by Émélie Beaudry
The first time I read Frankenstein, I was in high school. I had picked up an old, battered paperback at the thrift store, and it sat on my shelf for years until finally, I borrowed the audiobook from the library and listened to it instead. Immediately, I was hooked.
Just about everybody knows about Frankenstein. The name evokes a specific image: the square, green monster with bolts in his neck, shambling with his arms outstretched. It’s been the subject of telling after retelling, but it may surprise you to learn that there are few, if any, book-accurate tellings of this story. The drastic difference from page to screen is something that’s always puzzled me.
Now, if you’ve never read the book, you may be surprised to learn that Dr Frankenstein’s Monster was never meant to be this strange, simple creature. The book’s Monster is tall, looming, with gaunt, yellowed features that stretch over his skin and long, flowing black hair that only serves to make him more imposing. He is intelligent, literate, and speaks to Frankenstein many times, in long, articulate sentences. So, what happened? How has the public’s perception of this creature and story changed so drastically?
The answer is, of course, the movies. More specifically, Universal Studios’ 1931 adaptation, simply titled “Frankenstein”. This was not the first movie to adapt this book, but it was the most popular and launched public awareness of the story.
This movie is nothing like the book. While the book is a long, dramatic, poetic tale of creation and destruction, the movie is, well, a monster movie, one of many created by Universal Studios at the time. The focus is less on the creator, his inner turmoil, and his struggle with his creation, and more on the Monster, his journey, and the destruction and chaos he creates.
Personally, I find the original Victor Frankenstein to be incredibly compelling. He is poetic, self-reflective, and at the same time, completely hypocritical. He believes himself to be a victim and refuses to take blame. He is swept up in the whims of his creation, but once his Monster is finally complete, he shuns it, running away, hiding, and hoping that the creature will just… go away. For the rest of the book, he is consumed by hate for his creation, and it drives him to his death. (Spoiler warning, by the way!)
In the movie, Henry Frankenstein (a name change that baffles me, as the movie also completely cuts out Henry Clerval, Frankenstein’s closest friend) is macho, driven and steadfast. He does care for his Monster, but never past the greatness of his scientific achievement, and once the Monster kills his assistant, he hunts him down with the help of others in town.
The differences in the Monster are more striking and obvious than the ones in Frankenstein. In the book, the Monster is tragic, poetic. He laments the life he could have had if his creator, his God, had loved him. He reaches out to others for connection and compassion, but is met with violence and hate solely because of his appearance. Hurt, shunned, and frightened, the Monster is filled with hate for his creator, and only then does he turn to violence.
In the movie, he’s slow, stumbling. He also is shown to reach out to others, and is also met with violence, but he kills not for hate, but by accident, and then in fits of confused anger. There’s a layer of complexity and interest that is lost with this version of the Monster.
The full original title of this story is Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus. Fundamentally, it’s about a man who plays god. The book warns against being an uncaring god, of creating something and not taking care or accountability, and facing the consequences. Conversely, the movie warns against creating. It warns against playing god, not because of the great and terrible responsibility, but because what you create will be evil. Victor Frankenstein faces the consequences; everyone he loves is killed, and he dies in the pursuit of revenge. His Monster dies shortly after, having no place in the world of men. Henry Frankenstein has no such fate; he and his wife survive and live happily ever after. His Monster dies in a fire.
In reading the original Frankenstein, I found a story written by a poet. It’s a horror, not because it’s particularly scary, but because of the actions of the characters. The hatred from the creator. The violence from the created. The clash that inevitably led to their deaths.
The movie misses that horror. The Monster is stripped of agency, of his ability to love deeply and to perform cruelty. He is no longer a reflection of man; he’s just another movie monster.