Victor Frankenstein

 

Victorian(ish) London: A mad scientist (James McAvoy) has begun collecting the body parts and organs of animals in an attempt to reanimate human life and conquer death. Having come across him at a circus, he enlists the help of a young nameless hunchback with a self-taught interest in anatomy (Daniel Radcliffe) and together they embark upon their scientific mission, attracting the attention of God-bothering detective Inspector Turpin (Andrew Scott). Meanwhile, Radcliffe’s newly-titled Igor attempts to court the beautiful Lorelei (Jessica Brown Findlay), and the aristocratic Finnegan (Freddie Fox) aims to recruit Victor to build his own army of revivable soldiers (or something).

There have been many screen incarnations of Mary Shelley’s classic novel since the dawn of the moving image. Indeed, there are nods to James Whale’s 1931 version, a joke from Mel Brook’s and Gene Wilder’s Young Frankenstein, the set design from Kenneth Branagh’s Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the Creature’s make-up design from Hammer’s Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell, and even the new Igor’s appearance is bizarrely similar to that of the Creature in the 1910 adaptation (which was funded by Thomas Edison and supposedly the first screen version ever made).

Beyond such intertextuality, however, this representation of the familiar tale does attempt to do something original with it. There are interesting ideas, such as the political and militaristic implications of Victor’s research and the often overlooked theme of grief and guilt, providing Victor’s motivation to do such a thing in the first place, rather than merely pure scientific ambition. However, innovation is not a substitute for quality and rather than explore these more interesting directions, the film seems to consider itself more original than it actually is and engages in nothing more than stylistic showboating, hammy performances, and empty and inaccurate philosophising. Instead of something bold, witty, riveting or intelligent, the film is nothing but a mess with Max Landis’s screenplay, James McAvoy’s central performance, and Paul McGuigan’s direction being the most offending contributions to its downfall.

The core problem is with the script. Every scene feels like the treatment for a television episode or a sketch from Saturday Night Live as opposed to a cogent horror-comedy/action-adventure. Landis seems unable to decide where he wants to take the story and instead throws in a little bit of everything with the result feeling like an ambitious pilot episode for a TV series looking for future funding. Indeed, with an open ending, a number of side-lined plotlines and under-developed characters, the film certainly seems to be chasing a sequel, but is nowhere near deserving of one. Landis seems to be attempting the kind of campy yet grungy horror comedy his father John mastered in films such as An American Werewolf in London, but he far from succeeds.

Not only does Landis misunderstand his own ideas, but he also misuses those of Mary Shelley’s. The subtitle to Shelley’s novel was The Modern Prometheus, the implication being that Victor was the updated tragic protagonist who stole the power of the gods and was relentlessly punished as a consequence. Here, Landis gives the name Prometheus to the Creation itself, which makes no thematic or literary sense. Furthermore, the Creation appears so briefly in the film that the very heart of Shelley’s novel (a diatribe between the Creation and Victor resembling John Milton’s Paradise Lost) is completely discarded and the Creation becomes a footnote in his own story. It is suggested that Igor is actually Victor’s true creation as he has saved him from a life of ignominy and abuse in the circus and crafted a personal and professional friendship with him, allowing for the redemption of his own crimes – an admittedly interesting interpretation. Nevertheless, the execution of this story arc and vapidity of the characters entirely undermines this admirable endeavour and loses the tragedy and brilliance of much of Shelley’s story.

Indeed, execution is a problem with the screenplay as a whole. The dialogue is so atrocious it could have been from an Ed Wood script, the narrative is so incoherent and inconsequential that it becomes very dull very quickly, there is no emotional connection to any of the criminally thin characters, and the violence and gore has been toned down to net the film a 12A certificate. As a result, the film has no brains, no heart, and no guts. With such poor material to work with, it is no surprise that the wasted cast appear to be sleepwalking their way through the film. Charles Dance, Mark Gatiss and Daniel Mays each have small cameos in which the most complex part of their performance is their costume. Meanwhile, Freddie Fox relishes the pantomime nasty aristocrat role and is entertaining enough with it and Andrew Scott seems pleased to be there as a detective whose one character trait is his religion, which we know because he constantly carries a crucifix. Jessica Brown Findlay’s role is equally poor and leaves her with absolutely nothing to do but look pretty and engage in circus acrobatics.

The weakest turn by far, however, is that of James McAvoy’s Victor. In what must be the worst performance of his career, McAvoy is as all over the place as the script is. His delivery thrashes between the obscenely manic and the outrageously camp, with a bit of ham thrown in for good measure. Sometimes he appears to be doing his best to impersonate both Benedict Cumberbatch and Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes performances, while at others he is nothing more than the laziest gibbering mad scientist. It is without a doubt one of the most bizarre and confusing performances in recent memory. The one redeeming feature is his chemistry with Daniel Radcliffe, with their friendship utterly believable on-screen and off. Much of the praise for this must go to Radcliffe himself, as he manages to not only react appropriately to everything that the unpredictable McAvoy does, but also manages to put in a strong performance himself. He is without question the best thing about the film and somehow grounds the narrative and emotion within its own internal logic in a way that no other cast member, the writer, or the director seem able to do. He is the closest thing to a heart or brain that the film has.

It is also necessary to point out the work of Hucknall local Andrew Hulme, whose skilful editing is equally vital to the semblance of some kind of narrative and emotional arc. He and McGuigan have worked together in the past on much better projects such as the BBC Sherlock television series, and the brilliant Gangster No.1. Unfortunately, his efforts on this picture are completely undermined by his director, who makes a criminal continuity gaffe involving an eye patch that Hulme tries his best to hide but to no avail.

McGuigan attempts, on numerous occasions, to emulate the visual style of both his own contributions to the BBC’s Sherlock and the Guy Ritchie helmed Sherlock Holmes movies. This is most noticeable in the drawings of anatomical structures appearing on screen as Victor makes his calculations and credits sequences that are blatant rip-offs of the Ritchie Sherlock films. McGuigan is a solid director and can certainly put together a set-piece action sequence as well as more traditional dialogue scenes, and yet his work on Victor Frankenstein would suggest otherwise, with not a single scene chiming the way it is supposed to. The overall feel is somewhat televisual, perhaps as a hangover from McGuigan’s recent prolific television career or perhaps because of the nods to Sherlock. Many scenes are conducted with a lot of noise and not a lot of drama, making the end result feel more like ITV’s recent Jekyll and Hyde television series than either medium’s incarnation of the deerstalker-wearing detective or any of the cinematic adaptations of Frankenstein.

Ill-plotted, badly directed and poorly acted this is one adaptation of Mary Shelley’s work that never quite manages to spring to life. Like Karloff’s Creature, while it may not deserve the lynching many critics have given it, it may still be best to run it out of town.

Victor Frankenstein in showing in Nottingham cinemas now.

Victor Frankenstein Trailer