CULTOGRAPHIES

CULTOGRAPHIES is a new list of individual studies devoted to the analysis of cult film. The series provides a comprehensive introduction to those films which have attained the coveted status of a cult classic, focusing on their particular appeal, the ways in which they have been conceived, constructed and received, and their place in the broader popular cultural landscape. For more information, please visit www.cultographies.com

Series editors: Ernest Mathijs (University of British Columbia) and Jamie Sexton (Northumbria University)

OTHER PUBLISHED TITLES IN THE CULTOGRAPHIES SERIES

THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW

Jeffrey Weinstock

DONNIE DARKO

Geoff King

THIS IS SPINAL TAP

Ethan de Seife

BAD TASTE

Jim Barratt

SUPERSTAR: THE KAREN CARPENTER STORY

Glyn Davis

THE EVIL DEAD

Kate Egan

BLADE RUNNER

Matt Hills

BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA

Ian Cooper

FASTER, PUSSYCAT! KILL! KILL!

Dean DeFino

QUADROPHENIA

Stephen Glynn

FRANKENSTEIN

Robert Horton

WALLFLOWER PRESS

LONDON & NEW YORK

A Wallflower Press Book

Published by

Columbia University Press

Publishers Since 1893

New York • Chichester, West Sussex

cup.columbia.edu

Copyright © Robert Horton 2014

All rights reserved.

EISBN: 978-0-231-85056-8

Wallflower Press® is a registered trademark of

Columbia University Press

A complete CIP record is available from the Library of Congress

ISBN 978-0-231-16743-7 (pbk. : alk. paper)

ISBN 978-0-231-85056-8 (e-book)

Book design by Elsa Mathern

A Columbia University Press E-book.

CUP would be pleased to hear about your reading experience with this e-book at cup-ebook@columbia.edu.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

1   Welcome to Nightmare Theatre: Meeting Frankenstein

2   Assembling a Monster

3   The Monster Mash: Sons of the House of Frankenstein

4   Beyond the Clouds and Stars: Surveying Frankenstein

5   The Monster’s Place

     Appendix: The Frankenstein Family Tree

Bibliography

Index

Interviewer: He’s one of the great images of the twentieth century, more important than the Mona Lisa!

James Whale: Oh, don’t be daft. It’s just make-up and padding and a big actor.

– Gods and Monsters

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Anyone who writes a book becomes a Doctor Frankenstein, tinkering with parts and toiling to bring the creature to life. In this case, that process involved watching a lot of Frankensteinian spinoffs, most of which are not as awful as Frankenstein Island, but not as good as Bride of Frankenstein, either. Thus I owe my wife a debt of gratitude for sitting through many of these offerings, and am happy to dedicate the book to my dear monster, Evyan.

I would like to thank Stephanie Ogle, of Seattle’s venerable Cinema Books, for pointing out to me that Wallflower Press was producing some intriguing lines of books on film. That’s how I came to read about the ‘Cultographies’ series even before their first instalment had been published, and thought it would be a wonderful way to fulfil a lifelong ambition: to write a book-length study of a single film. Thanks to Ernest Mathijs for editorial support and to Jamie Sexton, Yoram Allon and the Wallflower/Columbia University Press people for allowing that Frankenstein might fit under the ‘Cult Movie’ banner in a sort of slantwise but interesting way. General thanks, too, to Tom Keogh, Kathleen Murphy, Richard T. Jameson, Mary Jane Knecht and Mark Rahner.

The opening chapter makes clear my debt to ‘Nightmare Theatre’ and the tradition of late-night horror movies on television, a tradition mostly gone, despite the occasional tongue-in-cheek attempt to revive it. So, revising the words of Dr. Septimus Pretorius: ‘To an old world of gods and monsters!’

Robert Horton, February 2014

1

WELCOME TO NIGHTMARE THEATRE: MEETING FRANKENSTEIN

If a cult is anything, it has rituals and ceremonies and a schedule of worship. And here is ours: Friday nights, gathered in somebody’s basement, sleeping bags staked out on the floor. There are chocolate-bar wrappers scattered around and a half-eaten bag of Fritos waiting to be finished off. This is 1970, or possibly 1971 or 1969, and as twelve-year-olds our beverage of choice is something innocuous, Kool-Aid or Coke. It’s almost 11:30, so the parents have already looked down a final time and said their goodnights, and the lights are appropriately low. If anybody managed to smuggle in an issue of Playboy it’s been put away, because we need to concentrate on television now. There’s a plaster Madonna looming in a corner, that home icon of the Catholic family, which is apt because we are gathered here for something like a religious ceremony ourselves.

The local 11 o’clock news programme on KIRO-TV, Seattle’s channel 7, is ending. As always, the broadcast signs off with an editorial comment from station manager Lloyd E. Cooney, a bespectacled square perpetually out of step with the turbulent era (channel 7, owned by the Mormon Church, is a conservative business). Strange, then, that every Friday night Cooney’s bland homilies are immediately replaced by a dark dungeon, a fiend in a coffin and three hours of evil.

At 11:30 sharp comes ‘Nightmare Theatre’, a double feature of horror movies. Each film is introduced by channel 7’s resident horror-movie host, known as ‘The Count’ (actually a station floor director named Joe Towey). His make-up is a Halloween-costume version of Dracula, with cape and fangs. He clambers out of a coffin, welcomes us, and introduces the first feature of the evening; his Bela Lugosi accent is terrible, but his maniacal laughter is accomplished.

Tonight it’s that most famous title of all, Frankenstein (1931). The film is already legendary in my mind – I am well aware of its status in the horror pantheon. I have seen that green-faced, heavy-booted image in books and TV shows (though I am still somewhat confused about whether ‘Frankenstein’ is the name of the monster or the name of the mad scientist), and finally I am allowed to stay up late enough to watch the film on television. Here with other like-minded fifth-graders, I await the arrival of something monumental and, with luck, terrifying.

The Count finishes his intro with a cackle. When the film begins, it too has a host, a neat little grey man who comes out from behind a curtain and delivers a message that sounds both sinister and whimsical:

Mr. Carl Laemmle feels it would be a little unkind to present this picture without just a word of friendly warning. We are about to unfold the story of Frankenstein, a man of science who sought to create a man after his own image without reckoning upon God. It is one of the strangest tales ever told. It deals with the two great mysteries of creation – Life and Death. I think it will thrill you.

Edward Van Sloan, conveying Mr. Carl Laemmle’s warning as Frankenstein begins

It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now is your chance to… Well… we’ve warned you…

This is going to be good.

And here it comes: a clammy graveyard (ah, excellent start), tasty stuff about an abnormal brain, sensational lab scene in an electrical storm. Now the entrance of the monster: first a tease, then the horrible face. Can I stand to look at it? Yes. It’s weird but bearable. The Monster stomps and kills but also suffers, and the villagers go after him in a burning windmill. The End. The movie has delivered, and those of us in the room have lived through something. In childhood, staying up late to watch horror movies is a rite of passage, a test, a communal ceremony in which fears are met, endured, analysed. Nightmares will come, but that’s part of the ritual too (although my fears at bedtime tend more toward the Wolf Man, whose dexterity and ferocious claws are more threatening than the Frankenstein monster’s clomping brute strength). We have seen Frankenstein, and the Monster is ours – a hero, in a strange way.

I first saw Frankenstein almost forty years after it had been made, and by then it was firmly entrenched as a cult classic. (Can a movie that was an enormous box-office success and a permanent fixture in popular culture be called a cult film? I believe so, especially if we emphasise the religious overtones contained in the word ‘cult’. And Frankenstein may have many fans all over the world, but there is still something forbidden about it, something outside the main of respectable culture.) Even though I was coming to the picture as part of a second, or perhaps third, generation of fans, even though I had already read about the Monster and seen his image refracted in everything from Mad magazine to The Munsters, it still seemed fresh – and thanks to the peculiar intimacy of late-night television, that first experience was also deeply personal. Frankenstein belongs in a dark room, late at night. The moviegoers of the 1930s and 1940s who saw the film in theatres are the people that gave the Monster its first life, without question. (Mel Brooks, who would make a detailed parody of the mythos in his 1974 comedy Young Frankenstein, amusingly recalls his boyhood fear that – against all logic – the Frankenstein monster would somehow stomp its way to Brooks’s boyhood home in Brooklyn.) Yet it was the TV generation that turned the Monster and his ilk into icons, a generation crammed with future filmmakers weaned on late-night horror films (among them Steven Spielberg, Robert Zemeckis, Sam Raimi and Joe Dante).

What is it about Frankenstein, in particular, that seems to touch a nerve? Some of the issues are embedded in the celebrated book that inspired the film. Even if Hollywood jettisoned many of the Romantic complexities of Mary Shelley’s novel, the book nevertheless manages to grin out from beneath the streamlining and backlot sets. At the elemental level, surely Frankenstein gets to us because it is a story of birth – and of ‘giving birth’. The mystery of how we got here is one childhood draw. Another early childhood anxiety surrounds the realisation of death, and Frankenstein messes with the possibility of life after death; it even makes the process look scientific and achievable. How could children not be intrigued by the movie?

GLOW