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(1886–1957). British director.
Film based on his work: Gods and Monsters (Bill Condon 1998).
Schooled by generations of feminist critics to regard
Mary Shelley's Frankenstein as the
homoerotic fantasy of a man determined to produce children without recourse to
a woman, many might assume that was the reason why the openly gay Whale, upon
his arrival in America, promptly chose the recently abandoned Frankenstein project as his first film. However,
other than the passing thought that the script would provide a perfect occasion
to work with that cute young actor Colin CLIVE, I doubt that Whale's sexual
orientation played any role in his choice, and there is little if any evidence
of a gay subtext in the completed film. Instead, I think, Whale was attracted
to the story because it was about an intelligent and talented man who makes bad
decisions and thus dooms himself to a miserable fate. It is a theme that Whale
would return to, in films and in life.
While a fanatical completist might regard Remember Last Night? and Green Hell as marginally relevant,
Whale's reputation in the fields of science fiction and horror is essentially
based upon four key films. Of these, Frankenstein
is a respectable, well-done adaptation of its story; The Old Dark House is an atmospheric rendering of the classic tale
of stranded travelers on a rainy night forced to stay in a mysterious mansion
filled with strange characters; and The
Invisible Man is a clever, if simplified, version of H. G. WELLS's novel
which integrates its special effects and wisecracks very effectively.
But for years I have delayed writing a James
Whale entry because I could muster no desire to write at length about any of these
films.
Rather, it is The
Bride of Frankenstein that towers above all these films and inexorably
demands a critic's complete and undivided attention. Despite conventional
labeling, it is hard to regard this as a horror film—since it is impossible
to imagine anyone being frightened by anything in the movie. Rather, it is a delightuflly
acidic comedy about a group of wonderful, charming people who are fatalistically
driven to self-destruction. There is poor old Dr. Pretorius,
a second-rater only capable of constructing
toys who ill-advisedly seeks to recruit a smarter man to help him achieve
something genuinely worthwhile; there is Frankenstein himself, trying to forget
his dreams and settle into a life of contented mediocrity,
but blackmailed into making one more attempt
to reach the big time, a challenge he unwisely begins to approach with renewed
enthusiasm; there is Elsa LANCHESTER's Bride of Frankenstein, who fails to
recognize that by rejecting her intended suitor she is dooming herself to a
ten-minute life span; and the wisest one of all, Boris KARLOFF's Frankenstein
monster, who alone comes to recognize that his strivings for warmth and
companionship, like everyone else's strivings, are silly and futile and hence
resolves to kill himself as quickly as possible and end the charade. The Bride of Frankenstein represents one
of the richest and most rewarding science fiction films ever made, one which
compels and rewards repeated viewings, and one completely understands why Whale
believed that he could never top it. Also, knowing Whale, one can also
understand why he consequently made the stupid decision to never again attempt
a film in this genre. Because, after all, if he was no longer working in the
field where he was the strongest, he could significantly increase his chances
for eventual failure.
So it is that, after five years of making mainstream
films and alienating as many people as possible along the way, Whale in the
early 1940s found himself unemployable, and hence at last a proper subject for
a film. Which brings us back to Gods and
Monsters, and to the final reaction that Whale would have to the film: a
desire to improve it. Let's see, he would say, we should replace the game but
ineffervescent Lynn Redgrave with a better comedienne—someone like Una
O'Connor—and we could make the Whale character a little more pathetic, a
little sillier, and perhaps we could work in a charming reunion scene with Boris
Karloff, another fine man who in the 1950s was watching his career slowly sink
in the west. James Whale always knew exactly how to make a good film. Making a
good life for himself was the task he could never fulfill.
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