Need a quick pandemic break? It’s time to return to our Year of Monsters! Today we’ll be following up Frankenstein with, appropriately enough, Bride of Frankenstein, and unlike its predecessor, I’d never seen this one before.
And while I don’t know exactly what I expected from this movie, holy shit, it wasn’t this.
Unlike the other Universal films we’ve discussed so far, I’ve actually seen Frankenstein before. Read it before, too, although I’ll admit it’s been years since I’ve done either. I’ll also admit that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was a serious struggle for me to get through. Some of the prose is fascinating and beautifully written, like, there are sections of it that have stuck with me for years, and I’d actually be interested in seeing a more faithful adaptation, but boy. There’s a limit on how much I can deal with a dude moaning about how wretched and cursed and doomed he is, and Victor Frankenstein easily surpasses that limit in the first fifty pages.
But that’s not this story. James Whale’s Frankenstein is a wildly different affair, and while it certainly has its moments, I think I enjoyed it more the first time I watched it.
I adore The Mummy (1999). I adore The Mummy Returns. I do not adore The Mummy (2017) with Tom Cruise and Sofia Boutella, but to be fair, I only watched about ten minutes of it. Maybe it gets better. (It doesn’t get better. We all know it.)
Now it’s time to see where all these movies began.
May I present The Mummy (1932) with Boris Karloff and Zita Johann.
Well, okay. Turns out, not every movie I picked was, strictly speaking, a “monster movie,” but to hell with it, right? There’s Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff and, like, a black cat or two running around. Also, post-traumatic stress and revenge. Also, chess. Also, Satanism.
I mean, really. What more do you need, right?