Misunderstood Monsters | The Bride of Frankenstein Ain’t Your Bride
By Matt Konopka
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Welcome fellow monster kids to Misunderstood Monsters. This is where I, Matt Konopka, sink my fangs into all sorts of beasts, ghouls, and creatures from above while I search for the humanity behind their frightening exteriors. From monster favorites such as The Wolf Man to obscure monsters like the whistling Shadmock, there is more to these fiends than bad hair days and gooey tentacles. Within them all is a piece of ourselves.
As I sit down to write this, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, bringing a barrage of chalky candied hearts and stuffed teddies that say “I love you” when you squeeze their cheaply stitched tummies. Normally I’d let this consumerist greeting card holiday pass by without a second thought, but with the sudden resurgence of horror films inspired by Mary Shelley’s groundbreaking novel, Frankenstein (ie: Poor Things, Birth/Rebirth, The Angry Black Girl and Her Monster, etc.), I’ve found myself lamenting over a topic that really charges the volts in my neck; The Bride of Frankenstein — or The Monster’s Mate, as she’s otherwise known — ain’t your damn bride, and we all need to quit forgetting that.
I’m talking about the fact that come this time of year, horror fans are drowned in V-day cards featuring the Monster and Bride as blissful lovers. Stuffed toys with the pair holding hands. Cute salt & pepper shaker sets. Never mind an endless array of posters and T-shirts wrapping the two in hearts with messages like, “you make me feel alive” or “we were made for each other” or “you electrify me.” I’m making some of these up, but you get the idea. Why does it get me grumbling like the Monster when he sees fire? Well, for starters, The Bride despises the Monster.
Let’s take a Frankenstein’s Monster-sized step back for a moment.
Following the massive success of director James Whale’s Frankenstein (1931), Universal did what all studios do when they have a hit and immediately sought to make a sequel. They pleaded for Whale to get back behind the camera on the lumbering creature’s next adventure, but the filmmaker turned it down. See, Whale was a man of immense talent, and he wanted to be viewed as more than a horror director (having also directed The Old Dark House and The Invisible Man). The genre was even less respected than it is today, and to be pigeonholed within it meant never making the A-list. Whale eventually gave in and returned for the sequel, but with one condition: it had to be done on his terms. Universal agreed, and the film was alive.
In The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), we discover that the Monster, once again played by the legendary Boris Karloff, has survived the fire from the first film and is now wandering the countryside, desperate for companionship. Meanwhile, Doctor Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger), a madman in his own right, seeks out Henry Frankenstein (with Colin Clive also returning to the role). Pretorius also wants to play God, and through the assistance of the Monster whom he later befriends, blackmails Frankenstein into helping him build a mate for the misunderstood creature.
To play the role of the title character, Whale cast Elsa Lanchester, who turned out to be more than up to the task. Despite appearing on screen for only a few minutes as both The Bride and Mary Shelley herself in an opening prologue, Lanchester injects the female monster with an enchanting gravitas that feels at once elegant and strange. At first wrapped to look like an Egyptian mummy, Pretorius and Frankenstein remove the bandages to reveal a breathtaking beauty with wild, eye-catching hair, the only sign of death marking her with a scar on her neck and face. The two mad scientists hold up her gown as she moves with grace, the Monster in awe of his new mate. Coupled with Franz Waxman’s score incorporating wedding bells with a sci-fi tinge, the moment remains one of the most iconic and beautiful in all of horror.
Until Frankenstein takes The Bride’s hand, and she hisses at him with absolute loathing.
It’s as if the world has suffered from some sort of global amnesia when it comes to remembering The Bride and her despising of the Monster. Bad enough that Universal’s attempt to shoehorn in a female creature resulted in just a few minutes of screen time rather than her own damn movie. But it makes me feel as mad as the mad scientists themselves seeing people year after year erase the meaning of her brief existence. Though that feels typical of Americans, doesn’t it? We love a good love story…even when it isn’t one. And if you’re a woman in this patriarchal society, you’ve had the idea of marriage shoved down your throat since birth. No matter how much things change, this country continues to try to force women into the roles of wife and mother, a detestable notion that remains undead like the creatures at hand. That’s not what The Bride wanted. We just choose to ignore her wants because isn’t a traditional, monogamous marriage between two monsters so much cuter?
Groan.
What the endless deluge of Bride and Monster V-day cards also ignores is that The Bride of Frankenstein isn’t exactly pro-marriage. Or rather, it isn’t pro-Christianity. Most critics consider the film to be a mockery of organized religion, with imagery such as the Monster being crucified on the cross, mad scientists playing God, and, yes, the ending. It can all be interpreted in many ways, but the commentary on the way men covet beauty and seek to claim it as their own is hard to ignore. Not only do Frankenstein and Pretorius attempt to shotgun-wedding The Bride into a relationship, but the Monster himself, once rejected, decides that rather than respect her autonomy, he’s going to burn the damn lab to the ground with her in it! Harsh? Yes. Shocking? Most women will tell you that’s just typical behavior from piss-baby men when they are turned down.
Whale’s intention with having Lanchester play both Mary Shelley and The Bride was to contrast them against each other in order to highlight that pretty people have a dark side, too. Lanchester’s own inspiration for the moment when The Bride hisses at the Monster came from the way a swan hisses when threatened. The idea being that just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it’s helpless. I like to think of it as a hiss for all women tormented by the endless lineup of losers who think that just because she is pretty, she must be theirs. Screw that. And screw all of the portrayals of The Bride in love with the Monster that we see come every February. She never was. Each and every one of them robs her of her defiance in saying no when three men tried to force her into a yes.
The Bride and Monster V-day cards or adorable salt and pepper shakers belong dead. Save them for Morticia and Gomez Addams. Or Lily and Herman Munster. Show the legacy of The Bride of Frankenstein some respect and remember…The Bride ain’t your fucking bride. 🩸
About
Matt is a writer and wannabe werewolf who began his love of horror at the ripe old age of 3 with Carpenter’s Christine. He has a horror podcast called Killer Horror Critic which he does with his wonderful wife and has previously been published on Bloody Disgusting, Shudder’s The Bite, and Daily Grindhouse. You can also find more of his reviews and ramblings at his blog, KillerHorrorCritic.com.
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