That flat-topped square head. The electrodes that stick out on the sides of his neck like the positive/negative terminals on a car battery. Those tromping, stomping platform boots. At one glance, the monster of James Whale's moody, melancholy Frankenstein (1931) will be instantly recognizable among horror movie aficionados, film history buffs, and to anyone even vaguely aware of the existence of movies. The makeup design by Jack Pierce has become so iconic (it is currently under copyright by Universal Pictures until 2026), and Boris Karloff's performance as the woe begotten creature so definitive, it hardly matters that the character bears little resemblance to Mary Shelley's original novel.
Conjured up by 18-year-old Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin during the
summer of 1816 (on a dare from George Gordon Byron and future husband Percy
Shelley), Frankenstein; or, The Modern
Prometheus, tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a scientist whose
experiments with human tissue result in a living, breathing monstrosity (which
he promptly denounces). In the book, Frankenstein's creation is limber,
literate and capable of intelligent speech; he exacts a horrific, painstaking
revenge. This will no doubt come as a shock to anyone who grew up on a steady
diet of Franken Berries, Abbott and Costello, or the "Monster Mash,"
in which the monster is depicted as lumbering, dim-witted and/or mute. (To be fair,
the 1931 film is based on play adaptation by Peggy Webling, rather than the
novel itself. Victor's name is changed to Henry, and the creature is named
after its master, though it does retain the ability to speak.) Whale's version
still managed to horrify audiences, with its unflinching sequences of grave
robbery and murder.