Franchises: Universal's Frankenstein Series. Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Although I can't recall exactly when I first saw an image of Frankenstein's monster, I can do that for the Bride. I've previously mentioned these decorative figures of the Universal monsters that were sold around Halloween in stores like Wal-Mart when I was a young kid, and when my mom bought one of them for me (I think it was the Dracula figure), we looked on the back of the box it came in, at the images of the other available figures. While my mom recognized most of the monsters, she didn't know what the Bride was, at first. She thought she was some kind of witch, until she read the label beneath the image. From then on, I knew who the Bride was, what she looked like, and, eventually, learned of this specific film which featured her. But that was it until that weekend in October of 1998; right after the original Frankenstein was shown that Saturday, Turner Classic Movies immediately went into Bride of Frankenstein, making for a very cool double feature. My cousin, Mikey, came over to spend the night that day and he tried to get me to come play video games with him, but I let him know, "Nuh-uh, I'm watching this." And I was glad I told him that, as I did enjoy it very much, as I had the first film, and I was happy to get it on video a couple of years later. But it wasn't until I started looking it up online and watching the special features on the DVD in the Legacy set that I learned just how beloved and acclaimed a movie it is. As well-regarded and celebrated as the original Frankenstein is, Bride of Frankenstein is, for many, the greatest of all the Universal Horrors, as well as James Whale's best movie and one of the greatest movies ever made, period. Speaking for myself, while Frankenstein and The Invisible Man are still my personal favorites as far as Whale's films go, there's no denying that Bride does go above and beyond any horror film of the time, or any time, for that matter. It's nothing less than a showcase for Whale's quirky genius, filled with all sorts of new, interesting characters, in addition to welcome returning ones, crazy concepts, scenes and images that have become iconic in their own right, a great sense of humor dark and bizarre, and a further development of Frankenstein's monster that's impossible not to love. It is a bona fide classic, like the original, and as Scott MacQueen says in the documentary, She's Alive! Making the Bride of Frankenstein, it can be seen as a culmination of everything Universal had been doing with the horror genre since 1931.

After the burning of the windmill and apparent death of the Monster created by Dr. Henry Frankenstein, the crowd and mob gathered at the site are dispersed by the Burgomaster. Frankenstein himself is apparently dead after having been thrown off the mill by the Monster and the villagers return him to his home. However, Hans, the father of Maria, the young girl who was drowned by the Monster, is obsessed with seeing his charred remains and falls into a cavern below the mill. There, the Monster, badly burned but still very much alive, drowns him, and then throws his wife to her death after climbing out of the hole. Frankenstein is brought back to the village and his house, where it's discovered he's still alive. Elizabeth, his beloved fiancee, begins nursing him back to health, while he's decided to give up his experiments and marry her. But his decision is tempered when Dr. Pretorius, an old college professor of his, arrives later that night. Speaking with him privately, he suggests they work together, later revealing that his ultimate ambition is for them to create a mate for the Monster. The Monster himself, meanwhile, is roaming the countryside, unintentionally terrifying everyone he comes across. After being chased again by a mob, captured, and chained up in a dungeon, he manages to break free and, deep in the woods, comes across a cottage occupied by a lonely, blind hermit. The hermit befriends him, treats his wounds, gives him a place to stay, and even teaches him to speak. But when two hunters come upon the cottage and see the Monster, they threaten him and a struggle leads to the structure burning down and the hermit being taken away. Alone again, the Monster stumbles into a cemetery and finds his way down into a tomb, where Pretorius and his cronies open a grave to collect bones for the intended Bride. Once Pretorius is alone in the crypt, he's approached by the Monster and befriends him, managing to gain his loyalty when he tells him of his plan to create a mate for him. Moreover, Pretorius uses him to ensure Frankenstein's compliance by having him kidnap Elizabeth. With no other recourse, Frankenstein agrees to work with Pretorius, who promises to return Elizabeth to him once their experiment is completed.

Believing he'd gotten everything there was to get out of the source material with the first film, James Whale was initially uninterested in the idea of directing a sequel, which Universal began developing as early as Frankenstein's first preview screenings. Instead, he focused on other projects, including The Old Dark House and The Invisible Man, as well as 1933's The Kiss Before the Mirror and By Candlelight, and 1934's One More River, which were a mystery, comedy, and drama respectively. It's been said that Whale took advantage of Universal's desire to make the Frankenstein sequel by persuading them to allow him to do One More River, as well as that The Invisible Man was another film he did as a ploy to get out of it. Eventually, Whale did agree to direct the film, and with Carl Laemmle Jr. again allowing him complete creative control, he decided to make it something of a parody, an enjoyable "hoot," as he felt he'd never be able to top what he did on the first. He rejected a number of proposed scripts, done before he became attached, and finally took more control over its development, eventually bringing in playwright and familiar name John L. Balderston. Balderston came up with the idea of using the subplot in the original novel of Frankenstein being forced to create a mate for his monster as the basis for the film, and the screenplay was then given a final polish by two other writers, William J. Hurlbut and Edmund Pearson. Bride of Frankenstein would ultimately prove to be Whale's final horror film, although Universal did attempt have him do Dracula's Daughter (more on that when we get to that film). He instead went on to Remember Last Night?, a comedic murder mystery that was one of his personal favorites, and the first all sound version of the popular musical, Show Boat.

 

But when the Laemmle family lost control of the studio in 1936, with them went the creative control Whale had enjoyed since he began working there. The Road Back, a 1937 sequel to All Quiet on the Western Front, which Universal had produced in 1930, was taken away from Whale and completely recut due to pressure and threats from the Los Angeles consul for Nazi Germany. Not at all happy about this debacle, and finding it impossible for him to get along with Charles R. Rogers, Laemmle Jr.'s replacement, Whale wound up making a string of B-movies, such as The Great Garrick, Sinners in Paradise, Wives Under Suspicion, and Green Hell. Save for a 1939 adaptation of The Man in the Iron Mask, none of Whale's post-Laemmle era films made any profit, and after directing 1941's They Dare Not Love, which he left before production was even completed, he retired from filmmaking altogether, save for a couple of shorts in 1942 and 1950. He continued working on the stage and was able to live a comfortable life due to a number of wealthy investments, but after suffering a series of strokes, he committed suicide in 1957 at the age of 67.

From the outset, Bride of Frankenstein is clearly going to be a very unusual sequel, as it features a prologue that blurs the line between the movies and the original novel, as well as the fictional world of the story and its real-life creator. Mary Shelly is depicted here, along with her husband, Percy Bysshe Shelly, and their outrageous friend, Lord Byron, as they talk about her tale of Frankenstein while a storm rages outside, based on the real account of the stormy weekend the three of them spent in Switzerland when Mrs. Shelly came up with the story. Byron recounts the plot of the original film as if he were talking about the actual novel, which, naturally, are very different from each, and after her husband laments the story's abrupt ending, Mrs. Shelly opts to tell them the continuation she's come up with, where the film truly begins. This prologue was something Whale insisted upon, as he wanted it made clear that the story was coming directly from the mind of the author, which he felt would make it more of a fantasy of the imagination and, therefore, enable him to get away with ideas he wouldn't be able to in a more straightforward sequel.

I must admit that the prologue did throw me the first time I saw the movie, as it wasn't something I was expecting after having just seen the much more conventional original for the first time. But now, I feel it helps to immediately give it that distinct flavor Whale was going for. Plus, I can't help but get into the scene and its characters. I love how big of a personality Lord Byron (Gavin Gordon) is, as he speaks every single word as though he were on a stage, rolling the "r's" on his tongue in the most haughty, snooty English way imaginable, and attempting to be as outrageous as he can. Commenting on the storm raging outside, he remarks, "I should like to think that an irate Jehovah was pointing those arrows of lightning directly at my head. The unbowed head of George Gordon, Lord Byron. England's greatest sinner." He then goes on to say that the storm is more than likely meant for Percy Bysshe Shelley (Douglas Walton), "Heaven's applause for England's greatest poet." Finally he describes Mary Shelley (Elsa Lanchester) herself as, "An angel," and an, "Astonishing creature," adding, "Frightened of thunder, fearful of the dark, and yet, you have written a tale that sent my blood into icy creeps." When Byron then comments on how hard it is to believe that the story of Frankenstein could've been the work of a woman at all, Mary comments, "I don't know why you should think so. What do you expect? Such an audience needs something stronger than a pretty little love story. So, why shouldn't I write of monsters?" She's also confident that her story will be published, despite the initial publisher's refusal to do so, and says her purpose in writing it was to create a lesson about what happens when one plays God. And when she decides to tell them of her story's continuation, commenting, "It's a perfect night for mystery and horror. The air itself is filled with monsters," Byron eagerly says, "I'm all ears! While heaven blasts the night without, open up your pits of hell!"

Whereas Boris Karloff was fourth-billed in the credits for the original film and identified by only a question mark in the opening, here he's not only given top billing, with his name appearing before the title, but was he so famous by this point, having been given the moniker, "Karloff the Uncanny," that they just bill him as "Karloff." Such lauding is very fitting, as the Monster is very much the protagonist this time around. Moreover, in addition to easily slipping back into the role, Karloff gets to greatly expand upon it and create an even more well-rounded character, with a clear arc. After having survived the fire in the windmill, the Monster's first action is killing two people (namely the parents of the girl he accidentally drowned) out of rage, but afterward, as he roams and lives off the countryside, he's again portrayed as sympathetic and misunderstood. He saves a shepherdess from drowning when she falls off a ridge and into a pool but, of course, she screams at him in fear. In fact, her falling was due to her being frightened by the sight of him, even though he wasn't being threatening at all. Even worse, her screams attract a couple of hunters and, though he tries to verbalize that he wasn't attacking her through his gestures, he gets shot in the arm. He then runs off but, yet again, he's hunted down by an angry mob, who corner him, string him up, and take him to the village prison, where they chain him in a dungeon. It doesn't take much effort for him to break loose and escape, sending the villagers into a panic as he stomps through the streets (and commits some acts that I personally find a tad too savage, as I'll get into later). After escaping back into the countryside, he approaches a band of gypsies camping in the woods, smelling the chicken they're cooking over a fire. Again, despite his attempts to come off as benevolent, they run off screaming in fear, frustrating him further. He's also forced to defend himself and shove one of them to the ground when he comes at him with a torch. And after all that trouble, he can't even make off with the chicken, as he burns his hand when he reaches for it and runs off.

Then comes one of the most famous scenes in the film, as well as one of the most genuinely touching in all of Universal Horror, when the Monster comes across a lonely, blind hermit. Hearing the sound of him solemnly playing his fiddle, he approaches his cabin and, after initially hiding, makes his presence known when he comes through the door and growls loudly. Understandably, the Monster is initially distrustful of the hermit when he approaches him, snarling when he reaches and touches him, but when he makes it clear that he won't hurt him, he allows him to lead him inside. The two of them immediately form a bond, as the Monster's inability to speak makes the hermit feel as though they're one and the same: deformed outcasts who merely want human companionship. Despite his muteness, the Monster is able to understand enough of the English language, as well as the feeling of genuine compassion, to know he's made a friend. (One little touch I love is when the hermit is going to get him a bowl of soup and, when he gets close to the fire, the Monster briefly panics because, after all the bad experiences he's had with it, he thinks he'll burn himself.) This truly is a wonderful section of the movie, never feeling forced or overly sappy, and it culminates in a final, moving moment where the hermit thanks God for sending him a friend, to the point where he cries in happiness, and the Monster is so touched that he sheds a tear as well and pats the hermit's back as he lays his head down on his chest, sobbing.

The hermit is one of several ties between this film and the original novel, as there's a section there where the Monster takes shelter in a structure connected to a poor family's home and manages to make friends with the blind father figure. Another is the Monster learning how to speak, which he picks up in the novel simply by listening to the family as they talk among themselves. Granted, the monster's vocabulary here, taught to him by the hermit, is quite limited and childlike, as opposed to his literary counterpart, who was downright philosophical, and it was also something Boris Karloff strongly disagreed with, but it helps further the Monster's development and show how far he's come since he was created. There's just something enjoyable about hearing him mutter, "Friends, good. Good!", while he's enjoying food and drink and the hermit's company, and it's also nice to see him genuinely happy. But, unfortunately, his happiness doesn't last, as while they're enjoying the hermit's fiddle playing, they're torn apart by two hunters (one of whom is a young John Carradine) who come across the cabin and threaten to shoot the Monster when they recognize him. It's heartbreaking in many ways, as the hermit is forced out of the cabin when it catches fire, mumbling sadly, "Why do you do this?", while the Monster then stumbles out and, temporarily blinded by the smoke, reaches with his arms and shouts, "Friend!" He's now been thrust back into the cruel and unwelcoming world, immediately coming across a group of girls who scream in terror and flee at the sight of him, and by the time he stumbles into a cemetery that night, he's so distraught and angry that he topples over the statue of a bishop. He then finds his way down into a crypt and watches from the shadows as Dr. Pretorius and his two cronies break open a grave and remove the bones within. Once Pretorius is by himself, enjoying a drink and dinner, the Monster approaches him, and appears to make another friend, as Pretorius greets him and gives him some drink and a smoke. Noting the bones, he asks if Pretorius plans to make another man like him but he, instead, says he plans to make a woman, adding, "Friend for you." The Monster is overjoyed at the thought of having another being like him to be with, another major step in his development. Also, because of something one of the hunters said, he now knows he's a creature made out of dead body parts by Henry Frankenstein, sadly intoning, "I love dead. Hate living." He then looks at the skull, saying to himself, "Woman. Friend. Wife."

This makes it easy for Pretorius to manipulate the Monster into ensuring Frankenstein's assistance in bringing the Bride to life. Pretorious has him appear at Frankenstein's home, demanding that he do it, and the moment where the two of them come face-to-face for the first time since the original movie's climax is a powerful one. It's like the Monster's introductory scene in the first, only the roles are reversed, with the Monster now having sway over Frankenstein, ordering and motioning for him to sit down, just as Frankenstein originally instructed him. But, despite this threat, Frankenstein refuses, prompting Pretorius to subtly signal the Monster to abduct Elizabeth, giving Frankenstein no choice but to cooperate. During the time they're working to on the Bride, the Monster is restless and eager for them to bring her to life, at one point demanding the exhausted Frankenstein continue working. This forces Pretorius to give him a drugged drink to keep him out of their hair. But the Monster's anticipation for companionship leads to heartbreak when, upon meeting her, the Bride, like everybody else, is repulsed by him. It's a really sad blow, as he longingly murmurs, "Friend?", and touches her hand, only for her to scream in terror and show more of an interest in Frankenstein. He bitterly and sadly realizes, "She hate me... like others," and rampages through the lab, approaching a lever designed to completely destroy the building. He allows Frankenstein and Elizabeth to escape, but tells the Bride and Pretorius, "You stay. We belong dead!" He gives one last, tearful glance at the Bride, who hisses at him hatefully, before pulling the lever and seemingly destroying himself along with them.

Though he kept the same iconic form, Jack Pierce modified the Monster's makeup to show the effect of the fire: severely shortening his hair to make it look singed, allowing for a better look at the clamps and staples holding his scalp in place, and also adding some burn scars to his face, arms, and hands. In addition, Pierce went as far as to ever so slightly change the makeup over the course of the film, to make it look as if the Monster's burns are healing and his hair is growing back. There's evidence that Pierce made use of a rubber headpiece, rather than building it up out of cotton and collodion like before, but according to Christopher Lock in his book, Jack Pierce: Hollywood's Makeup Master, this can't be substantiated 100%. Boris Karloff was also not as thin as he was originally, resulting in the Monster having a fuller face. And because he had to speak, he wasn't be able to remove his dental bridge and thus, couldn't suck his cheek in like before. Finally, the makeup had to be photographed in a certain manner to make him come off as deathly pale, and any actors who were in a scene with the Monster had to have variations made to their own makeup and lighting.

Aside from maybe Mothra, and that's a stretch in and of itself, no female movie monster is as iconic as the Bride of Frankenstein. She only appears in the last five or so minutes and yet, her image is so striking that she's about as famous as the Monster himself, with that nutty hairstyle, the white gown, bandaged arms, birdlike movements, and the hiss, which Elsa Lanchester based on those of a swan. Speaking of Lanchester, James Whale decided he wanted her to play both the Bride and Mary Shelley to get across the idea that horror can truly spring from the dark side of one's imagination, i.e. with Shelley visualizing the Monster's mate in her own image. Her creation scene is even more amazing than the iconic one in Frankenstein, due to the more abundantly sparking machinery, the crackling lightning, the way the whole scene is plunged in very low lighting, aside from those flashes, and Franz Waxman's amazing leitmotif for her just building and building. Once she's brought to life and decked out in her gown, she looks around her surroundings in a nervous, curious fashion, very much like a confused animal, and seems to be taken with Frankenstein himself, approaching him in an intense manner and also seemingly choosing him over her intended mate. On that note, it is sadly ironic that even another man-made creature, one whose brain was of Pretorius' own making rather than having been stolen, won't have anything to do with the Monster, screaming in his face when he touches and attempts to get close to her, and despising him to the bitter end, hissing at him as he reaches for the lab's self-destruct lever.

Unlike the intentionally disturbing-looking design of Frankenstein's monster, the Bride, in spite of her wild hairdo and some scars here and there, including a big one on the underside of her chin, is actually a rather beautiful creature. It helps that Elsa Lanchester was a lovely woman to begin with, and the addition of the pale skin-tone, vivid lipstick, and lovely white dress further enhance her beauty. But, let's face it, that hair is her most distinctive feature, and again, it's a testament to Pierce's ability to create iconic images through very simple means; in this case, he literally combed and styled Lanchester's own hair into a wire mesh he placed atop her head. Like a lot of actors, Lanchester did not particularly enjoy working with Pierce, who was often described as hot-headed and egotistical. The scar on her chin was especially aggravating for her, as she said he took an excruciatingly long time to apply something that you ultimately don't see much in the finished film.

Colin Clive returns as Henry Frankenstein but, sadly, while he was always a tortured soul, he was even more broken by this point, as his alcoholism had worsened and he was unable to come to terms with his own personal demons (he would die just two years later, at the age of 37). He also doesn't have as much screentime as before, at least not until the third act. But when he is onscreen, his inner turmoil seeps into the role, as Frankenstein seems absolutely brought to his knees by the horrific results of his experiments and Dr. Pretorius' meddling into his life. Initially, he's still excited and elated at the prospect that he did create a living creature, even though it didn't go as he'd hoped, and suggests that he himself may be the one person intended to know the secret of life, adding, "It may be part of the divine plan." But when he sees how upset Elizabeth becomes when he goes on about it, it prompts him to refuse Pretorius when he comes to him about continuing his experiments, declaring he's through with it all and only cares about his upcoming marriage. But he can't help but intrigued when Pretorius says he's also created life and is eager to see it, only to be taken aback when said creations turn out to be a bunch of tiny homunculi. He's even more shocked when Pretorius reveals that his intention is for the two of them to work together to create a mate for the Monster (that said, Frankenstein had earlier suggested to Elizabeth that he might have been able to breed a race). While he doesn't give Pretorius a definite answer, when he visits him following his wedding, Frankenstein refuses to go through with it, even when Pretorius has the Monster himself demand his cooperation. But when Pretorius has the Monster abduct Elizabeth, Frankenstein reluctantly agrees.

In agreeing to work with Pretorius, Frankenstein finds himself back in virtually the same position he was in the first half of the original film, working in the same watchtower and assembling together a man-made human being from dead body parts. Moreover, he becomes about as excited and involved in this experiment as he was his own, watching anxiously when he manages to get the Bride's intended heart beating and demanding another one when it proves useless, likely as he had done with Dr. Waldman at the university. Though he works himself to the brink of exhaustion, and, at one point, becomes despondent when he believes Elizabeth is dead, he can't help but become eager when the storm they plan to make use of rolls in  Once the storm has passed, they hear the Bride moan under her bandages, and when they peel back the one layer on her face to see her open eyes, Frankenstein exclaims, "She's alive! Alive!" But when they put her in her wedding gown and see her in all her glory, Frankenstein is surprised when she rejects the Monster and is more interested in him, following his every move. He ultimately has to drag her away when the Monster becomes enraged over her rejection and starts trashing the lab, getting dangerously close to the self-destruct lever. When Elizabeth shows up, Frankenstein yells at her to get away but she refuses to leave without him. Frankenstein is unwilling to leave the Monster, the Bride, and Pretorius, but when the Monster implores them to, he and Elizabeth escape before the watchtower is destroyed.

Much of the film's quirkiness comes from the bizarre and sinister character of Dr. Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger), a former professor of philosophy who claims he was thrown out of the university for, "Knowing too much." From the moment he appears at the door of Frankenstein's home, you know there's something off about him, right from the way he looks and talks. Despite how late it is, he demands to see Frankenstein, who allows him into his bedroom to speak with him. Insisting that he must speak with him privately, he prompts Frankenstein to ask Elizabeth to leave the room momentarily. He then reveals his plan for them to work together, and when Frankenstein refuses, Pretorious threateningly brings up the idea that he himself is the one responsible for his monster's murders, adding, "There are penalties to pay for killing people." Telling him that he's succeeded in creating life as well, he invites Frankenstein to visit his own laboratory to see for himself. Intrigued, Frankenstein takes him up on the offer, leading to the weirdest and yet, one of the most significant scene in the film, when he shows Frankenstein his creations: miniature people, whom he keeps in bottles. This scene also gives us the most insight into Pretorius' bizarre and deranged mind, as it's here where he makes the legendary toast, "To a new world of gods and monsters!", and, in talking about his experiments, explains, "My experiments did not turn out quite like yours, Henry. But science, like love, has her little surprises, as you shall see." As he shows them off, he's very proud and amused by his creations, particularly one whom he describes as the very devil, asking, "There's a certain resemblance to me, don't you think? Or, do I flatter myself?" He adds, "Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, and no nonsense about angels and being good." (As you'll see in much of his dialogue and aspirations, this mockery of the notion of God and all things Christianity is a major part of Pretorius' character.)

Exactly how Pretorius created these homonculi is not made entirely clear, but his explanation, "I... went for my material to the source of life. I grew my creatures. Like cultures. Grew them as nature does, from seed," as well as his comparing himself to the devil creation, suggests he may have contributed something of his own DNA. Though he does seem to look down on Frankenstein's method of creating his monster from dead body parts, he can't deny the results, namely that of true human size, which has always eluded him. Therefore, he can only imagine what would happen if they were to combine their methods. He goads him, "Leave the charnel house, and follow the lead of nature... or of God, if you like your Bible stories. 'Male and female, created He them. Be fruitful and multiply.' Create a race. A man-made race upon the face of the Earth. Why not?" Finally, he reveals that he intends for them to create a female creature, commenting, "That should be really interesting." Pretorius isn't seen again until he and two of his cronies, Karl and Ludwig, break into a crypt to steal the bones of a woman, intending to use them for the Bride's skeleton. While his men are eager to get out of the crypt as fast as they can, Pretorius, being the morbid and twisted person he is, decides to spend some more time there, going as far as to have dinner with the bones and, laughing drunkenly, intones to them, "I give you the Monster." Little does he know that the Monster is in the crypt with him, but Pretorius isn't scared at all when he sees him, only mildly surprised: "Oh... I thought I was alone. Good evening." He goes on to have a drink and smoke with him, telling him of his plan to make him a mate, and also decides that he could be useful in forcing Frankenstein's hand if the need arises. Sure enough, when Pretorius visits Frankenstein after he weds Elizabeth and tries to talk him into assisting with the experiment, he refuses, prompting him to bring the Monster in (Pretorius takes credit for the Monster now knowing how to speak, commenting, "Yes, there have been developments since he came to me,"). When that still doesn't sway Frankenstein, Pretorious then has the Monster kidnap Elizabeth. He also stops any attempt by the servants to alert the authorities, saying Elizabeth will be returned soon enough. And with that, he gets his wish, as Frankenstein reluctantly consents to the experiment.

They commence work at Frankenstein's old lab at the watchtower and become equally eager for the experiment to succeed. But Pretorius has none of Frankenstein's scruples. When Frankenstein says he needs another heart to work with, Pretorius sends Karl to visit his "friend" at the "accident hospital," but instead, Karl murders a young woman on the streets and brings them her heart. The way Pretorius surreptitiously helps Karl cover up where he got the heart when Frankenstein becomes suspicious, mouthing for him to say it was a "police case," all but says he had intended for Karl to commit the murder all along. In any case, after Pretorius convinces the despondent Frankenstein that Elizabeth is alive and well by having him speak with her on an electric machine (basically a telephone), the two of them set about bringing the Bride to life, a task which succeeds with flying colors. Once they have her all dressed up, Pretorius proudly declares her, "The Bride of Frankenstein!", but, of course, things go south when she rejects her intended mate. Pretorius tries to stop the Monster from approaching the Bride when she initially screams at him but he pushes past him. Realizing once and for all that she hates him, the Monster rampages through the lab and approaches the self-destruct lever. Pretorius warns him of the danger but this, instead, encourages the Monster to allow Frankenstein and Elizabeth to escape, while he kills himself along with the Bride and Pretorius.

Valerie Hobson replaces Mae Clarke as Elizabeth, as Clarke became ill around this time, and she does a respectable job. But, like Clarke in the first film, her role is rather minute, to say the least. Hobson plays Elizabeth in a more distraught, hysterical manner, spending much of the first act crying for Frankenstein and nearly worrying herself sick over him. While talking with him as he lays in bed, she becomes disturbed and upset as he goes on about being the one intended to know the secrets of life and death. She claims to have seen a Death-like figure, then says it's in the very room with them, that it's coming to take him away, and grows more and more upset until she falls into his lap, sounding as though she's both laughing and crying at the same time. This "vision" is immediately followed by Dr. Pretorius' first appearance. Elizabeth is suspicious and unsure of him from the start, and tries to dissuade Frankenstein from speaking with him, worried for his health. But she's made to leave them by themselves and can only hope that Pretorius won't upset Frankenstein. The next time you see her, she and Frankenstein have been married and she now stands up to Pretorius when he returns, telling him that she's not afraid of him and that he's unwelcome. She prepares to leave with Frankenstein, when Pretorius has the Monster abduct her and take her to a cave to ensure her husband's cooperation in the experiment. That's where she spends most of the third act; at one point, she's allowed to briefly talk with Frankenstein through the phone-like device in order to incentivize to keep going with the experiment. Randomly, at the end of the movie, she shows up at the lab, having somehow escaped the cave, and pleads with Frankenstein to escape with her. Though he's reluctant to leave the Monster, Pretorius, and the newly created Bride, the Monster encourages them to escape and they do so right before the watchtower is destroyed.

Even though I mentioned him before, I can't stress enough how much of a genuinely touching, sweet character the blind hermit (O.P. Heggie) is. If you've seen Young Frankenstein, the scene that parodies him with Gene Hackman can make it hard to take him seriously, but taken by itself, the scenes between him and the Monster are so moving. Besides being significant to the story in that he teaches the Monster how to speak, the hermit is also just a kind, gentle soul, as well as a lonely one. When he hears the Monster outside his small cottage, he walks outside without hesitation, even anxious at having a possible visitor. Then, when the Monster throws open the door and growls, the hermit is not at all frightened. Instead, he says, "You're welcome, my friend, whoever you are," and asks him who he is. Hearing some hesitancy and pained groaning in his vocals, the hermit invites him in, saying no one will hurt him, and when he feels the burns and wounds on his body, guides him in, intent on helping him. Realizing that, whoever he is, he can't talk, the hermit gets him some food. As the Monster eats, the hermit tells him, "We shall be friends. I have prayed many times for God to send me a friend. Its very lonely here, and it's been a long time since any human being came into this hut. I shall look after you and you will comfort me." Then, as he lays the Monster down and tells him to go to sleep, he prays to God, thanking him for sending him a friend. He breaks down in tears, as does the Monster, and, again, it's so sincere, with no attempt made to make it sappy or to mock the two of them. It really is just two lonely souls coming together for companionship.

Besides teaching the Monster how to speak and about the need for friendship, the hermit also manages to teach him something of the idea that there is good and bad in everything. Specifically, when the Monster recoils from the fire and strongly disagrees with the hermit's telling him that it's a good thing, motioning towards the burn on his hand and growling, "Fire no good! No!", the hermit simply tells him, "There is good, and there is bad." The Monster, having his own ideas about good and bad, thinks the hermit's violin playing is definitely

good. He grabs the violin and hands it to the hermit, prompting him to play a little tune and the two of them enjoy the music, as well as an after breakfast cigarette... until a pair of hunters show up. When the one hunter asks if he can show them how to get out of the woods, the hermit, obliging and friendly as always, invites them to come in and rest for a while. But when they recognize the Monster and threaten him with their rifles, the hermit, hearing the clamoring, puts himself

between the Monster and hunters, insisting he's his friend. Even when the one hunter tells him that his friend is actually Frankenstein's creation, the hermit never wavers. As the well-meaning hunters guide him out of the cottage when it catches on fire in the struggle, he can be heard murmuring, "My friend. My poor friend. Why do you do this?"

Despite Fritz's death in the first film, Dwight Frye returns, this time playing Karl, an assistant to Dr. Pretorius. Though not a hunchback, he is little more than Fritz under a different name, albeit even more unsavory, as he's alluded to being a murderer in one of his first scenes. He talks about preferring the gallows to being forced to work as a body snatcher, commenting, "This is no life for murderers." Ergo, it's not totally surprising that, when Frankenstein and Pretorius send him out to get a new heart for the Bride, promising him 1,000 crowns, he resorts to killing a woman. He almost lets the truth partially slip, commenting to Frankenstein that the heart was, "A very fresh one," but when Frankenstein questions him, he tells him he paid 50 crowns for it and that it was from a police case. There's not much else to say about Karl, as he's not in the film much and, like Fritz, he meets his end at the hands of the Monster, who throws him off the top of the watchtower when he stomps up there while they're trying to attract the lightning down. (There was originally a subplot about Karl murdering his uncle and aunt and blaming it on the Monster, but it was removed from the final film. This is why he's seen among the townspeople in earlier scenes.)

Whale relies on two characters for overt comic relief, both played by actors who'd been in The Invisible Man and had played similar parts there. The most wildly entertaining one, and the most exaggerated character in the whole movie, is Frankenstein's maid, Minnie (Una O'Connor), who's always either screaming and running around like a frightened chicken, or blubbering hysterically. While I found her shrill, squawk-like screaming in The Invisible Man to be really annoying, O'Connor is a hoot here. Minnie is happier than anyone about the apparent death of the Monster in the burning windmill, exclaiming, "Well, I must say, that's the best fire I ever saw in all me life!", and adding, "I'm glad to see the Monster roasted to death before my very eyes! It's too good for him!" She's also not at all impressed with the blowhard Burgomaster, whom she accuses of not doing a good a job of safeguarding life and property like he claims. Despite his ordering everyone to go home once the fire is done, Minnie loiters around the site for a bit and has a brief encounter with the Monster when he rises from the wreckage. She takes one look at him and runs off screaming, all the way back to the home of Frankenstein. But when she tries to warn Albert, the butler, of what happened, he tells her, "Oh, go bite your tongue off! We don't believe in ghosts." To that, she figures, "Alright. I wash me hands of it. Let them all be murdered in their beds, for all of me." She shortly lets everyone in the whole building know that the seemingly dead Henry Frankenstein is alive when she screams at the tops of her lungs upon seeing his hand move. One really hilarious moment with her is when she has to get up in the middle of the night to answer the door for Dr. Pretorius, complaining about how Albert is never around when he's needed, and screams as Pretorius continues to knock and ring the bell, "Alright! ALRIGHT! Don't knock the castle over! We're not all dead yet!" Naturally, she's unsure of Pretorius when she answers the door and meets him, at first telling him there's no one home, and when she leads him up to the bedroom, he warns Frankenstein and Elizabeth of him, calling him a, "Very queer old gentleman." 

 

Later, when the Monster is recaptured in the woods, Minnie acts all tough, telling the Burgomaster that he and the others have done a good job, adding, "Do you want any help there? I'll bind him!" And when the Monster is chained up in the village prison's dungeon, Minnie, looking at him through a barred window with some other villagers comments, "I'd hate to find him under my bed at night. He's a nightmare in the daylight, he is." She acts very sassy when a guard tells the crowd to get away from the window, yelling, "You mind your own business! And see he doesn't get out of here! He's dangerous." Of course, when the Monster does get loose in the village shortly afterward, she runs off screaming like everyone else, yelling at one guy with a rifle to shoot him (said guy is promptly floored by him). And when Elizabeth is kidnapped, Minnie is the one who witnesses it, again screaming loudly and letting everyone know what happened before he runs to Frankenstein himself and tells him.

Also funny is the Burgomaster (E.E. Clive), who I used to think was meant to be the same character in the first movie but with a different actor. Now, I think he's actually meant to be a different character altogether, as he says early on, "You may think your lucky stars they sent for me to safeguard life and property." Regardless, he's certainly portrayed in a completely different manner, coming off as full of hot air, with a big, pompous ego. As you can tell, he fancies himself as a take-charge kind of guy, and believes the Monster is merely an escaped lunatic, often grumbling, "Monster, indeed!", finding him to be a personal nuisance than a threat. His funniest moment, for me, is when the mob captures the Monster and he tries to instruct them on how to tie him up properly, only to realize they're not listening to anything he says and complain, "I get no cooperation! None at all!" Once they've gotten the Monster down to the village jail, the Burgomaster is adamant that they not take too long in chaining him up in the dungeon, saying, "We can't take all day over this." On his way out, he grumbles, "Now I can get back to more important duties," only to hear one of the two guards behind him add, "And leave us to ours." He snarls, "What?!", at this, and they just say, "Good night, sir," to which he responds, "Monster, indeed. Tsch! Tsch!" Outside, he assures the villagers that everything is under control: "Just an escaped lunatic. Merely wanted someone to handle it, that's all. Quite harmless." And then, all hell to break loose when the Monster escapes. The Burgomaster is never seen again after that but, originally, he was supposed to be killed at the Monster's hands.

Dr. Pretorius' homunculi are not only only memorably weird and wacky in and of themselves, but many of them have distinct personalities all their own. The little queen (Joan Woodbury) is very charming and proper, while the king (Arthur S. Byron), who has the likeness of Henry VIII, is a grubby, heavyset figure who's chomping on a turkey leg when he's revealed, and is so amorous for the queen that Pretorius has had to separate them. This is clear instantly, as the king blows kisses at the queen, who is clearly not having it.

Later, the king escapes his bottle, something he's done before, runs at the queen's bottle, and attempts to break it open, only for Pretorius to hoist him up and put him back in. Another homunculus (Norman Ainsley) was made an archbishop due to his disapproval of the king and queen's relationship. He's snoozing when uncovered, but when Pretorius wakes him up, he jumps to his feet and instantly begins admonishing the king and queen. Next is the devil (Peter Shaw) whom

Pretorius compares himself to, and who's dressed more like Bela Lugosi's Dracula than you would typically expect of Satan. There's also a ballerina (Marie DeForrest) and a little mermaid (Josephine McKim), and no, I'm not talking about Ariel. There was also originally a baby in a high-chair, but his reveal was cut from the movie; you can see a little bit of him in the wide-shot of the homunculi which also has both Pretorius and Frankenstein in it.

Due to James Whale's desire to make it anything but a typical sequel, Bride of Frankenstein is full of a number of inconsistencies with its predecessor, made all the more blatant by how the story begins virtually where the first film ended and how Lord Byron provides us with a recap of that film's story. What sticks out the most to me is the time period: whereas Frankenstein was set in a sort of fantasy world that combined elements of the 19th century and the 1930's, Bride comes off as more a period piece, given the more primitive living conditions, the design of the architecture, the clothing, the apparent lack of electricity, save for the laboratory equipment, the use of horse-drawn carriages, and a bit more crudeness to the science. The prologue is most definitely set in the early 1800's, but exactly when the story is set is hard to determine. You'd think it would be around the period when Mary Shelley wrote the book, especially given how elements seem to keep in line with the prologue, but when Dr. Pretorius and his cronies are in the crypt, removing the bones, Karl reads that the date of death on the epitaph is 1899. Moreover, the body's nothing but bones, suggesting it's been in there for many, many years and that we should actually be well into the 1900's, which it doesn't feel like at all. Since Whale intended for this to be a fantasy of Mrs. Shelley's imagination, you could assume this is her envisioning what life would be like a century later from the standpoint of someone living in the 1810's, making it even more removed from reality than the first one, and is probably the reason why, as you'll see, the movies that followed ignored it completely. Of course, then you have to wonder why she would change her vision of the world so drastically between stories. But in the end, it doesn't matter, as none of this keeps the movie from being the great flick that it is.

Despite the return of Boris Karloff and Colin Clive in their respective roles, creating some semblance of continuity, other characters are either recast, like Elizabeth, appear out of nowhere when they weren't present before, like Minnie, or even remade from the ground up. Case in point, Ludwig, the lone father of Maria in the first film, now has his name changed to Hans, is played by a different actor (Reginald Barlow, a change that's compounded by the use of the shot of Michael Mark carrying Maria's body through the village in the recap), and has a wife (although, as I said in my review of Frankenstein, she did feature in the original script). More interesting is how some notable characters from the first film are dropped completely, namely Victor Moritz and Frankenstein's father, the old Baron. No mention is made of either of them, save for a fleeting remark by the Burgomaster early on, and Henry Frankenstein himself is referred to as the Baron afterward, implying that his father has died (in the preview version, there was a moment where you learned the Baron died of grief when he was erroneously told of his son's death). You would expect this to fly in the face of the final scene in Frankenstein, where the Baron makes a toast while his son is seen being nursed back to health by Elizabeth some time later, but it actually didn't in 1935. Frankenstein was still in circulation at the time and that ending was removed from the then current prints; only in later years was it restored, along with Edward Van Sloan's "friendly warning" at the beginning.

Just like Frankenstein, Bride has some plotholes and inconsistencies within its own story that are never explained and are often ignored because the movie, as a whole, is so great (in fact, unlike those in Frankenstein, I never hear these discussed). There are two instances during the Monster's escape from the village prison and subsequent rampage which come off as random and awkward to me, and also make the Monster feel far more savage than expected. In the midst of the panic, a mother discovers that one of her kids, a girl named Frieda, is not among the children she's just escorted to safety. She goes looking for Frieda, comes across a group of girls who tell her that she just left (did they not know the Monster was loose in the village just moments before?), when they look behind something on the side of the small pathway where they're standing and scream in horror. Frieda is lying on the ground, and you can just barely see her obscured body if you look hard enough, but whether she's alive or dead is not made clear at all, as the scene transitions while the woman is reaching for her and never cuts back (a shot of her carrying Frieda's body was cut). So, the Monster attacked her? As mad as he was, doesn't it seem of out of character for him to attack a young girl, especially after he'd saved the shepherdess not too long before this? And then, even more randomly, the scene transitions to Minnie and some villagers hearing a woman screaming in a nearby house. When they rush inside, they find the house's owner, Newman, lying on a couch, moaning. At first, I thought he was knocked senseless by the Monster, but now, I realize one of the villagers finds an axe lying at his feet, suggesting the Monster hacked him up! They then wonder what's become of his wife and Minnie rushes upstairs and finds her in a similar state in her bedroom, moaning like her husband. Again, it seems so out of character, especially since the Monster was in such a mad rush to escape and never truly attacks except when provoked (save for that moment between him and Elizabeth in the first film), not to mention that the house wasn't even broken into. I once thought this might've been left over from the deleted subplot of Karl murdering his relatives and blaming it on the Monster, but since the characters' names are different (Karl's uncle was named Glutz), I realized it wasn't the case. In my opinion they should have cut from the Monster's escape straight to his encounter with the gypsies that night, as him going full on Jason Voorhees and wantonly killing in moments like this strain his sympathy, criminal brain or not.

And finally, there are a couple of issues concerning Elizabeth's being abducted by the Monster and kept at some cave near Frankenstein's old watchtower. One, when Pretorius has Frankenstein speak with her over a phone-like device, Karl is shown holding the other end of the line to her mouth... even though he was just there in the lab with them, not five minutes earlier. I guess Pretorius wasn't kidding when he said her location wasn't far from the watchtower! And like I alluded to before, how did she manage to get away from the cave and show up at the lab just in time to persuade Frankenstein to escape with her, especially given how she was tied up very securely? I have a feeling James Whale and the screenwriters forgot about her while writing the screenplay and realized at the last minute that they had to resolve what became of her.

Those are about the only true criticisms I can level at Bride of Frankenstein, as the movie is, otherwise, just a tour de force that fires on all cylinders, particularly on the visual level. The cinematography by John J. Mescall is some of the best seen in a 1930's horror film, with a lovely crispness to the black-and-white and plenty of the German Expressionist lighting that you, by this point, should be expecting, with lots of deep, dark shadows. Notable scenes of this ilk include the nighttime one in the house of Frankenstein, where the only light comes from Minnie's candle (reminiscent of The Old Dark House); the scene with the gypsies at their campsite; the dark, fog-shrouded cemetery the Monster wanders into; the scene in the crypt: and the Bride's creation scene, which is punctuated by a number of dimly lit close-ups of the characters' faces, particularly the sneering one of Dr. Pretorius. Mescall called this type of lighting "Rembrandt Lighting," where he would use both a central light and a cross-light to illuminate a character against a dark background, while also creating contours and shadows across their faces. Also, the cinematography of the studio sets, especially those meant to be daytime exteriors, not only helps retain that fantastical, storybook quality the first film had but also doubles and even triples down on it. Other than his continued trademark of the camera traveling between the walls that hearkened back to his work on the stage and its being more fluid in its movements than before, James Whale doesn't do much that's that noteworthy or very innovative with the camerawork and editing, as he had in his previous horror films (he does, however, introduce the Bride in a series of three cuts up to her face, just as he did with the Monster). But the movie is just so good anyway, with both aspects working so well as they are, and he was so firmly established by this point, that it wasn't necessary for him to show off any more than he already was.

While Frankenstein had an instance or two of location footage, Bride was entirely studio-bound, and all of the sets, again courtesy of Charles D. Hall, are absolutely fantastic. They range from the elegant and luxurious, like the enormous, spotless room in the house where Mary Shelley, Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron watch the storm raging outside, and the large, spacious rooms in Frankenstein's large home (particularly his bedroom), to the dank and dark, like the watery cavern underneath the burnt windmill, the dungeon where the Monster is temporarily chained (that set is especially Expressionistic), and the inside of the crypt where he meets Dr. Pretorius. My favorite sets in the film, however, are those wonderful ones meant to represent exteriors that have a magical, storybook feel due to their clear artificiality, like the forests the Monster roams (a highlight is the area with the branch- and leafless, telephone pole-like trees and the ridge where he's cornered and captured), the spot with the small waterfall and surrounding pine forest where he encounters the shepherdess, the village square he rampages through after escaping the jailhouse (the one instance of the Universal backlot and the familiar village setting), and the gloomy cemetery he runs to after he and the hermit are ripped apart from each other. Speaking of the hermit, the tiny, somewhat rundown cottage he and the Monster share has become almost as iconic and prototypical of the genre and the Frankenstein myth as the scenes that take place within them, and it has a lovely quaintness provided by the studio-bound forest space it's built on. Finally, we go back to the old watchtower and Frankenstein's laboratory for the creation of the Bride, and it's virtually unchanged from the first movie, still filled with the same, iconic electrical equipment originally provided by Kenneth Strickfaden, but this time, we get to see a bit of the tower's roof, where Pretorius' assistants use kites to attract the lightning down. You do see Pretorius' actual laboratory as well but it's nowhere near as memorable as Frankenstein's, as it's his apartment fitted with a small workspace.

One aspect of Bride that's not talked about often is its visual effects work which, while not especially extensive, is quite accomplished for its time, and is courtesy of John P. Fulton, who had just done the groundbreaking effects for The Invisible Man. His most noteworthy effects center around Pretorius' homunculi, which he accomplished by filming actors in full-size jars and matting them into the scene, an effect that holds up remarkably well, even in HD. Granted, it does look a bit archaic during the bit where the "king" escapes his jar, runs over to the queen, and Pretorius picks him up with a pair of tweezers and puts him back, but the blending of them in the jars with the live-action footage of Ernest Thesiger and in the wide shot with Colin Clive is quite good, particularly when Pretorious' head is right next to the jar containing the "devil." Fulton also did some matte photography for a moment on the watchtower roof where the Monster throws Karl to his death during the Bride's creation scene, and while the effect doesn't hold up 100%, as there's a noticeable roiling effect around Boris Karloff and Dwight Frye's outlines, it's still nicely done. And finally, as in Frankenstein, there are some good miniatures depicting the exteriors of buildings and the surrounding countryside, chief among them the watchtower again, which explodes in an awesome and convincing manner during the finale, as well as that of the large house in the prologue.

If James Whale was still maybe finding himself and his own personal style when he made the original Frankenstein, there no doubt when you get to Bride that he was now a supremely confident, experienced, and strong-minded filmmaker who knew exactly what he wanted to do with the movie. Since he initially didn't want to do a sequel, making it pretty clear that he would only do it on his own terms, when he was given that opportunity by Carl Laemmle Jr., he absolutely ran with it.

Indeed, while Whale had much creative control and autonomy throughout his tenure at Universal during the Laemmle years, Bride of Frankenstein was where he was at his peak, especially since Laemmle Jr. was in Europe during much of production and had mandated that Whale be left to his own devices. Many people who worked on the film would later say that Whale had his hand in every aspect of it, from suggesting ideas to the screenwriters (the opening prologue and Dr. Pretorious' homunculi) to the design of some of the

sets (historian Paul M. Jensen said that Elsa Lanchester said the barren forest set was Whale's idea) and the casting. Not only did he insist on having Una O'Connor and E.E. Clive in their respective parts, gave Dwight Frye another role in the film, and refused to recast Colin Clive, despite his increased alcoholism, but, as I mentioned previously, he insisted that Lanchester play both Mary Shelley and the Bride. He even so wanted O.P. Heggie to be the hermit that he shut down production for ten days in order to wait until Heggie was finished with another movie he was making at RKO.

 

I think the major reason why many find Bride to be the superior film is, not only because it's an example of a director in the Golden Age of Hollywood and the studio system having complete free reign over a movie, but also because it's an instance where it paid off and then some. Whale was able to show what he was capable of when the shackles were taken off and his great imagination was let loose. In addition, he also had the money, the resources, and the time to really craft and

polish the movie, and he was able to stretch all of the standards for filmmaking at that time to their absolute limit, including the still fairly new advent of sound, with the movie having an all-out music score this time and a much richer soundtrack altogether (its one Oscar nomination was for Best Sound Recording). And the end result was both a critical and commercial success, and is still considered by just about everyone to be the gold standard for Universal Horror.

To me, Bride feels like a much bigger, more elaborate movie in terms of size and scope. While the first film was certainly magnificent to look at in its own right, it did feel rather insular, with many scenes confined to the interiors of Frankenstein's laboratory and watchtower or Baron Frankenstein's house. And while there were exterior scenes, like the village square, and the woods and lake near Maria and her father's home, it still felt like it was all happening within a very small area. That's not

the case at all with Bride, as Whale clearly decided to indulge his passion for set design and art direction. There are so many different sets, many of them are enormous, and those exteriors, such as the hill where the windmill once stood, the countryside and the woods, and the roof of the watchtower, with their expansive backdrops, make it feel like we're in a much larger world. The first image when the story truly begins, a shot of the burning windmill collapsing as the villagers at its base run for cover, tells you that you're in for a

much more elaborate film this time around. The Bride's creation scene is also, again, so much more elaborate and exciting than the already iconic one from the original. And the climax, where the watchtower is destroyed in a spectacular fashion after the Monster pulls the lever, not only trumps the first film's climax but also has one of the best out of any Universal Horror at that point (it's like Whale saw the explosive ending of The Black Cat and decided to show that he could do it better).

In stark contrast to the much more straightforward original film, Bride is loaded to the brim with the quirkiness and black humor that Whale's subsequent horror films had become known for. There's nobody at all like Minnie, the Burgomaster, and especially Dr. Pretorious in the first film, with the latter coming off almost like the anti-Dr. Waldman. In fact, much of the movie's off-kilter tone is due to Pretorious, both in his character and the bizarre scenes he features in, like the

homunculi and the scene with him having dinner in the crypt. Seriously, you would never expect to see anything like those in the original, least of all the former, with the cartoonish, high-pitched vocalizations the tiny creatures make, the "king" escaping his bottle and running at the "queen's," and Pretorious picking him up with tweezers and placing him back in his jar, all while the "archbishop" protests within his own jar. That leads into something else: the humor. That scenario is

just downright funny, as is Pretorious himself, with the way he doesn't take anything, including life, especially seriously, and makes comments on everything from Frankenstein and his work to himself and his own creations. He not only compares himself to the devil character but describes the little ballerina, as, "Charming, but such a bore. She won't dance to anything but Mendelssohn's Spring Song, and it gets so monotonous." When talking about his last creation, the mermaid, he says, before unveiling her, "My

next is very conventional, I'm afraid, but you can never tell how these things will turn out. It was an experiment with seaweed." Later, Pretorious makes it clear that he has no interest in the identity of the woman whose bones they remove from a crypt, telling Karl when he starts to read the entire epitaph, "Oh, never mind that. How old was she?" And when he sends Karl out to fetch a new heart for the Bride, he very flippantly agrees with Frankenstein's assertion that, "There are always accidental deaths occurring," very likely knowing full well that Karl is going to murder someone for it.

Then, there are the more overt comic figures of Minnie and the Burgomaster. Within the first ten minutes, you get a feel of how over-the-top their personalities are and also how much comedy is going to be juxtaposed with the horror. Right after the scene where the Monster brutally murders both Hans and his wife, we have a moment where the Monster approaches Minnie, who has a very exaggerated reaction to the sight of him. She not only screams but makes a bizarre, contorted face 

and twists her body before running off, with the Monster watching her in apparent bewilderment. Like I said before, she runs screaming all the way back to Frankenstein's home, and continues to be a very funny figure throughout much of her, overall brief, screentime. The gypsies the Monster comes across are sort of funny in and of themselves, especially the grouchy old woman, who grumbles, "Where's the pepper and salt? We got no pepper and salt." Her son goes to get it, telling her, " Don't worry. You shall have your meat," and she sneers

with a loud, "Bah!" Even the Bride herself, when she's unveiled near the end, would be seen as a bizarre, even comic figure if she weren't so iconic. Seriously, think about what you would expect the intended mate for Frankenstein's monster to be if you saw the movie when it was originally released in the 30's. Would you expect a rather attractive woman with a Nefertiti-like hairdo, bird-like movements and sounds, and for her to be more interested in Dr. Frankenstein himself?

While viewing it, you might be surprised at how much Christian imagery is in the movie, some so blatant that it can hardly be called subtext. Specifically, the Monster himself is often associated with such imagery, which sometimes depicts him as a Christ-like figure. There's a crucifix on the hermit's wall that's very hard to miss when he breaks down crying with the Monster upon realizing he now has a friend (it appears to glow during the fade to black, and that comes after he's said his prayer thanking God for sending him one); the Monster and hermit's last meal before they're torn apart is one of bread and wine; and there's a statue of a crucified Jesus in the background of the cemetery the Monster flees to afterward. There was originally a scene in the screenplay that had the Monster mistaking that statue for another suffering creature like himself and trying to pry the figure of Jesus loose from the cross, but Joseph Breen of the Motion Picture Production Code forced them to remove it. But probably the most blatant parallel between the Monster and Christ comes when he's captured by the mob, tied to a pole, and hoisted up in a manner that screams crucifixion, with the mob throwing stones at him, no less (weirdly, Breen had no problem with that image, nor with the Monster pushing over the statue of a bishop as a replacement for the original idea involving the Christ figure). However, the exact reason for all this imagery is up to debate. Some have taken at face value, while others, like film historian Scott MacQueen, have interpreted it as Whale, who was not known to have been religious in the slightest, making the Monster a mockery of Christ rather than a glorification. In his audio commentary, he says, "The Monster is the son of man, a gross parody of all that is human, lacking the divine spark and, therefore, a mockery of the divine. Whale was an 'ironyst,' not a 'parodist...' He punches the audience's buttons by inverting one of the fundamental traditions of western culture. The Monster, the son of man, is resurrected from the dead, then crucified."

In addition to Christ, there are also parallels made between Satan and the character of Dr. Pretorius. Those who know the story of Faust can obviously see Pretorius as Mephistopheles, trying to draw Frankenstein's Faust away from the road of the divine and back to the wicked world of his experiments. More blatantly, there's that moment when Pretorius, suggests that the "devil" homunculus resembles himself. Pretorius also does mock Christianity in and of itself in his line, "Follow the lead of nature... or of God, if you like your Bible stories," saying that last part with an obviously disdainful sneer (originally, he was going to say "fairy tales" rather than Bible stories, but, again, the censors wouldn't have it), before going on to twist some verses around to suit his mad ambitions. But his link with Satan is corroborated most tellingly in his first appearance, which comes immediately after Elizabeth has that hysterical fit where she claims to see a Death-like figure coming for Frankenstein himself.

Again, like with the original Frankenstein, there's a perceived homosexual subtext to the film, not only because of James Whale's homosexuality but also because Ernest Thesiger, and even possibly Colin Clive, were either gay or, at the very least, bisexual. Many have interpreted the Faust-like relationship between Pretorius and Frankenstein as a gay one, with Pretorius trying to lure Frankenstein away from his heterosexual life with Elizabeth to go about creating life in an unnatural way, as Frankenstein himself was originally trying to create life without a woman. Moreover, an English novelization of the film all but confirmed that Pretorius is himself meant to be gay, as this line follows his, "Be fruitful and multiply," remark: "Let us obey the Biblical injunction: you, of course, have the choice of natural means; but as for me, I am afraid that there is no course open to me but the scientific way." Also, the relationship between the Monster and the hermit, the only truly successful one in the film, is seen as a gay marriage, with the two hunters representing society's inability to accept it and its need to destroy such an unnatural union. And since the Monster refers to both the hermit and his future bride as "friend," some see this as him being sexually confused. Honestly, though, and this is nothing against homosexuality, but I think some people read a little too much into this stuff. For me personally, I think the Monster is simply being childlike and innocent when he refers to them both as "friend," and that he sees the hermit as a simple companion, nothing more. Plus, when contemplating the creation of a woman like himself, he even says, "Wife," showing that he does understand it some extent. Pretorius, on the other hand... I can be a little more accepting of a gay interpretation of him because he's so flamboyant and is very, very interested in Frankenstein. But, that could be me speaking out of turn. As I said before, those who knew Whale personally, like Curtis Harrington and David Lewis, insisted that his homosexuality never influenced his filmmaking.

That moment where the Monster looks at the bones intended to form his bride's skeleton hints at another perceived theme: necrophilia. This is suggested with Pretorius' very plan to not only create a mate for the Monster but his vision that the two of them, creatures created from the dead, would be the progenitors of a totally new race. Later, Pretorius can be seen as sort of "wining and dining" the bones in the crypt right before he meets the Monster. And let's also not forget how the Bride becomes more interested in Frankenstein himself, with him sort of leading her over to the bench when she first rejects the Monster. But, again, save for Pretorius' plan, the thought of which is very, "Ugh," to say the least, I think this is another case of people reading more into something than they should.

In stark contrast to the original film and some of the movies made in its wake, Bride of Frankenstein is almost wall-to-wall music. Also, unlike The Black Cat, it's a wholly original score, courtesy of Franz Waxman, and it's excellent stuff all-around. Just as Max Steiner had done in his equally groundbreaking score for King Kong, Waxman comes up with themes and leitmotifs for the main characters, something still rare in film music at that time. The piece you're likely to remember the most is the Bride's motif, which is very exotic and beautiful, and is first heard in the narrative when Pretorius talks of her creation with Frankenstein. It's then heard again when Pretorius tells the monster of it, but while both of these instances are very soft and lurk just under the surface, the theme is at its most magnificent during her creation scene, where it just builds and builds in the lead-up to her being brought to life, coming off as absolutely beautiful, celebratory, and epic, and it crescendos with a final part that has a reverberating aftereffect to it. When the Bride is unveiled in all her glory, you hear a wedding bell-like accompaniment to her motif after Pretorius proclaims her to be, "The Bride of Frankenstein!", but it then turns weak and sad when it becomes clear she wants nothing to do with her intended mate. Ultimately, the Bride's motif is heard one last time at the very end, this time as a seeming love theme for Frankenstein and Elizabeth in their final moment together.

Unlike his mate, the Monster himself has a rather brutish, four-note theme, sounding like it's patterned after his growl, and is heard in many different forms through the film, such as an orchestral one during the opening credits; a harsh, menacing one when he first appears in the cavern beneath the windmill; sad and distressed versions for when he's chased and strung up by the mob; a very menacing, creeping one for when Pretorius has him confront Frankenstein about creating the Bride, hinting at how Pretorius is manipulating him; and a final, tragic one when he reaches for the lever that will destroy him, Pretorius, and the Bride. Speaking of Pretorius, he has several themes: a couple of very quirky ones for when he first appears and when he's hanging out in the crypt, and a very menacing, uneasy-sounding one that you first hear during the opening credits but, in the actual story, you hear it when he goes to fetch the large box with the jars containing his homunculi. In addition to those motifs and their variations, Waxman also came up with a memorable march for the villagers when they form a mob to chase the monster through the woods, and a big, bombastic finale for the literally explosive finale, when the watchtower is destroyed. There are several instances of classical music used in the film, be it as part of the score or within a scene itself. When Pretorius mentions how his ballerina will only dance to Felix Mendelssohn's Spring Song, you hear it playing when he unveils her and she does begin dancing (though where it's coming from in the actual scene is anyone's guess). The hermit is playing Ave Maria on his violin when he first meets the Monster, and as the two of them form a bond, the song plays in the score, starting off subtle and becoming louder and more emotional, adding much to the scene itself. And speaking of the hermit, the more upbeat tune he plays on the violin before things go south is a piece you later hear as part of the score, when the Monster comes across the group of children after fleeing the burning cottage.

As I've said probably too many times before, Frankenstein will always be my personal favorite, but Bride of Frankenstein is a very, very rich and rewarding movie in its own right, and definitely one of the best movies in the classic Universal Horror canon. It's truly masterful, with great characters and performances all-around, particularly Boris Karloff, who perfects the role of the Monster, and Ernest Thesiger in his very memorable portrayal of Dr. Pretorius; it has an interesting and well-told story, one with many iconic moments all its own, chief among them the Bride herself, as well as a quirky sensibility and dark sense of humor; beautiful cinematography and sets, great production values, and amazing makeup and special effects; and a wonderful music score. Other than a couple of plotholes, some instances where the Monster is perhaps a bit too brutal, and it not quite lining up with its predecessor, which could be potentially distracting, it's just a great movie and should be seen by both horror and non-horror fans alike.