Part 2: Bride of Frankenstein (1935)
“Your pants are talking,” said Wally the Bat.
“What...oh.” I reached into my pocket for the two-way radio.
“Zoc? Zoc? Where are you?” It was Zombos’ voice. He sounded frantic.
“Yes, what is it? I'm still…” I looked at Wally. “…I’m still in the attic.”
“It is your—”
A bolt of lightning flashed close to the mansion, quickly followed by a thunderous boom. It shook the dormer window open again.
“What’s that? I didn’t hear you,” I said through the static.
The door to the attic flew open. A tall, slim silhouette glided ominously through the door frame and headed toward me.
“It is your sister!" said Zombos. "I tried to warn you. She is—”
“Iloz! Where the hell are you?” she loudly asked. "This place is a mess. What the hell is taking you sooooo long. Ouch!" She tripped in the gloom. "Where the hell are the lights? I can't see a thing."
Wally the Bat, startled, squeaked as he rapidly unfurled his wings. “Time to go! It's been a real pleasure.”
He flew out the dormer window. I closed it behind him, wishing I could do the same. My sister Trixie was coming closer.
"You're all wet! Well, don't stand there like a cow," said Trixie. "Everybody's waiting for the birthday boy." She took me by the arm and alternately pushed and pulled me downstairs.
"Here he is!" announced Trixie as she pushed me into the drawing room. Everyone was gathered around Chef Machiavelli and his serving cart. He held a large cake knife poised at the ready. My birthday cake shimmered beneath the flames of numerous red candles. Ace of Cakes would have been jealous. 1313 Mockingbird Lane was represented right down to the crooked bat weather vane.
"I don't recall the Grim Reaper appearing in any Munsters episode," I said, noticing the hooded scion of death standing, scythe poised at the ready, on the little dilapidated porch.
"The Grim Reaper is my idea," said Trixie. "I thought you would adore it. Well, go on. Hurry up and blow out the candles."
"Marilyn Munster I adore, Grim Reaper not so much. Don't rush me. I'm savoring the moment. You don't turn fifty-two more than once, you know." I sucked in a long breadth, took aim at the little plastic Grim Reaper, and blew out the candles. He held fast. Damn.
"How does it feel being fifty-two?" asked Zimba, pulling a candle out to lick the icing.
"A lot like fifty-one, only older," I replied.
The number fifty-two: it's the atomic number of tellurium. It's one of the tombstones in Goth: The Game of Horror Trivia. The Mayan Calendar moves through a complete cycle every fifty-two years. At age fifty-two, Alfred Hitchcock directed Strangers on a Train. At fifty-two, Boris Karloff played the Frankenstein monster, in earnest, for the third and last time in Son of Frankenstein.
"What were you doing stumbling around up there?" asked Trixie as she helped remove the candles.
"Zombos thought he left his--"
"Oh, let us not start this again," said Zombos. "I clearly remember I did put it—"
"Hush," said Zimba. "You'd forget where your own head was if it wasn't bolted on." She pulled out the last candle. "Let's cut the cake!"
"I can help with that," volunteered Trixie. Before I could stop her she snapped her fingers. Instinct took over and I ducked just in time. The cake split open down the middle, sending the Grim Reaper high into the air along with most of the cake's hazelnut icing. Zombos was standing closest to the calamity. Zimba handed him a napkin to wipe the icing off his glasses as he removed the Grim Reaper, now stuck in his hair.
"Oops. Sorry. I thought I had that spell down pat." My sister's witchery skills always did leave much to be desired.
"So. How are those lessons coming along at the Witch Finders School of Cauldronic Arts? asked Zombos.
"Never mind, dear," said Zimba. "No harm done." She gave Zombos her always persuasive stare-of-Medusa and he kept quiet. "Let's get comfortable by the fire while Rudolpho puts more frosting on the cake."
Only Zimba called Chef Machiavelli by his first name. Mostly because only she could keep a straight face while doing so. Rudolpho wheeled the cake back to the kitchen as we made ourselves comfortable by the fire.
Lightning still flashed now and then across the large windowpanes, and streams of water ran pell-mell across the glass. The roaring flame on the grate lulled me with thoughts of torches held high by beleaguered villagers chasing down the Frankenstein Monster, again and again...
...Lightning, dreary, near endless, drizzle, and beleaguered people play their important parts in all the Frankenstein movies. It took four years after Frankenstein to make the lonely Monster a reluctant mate in Bride of Frankenstein, and another four years for Wolf Von Frankenstein to take on his father's less than stellar work habits in Son of Frankenstein to restore the Monster's health.
Boris Karloff returns as the Monster, but he is a ghost of his former self, playing a lesser role as foil to Bela Lugosi's indelible performance as another equally undying monster, Ygor. Finally, the Monster has found a friend, although a homicidal miscreant one with a penchant for black humor.
With Basil Rathbone as the effusive Wolf Von Frankenstein and Lionel Atwill as the studious Inspector Krogh playing to the rafters, Lugosi's Ygor takes center stage this time around. Karloff realized his beloved creation had become just another fixture in the mad scientist's lab, like the glassware and electrical apparatus, providing the means but no longer the method to an end: Frankenstein's Monster, truly given life by Karloff the Uncanny's emotive portrayal, had been reduced to mere appliances and neck bolts anyone willing to undergo the grueling makeup process could wear.
The humanity and soul-stirrings of Frankenstein's creation were not the only things left out in subsequent movies. Any dichotomy of nature versus nurture, dialectic regarding the balance between responsibility and determinism, and all displays of sympathy gave way to a plot gimmick that begins in Son of Frankenstein and continues through Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein: since the monster's brain is bad, he is bad; replace his brain with a good one and he becomes good. But first, like a drained rechargeable battery, he must be powered up to full strength through his bolt-like electrodes before the operation can take place.
The role of the Monster was not the only thing that changed.
Son of Frankenstein stands as the bridge spanning the ambivalent melancholia and mania of James Whale's and Todd Browning's Gothic night sweats to the slick-slacks, neatly cleaned-and-pressed, B budget trimmed finery of Universal's front-office controlled monster package for a new decade of movie-goers versed in the realities and hardships of World War II. But it’s an impressive bridge, nonetheless, thanks in large part to four consummate actors playing horror for all it was worth and then some.
The placeless-ness of Universal Studios' Grimm's fairy tale-like world of monsters and madmen is strongest here. The train that Baron Wolf Von Frankenstein and his family travel on to the cursed village of his father—which, oddly enough, is now named after the man who brought so much misery to it—seems modern enough; until it passes through a particularly dark and dreary landscape of withered, gnarled trees and the Baron and his family arrive at their destination. Mel Brooks in Young Frankenstein plays off this stark change from present day to not-quite-sure-when-or-where for laughs, but it is this blurring of past and present, an abstract recognizability, which makes Universal's horror canon so appealing, even though it was probably driven more by script and budget and global market necessities than artful construct.
In these first few minutes we've crossed into a distorted, unhealthy landscape and unpleasant climate, where technological and agrarian artifice mingles with the arcane; where people dress in both contemporary and quaintly antiquated, but nondescript, clothing, and where mundane laws of continuity from movie to movie no longer need apply. Here be villains, heroes, and those caught between the two, walking through shadows, strutting and fretting their fears, triumphs, and downfalls on a timeless stage that leers at the face of convention.
Only in this peculiar environment can art director Jack Otterson's team compose an architectural chiaroscuro of overgrown, expressionistic buildings more suited to a Max Fleischer cartoon than a sane town, and fill them with dark cavernous rooms containing overbearing archways, oddly intersecting angles, and recklessly sprawling wooden staircases without handrails. Austere furnishings accentuate the cheerless emptiness of Castle Frankenstein, in contrast to the extravagant furniture and dressings in Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. Outrageously large commonplace artifacts, like the metal knocker that Inspector Krogh pounds against the front door to announce his arrival, complement the surreal dreamscape of this isolated fiefdom.
The villagers meet the train, huddling under a sea of oversized black umbrellas, in the pouring rain, waiting to see—not greet—the new face of their fear. They quickly dissolve away as the Baron stumbles across ill-chosen words of praise for his father. Receiving a brusque welcome by the town council, his father's chest of papers is quickly dumped into his hands. Only Inspector Krogh is somewhat cordial. He realizes the danger Wolf Von Frankenstein is in: the intoxicating allure of power that comes from dabbling in forbidden science; a devastating family trait. Driving up to the estate, a skulking Ygor is briefly seen in a flash of headlights as the motor car pulls up to the front door; a portent of bad things to come.
In the minds of many horror aficionados, [Lionel] Atwill's greatest performance came in a supporting part--as the unforgettable, wooden-armed Inspector Krogh in Son of Frankenstein. Constructed with equal parts bottled rage and gallows humor, Krogh ranks as the most completely assembled supporting character of Universal's entire Frankenstein series (unless you count Bela Lugosi's Ygor, who became the de facto star of Son and Ghost of Frankenstein). Krogh also remains the only hero from the entire canon of Universal horror classics who's as much fun to watch as the studio's monsters and mad scientists. (Mark Clark, Smirk, Sneer and Scream: Great Acting in Horror Cinema)
Falling under the black shadows of Frankenstein's legacy, the surrounding, bog-filled countryside, accentuated by Hans J. Salter's sumptuous music, reflects more death than life. Through the mist-covered tombstones tilting left and right—much like Ygor's teeth—the hanged but still kicking shepard prowls, gleefully playing a dirge on his horn to annoy the already agitated villagers. These moonlight spookshow tableaus move to the forefront of Universal's later efforts.
In Philip J. Riley's SON OF FRANKENSTEIN: Universal Moviescripts Series Classic Horror Movies Volume 3, it’s mentioned director Rowland V. Lee made sure to use third-billed Bela Lugosi as much as possible after the studio cut the former Dracula star's contracted weekly salary in half by insisting all his scenes be shot in one week. Not in the original shooting script to begin with, the character of Ygor was hastily crafted by Lee and writer Willis Cooper as production started, but it was Lugosi's character-acting skills that fleshed out Ygor with wicked panache. Not much of the finished movie comes from the initial scripting either. Scenes were written throughout the shooting schedule, resulting in a somewhat uneven flow in the action. Watching the glee with which Lugosi, Atwill, and Rathbone chew on the scenery tends to hide this unevenness, however.
Bela Lugosi, originally signed to play a police inspector in the movie, had the role of a lifetime improvised on the set—the broken-necked, snaggletoothed, and demented Ygor. Gone completely was any hint of Dracula; here, for virtually the only time in Hollywood was Lugosi as the versatile character actor he really was. Unfortunately, Hollywood paid little attention, and would never extend Lugosi such an opportunity again. (David J, Skal, The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror)
Ygor, who has been using the monster to do his revengeful dirty work, insists Wolf Von Frankenstein revive his only friend, made comatose by a lightning bolt strike (although it is a lightning bolt the monster seeks to innervate him in Ghost of Frankenstein). Frankenstein's son can’t resist the challenge. Soon the villagers are throwing rocks at the large boxes of equipment heading for the watchtower laboratory.
Wait a minute; wasn’t it blown to smithereens in the last movie?
Yes, it was reduced to rubble in Bride of Frankenstein, with the Monster buried deeply under it.
Well, if you are going to break that continuity, why not go big time and throw in a boiling pit of sulfur, that’s been around since the Romans, in the middle of it, and how about a split-level design for the lab? And put it right next to Castle Frankenstein so the Monster and Ygor can easily prowl around using secret passages running from the lab to the castle.
Okay. Done.
The Monster is revived through Kenneth Strickfaden's quintessential electrical phantasmagorical high amperage light show of pyrogeysers, crackling and arcing away. Before Wolf can say "why haven't the sulfur fumes knocked me out?" the Monster is back on his eighteen-pound asphalter boots and kicking up mayhem at Ygor's bidding.
After trying to make friends and woo a lab-ordered bride, Karloff's Monster no longer seeks understanding; he is fed up with people screaming at the sight of him, shooting at him, and chasing him with flaming torches. Passing in front of a mirror he pauses to despise his visage (or perhaps it is the woolly vest he despises, a holdover from the color tests, which now replaces his iconic jacket?). He hates what he is and not even Dr. Phil can help him now. Misunderstood and feared, after being treated as a monster for so long, he now acts accordingly.
The hunt for a new brain begins with little Shirley Temple cute Peter Frankenstein (Donnie Dunagan), Wolf's son. The monster takes a liking to Peter--the boy reads fairy tales to him—and eventually figures out that if he had Peter's brain, perhaps he would be as sweet and innocent and fun to be with; still awfully big and creepy, but fun to be with. Of course, Donnie Dunagan's grating Southern drawl should have given the monster pause for concern.
Corny. And I had a Southern accent! With this dignified European cast, they had this little kid in there with this loud voice. They kept saying "Speak up!" because I didn't speak that loud then...And as you speak up, your accent is always accentuated. So here's this little curly-haired jerk runnin' around there with this very deep Memphis-Texas accent (laughs)! They had the courage to do that! (Dunagan interview in Universal's Horrors: The Studios Classic Movies 1931-1946)
Inspector Krogh begins to suspect foul things are afoot when town council members start turning up dead while Ygor brazenly plays his horn in public. Wolf becomes increasingly high-strung—astounding, really, given Rathbone's already energetic delivery—becoming more ill-tempered each time Krogh pays a visit. Both Rathbone and Atwill, classically-trained British actors who could intentionally overact, play off each other, with Atwill slowly simmering and Rathbone rapidly boiling. As the villagers once again ready their torches, Krogh's impatience with Wolf's supercilious attitude reaches fever pitch. In answer to Wolf's defiant question to name one person who the Monster has killed or hurt, Krogh matter-of-factly recollects his own horrific experience.
Here’s the scene as written in the movie script:
Wolf: Do you honestly know of one criminal act that this poor creature committed? Did you ever even see him?
Krogh: The most vivid recollection of my life.
[Solemn instrumental music]
Krogh: I was but a child at the time, about the age of your own son. The monster had escaped and was ravaging the countryside...killing, maiming, terrorizing. One night, he burst into our house. My father took a gun and fired at him...but the savage brute sent him crashing to a corner. Then he grabbed me by the arm.
[Thud] Inspector Krogh slams his fake arm against the wall, a vacant look on his face.
[Tense instrumental music]
Krogh: One doesn't easily forget, Herr Baron, an arm torn out by the roots.
[Pause] Wolf is stunned, humbled.
Wolf: No, I...
Krogh: My lifelong ambition was to have been a soldier. But for this...
Atwill's little bits of business as he remembers—he pushes his monocle between the wooden fingers of his prosthetic arm and casually polishes it with a handkerchief—make this scene a show-stopper. The sudden thump as he slams his useless wooden arm against the wall in disgust punctuates the intense revelation. Krogh, in spite of his loss, still has a sense of gallows humor: during a heated game of darts with the Baron, he uses his wooden arm as a convenient dart holder. If you’ve seen Young Frankenstein or Dr. Strangelove you understand how influential Atwill's Inspector Krogh performance has been.
The dart game is interrupted by the disappearance of Peter and a search ensues. Inspector Krogh finds the secret passage that leads from Peter's room to the laboratory, while Wolf heads to the laboratory by other means.
When Ygor is gunned down, Karloff has one last moment of glory with the Monster legacy he created: realizing his only friend is dead (until the next movie, that is), he vents his sorrow. With Peter now under foot—the monster's left one—Inspector Krogh has his wooden arm torn off before Wolf grabs hold of a chain and swings into the Monster, sending him screaming into the boiling pit of sulfur.
All's right with the village now.
Wolf deeds over his castle and estate to the cheering villagers before leaving the Village of Frankenstein for good. Perhaps they’re happy because the Monster pays a visit to the next town over, for a change, in Ghost of Frankenstein.
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