times. The torch-carrying villagers, upset that they don’t get to chase any monsters in this version of the story, lynch Justine, but it’s not really satisfying, and just feels like stress-eating empty calories.

The Creature chides Ken for being a really bad creator, but he offers him a way to make it up to him: build him a friend. A female friend. With really big scars. Ken has mixed emotions about this: how quick kids grow up these days. But he figures two creatures can live as cheaply as one, so what the hell.

Ken returns home and unpacks the monster-making equipment. Creatch, poking around the lab, finds Justine’s body and demands her as his reanimated bride. Ken refuses, because while he was willing to give the Creature a cadaver to sleep with, he draws the line at close, personal corpses. Creatch is incensed and declares, “If you deny me my wedding night, I will be with you on yours.” This bothers Ken, because while he is open to the idea of a threesome, he kinda hoped that Helena would be the one bringing a friend.

But it seems he will have no wedding night, since Helena is leaving him. He begs her not to go, and he looks so cute in his tight knee-britches and puffy shirt that she says he can tell her tomorrow about this horrible evil that he’s unleashed on the world. They begin to undress, and Helena murmurs “Brother and sister no more.” He replies, “Now husband and wife.” Well, actually they are both, as required by Alabama state law. Anyway, Ken takes off his shirt and unlaces her corset, then unlaces his corset. Then, to the accompaniment of swelling violins, we watch Mary Shelley’s Cinemax After Dark.

But before Ken can get to the good stuff, the monster alarms go off and Victor runs outside to put out fresh Creaturebane. Helena sulks and returns to bed, only to spot something evil in the room. It’s...Emma Thompson! No, actually it’s the Creature. He admires her beauty and gently pats her cheek, and it looks like the honeymoon won’t be a total loss for Helena after all—until he rips her heart out of her chest. Creatch offers it to Ken, but it’s not exactly the kind of Valentine’s gift that he was hoping for.

Ken runs to the lab with his dead sister/wife, lops off Helena’s head, and sews it to Justine’s body, which is still conveniently there in the corner. He puts the hybrid in the vat, turns on the electric eels, and screams “LIVE!!!”

Ken dresses his bald, scarred, creation in a wedding gown, pleased to note that the new body has bigger boobs. The Creature shows up, sees the bride, and it’s love at first sight, since her scars compliment his. He grabs her by the arm and tries to make her come with him. Ken is unwilling to lose her to a combination platter of body parts, and pulls her by the other arm. Since those arms were just sewn on a couple of minutes ago, the poor girl is naturally distressed, and sets herself on fire to protest the men’s insensitivity to the Vietnam War.

Back on the iceberg, Ken concludes his story and dies. Strangely enough, his audience is still there. They wake up to see Creatch sitting by Ken’s body, weeping his eyes out. “He was my father!” the thing exclaims, hoping to get on Maury Povich. Aiden, irked that he used to star in movies and now only gets booked into framing devices, burns up both Ken and De Niro. The End.

From this movie we can learn a lot about finding love, losing love, and how to keep love alive by putting its head on a body with a better rack.

First, Mary Shelley teaches us that if you are looking for a date, instead of hanging out at the single’s bar or under the corner lamp post, you might want to look for eligible partners a little closer to home, like among your coworkers or classmates. Or better yet, actually at home, amongst members of your immediate family!

Dating family members can make life a lot easier by eliminating the need to learn new phone numbers, addresses, or names. And they’re so conveniently located! Plus, there’s none of the awkwardness that comes with trying to make small talk with strangers. You and your family already have a whole lifetime of experiences to discuss, so instead of prattling inanely about the weather, you and Mom can relive that time when she made you try the broccoli salad at Olive Garden and you threw up, or the day that she got high on cold pills and put the cat in the dish washer. Now doesn’t that sound like a welcome change from the stiffness and strain of the typical first date? And since you regularly read Sissy’s diary, you can be pretty confident that she’s telling you the truth when it comes time for that chat about sexual histories.

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