With his 1931 film Frankenstein, director James Whale essentially became an instant master of science fiction and horror. After making another sci-fi film, The Invisible Man, two years later (as well as another horror film in-between, The Old Dark House), he returned to film a Frankenstein sequel in 1935. The title, Bride of Frankenstein, sounds like a pure gimmick, but Whale would prove that there was still much to reap from the story of Dr. Frankenstein and his creation. What Whale made with this sequel is yet another masterpiece of macabre science fiction (which some deem better than the first), infused with insight, beauty, evil, and hope.

The film begins with a strange introduction, as we are taken back to the nineteenth century to see Mary Shelley (the author of the original novel, if you're too embarrassed to ask), Percy Shelley, and Lord Byron. We never return to them at the end of the film, and they serve only to recap the first film and offer a little didacticism. Then we go right back to the burning remains of the windmill in which Dr. Henry Frankenstein and his monster met their demises in Frankenstein. They both conveniently turn out to have survived, but Dr. Frankenstein doesn't know that the monster is again on the loose. The same night, a Dr. Pretorius visits Dr. Frankenstein and implores him to join him for further experiments in the science of creating life. At first, Frankenstein will have nothing to do with him. His better sense finally gives way to curiosity, though, when Pretorius tells him that he, too, has created life.

It soon becomes clear that Pretorius is crazier than Frankenstein ever was. Back at his laboratory, he pours drinks for himself and Frankenstein and cheers, "To a new world, of gods and monsters." He then brings out several jars and uncovers them to reveal his creations -- tiny humans dressed up as royalty and clergy (made from cultures, not dead tissue like Frankenstein's monster). There is one, though, which he says is "the very Devil. . . . There's a certain resemblance to me, don't you think? Or do I flatter myself? . . . Sometimes I have wondered whether life wouldn't be much more amusing if we were all devils, and no nonsense about angels and being good." At this point, it is fully Frankenstein's fault for not running away from his new partnership as fast as his feet could carry him. Pretorius' most recent idea is to create a mate for Dr. Frankenstein's abomination. This way, they can create their race of monsters, of which they will be the gods.

In this collaboration begins the first of the film's three important relationships (I will get to the others later). Pretorius implicitly compares himself and Dr. Frankenstein to Adam and Eve! While trying to convince Frankenstein to help him create a mate for the monster, he points out that he and Frankenstein take different approaches to their work and that God likewise created two different sexes for the world and told them to multiply. Working together, their endeavor is somewhat more successful than Frankenstein's was alone, but they are still playing gods, and their scientific success will ultimately be their undoing.

There is at least one scene in the film which resonates as being somehow archetypal. The monster, running from the villagers who are out to kill him, happens upon a little hut in the woods. Inside the hut is an old hermit, who turns out to blind. He happily welcomes the monster into his home, even though its grunts and inarticulate babble make it clear that it is no ordinary being. The man feeds him, shows him how to smoke a cigar, and even teaches him some words. It is at this point that the monster utters something unforgettable: "Alone: bad. . . . Friend: good!" It is as if all of life comes down to this one simple axiom, spoken with full belief and innocence by the most rudimentary cognitive being the world at has. Then, on the heels of this epiphany come the angry villagers. In the ensuing scuffle between them and the monster, the old man's hut is burned to the ground, and the monster runs away, never to see him again. The scene reflects the beauty and tragedy of life. Friendship is the best thing we can ever have, and of course the best way to create friendship is to be blind to others' faults. However, there is always the danger of outside forces destroying even the happiest of households. At such times, all we can do is remember our past friendships and go in search of more.

There is hardly a need to discuss Boris Karloff as the monster, but he gives a monumental performance once again. He even manages to create more sympathy for the monster by smiling playfully and becoming excited about simple things such as food and music. He still has the power to unsettle, though, too. There is one subtly horrifying scene in which the monster begins consuming bread and wine voraciously, as if his baser instincts are beginning to resurface. He is slowly becoming civilized, but his primal violence is always close at hand.

The fact that I have gotten this far and not yet discussed the title character (the bride) speaks well for the film. The title may sound gimmicky, but the movie is not at all. There is much more going on here than the simple creation of a mate for the monster. In fact, it is not until the film's final moments that she appears at all. In these final minutes, the already-competent film suddenly becomes even more intense. Seeing Dr. Frankenstein suited up in his lab coat and back amongst the machinery is like watching Clint Eastwood re-don his poncho at the end of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Slanting of camera angles add to this drama and chaos. When Frankenstein, anxiously asks Pretorius, "Shall we put the heart in now?!" (the primary organ is no longer the brain), he sounds like a man returning to an old addiction. What ensues is a scene filled with creativity, wonder, and heartbreak. The bride (it is never explained why Pretorius yells out "bride of Frankenstein" rather than "bride of the monster") manages to become a famous image of science fiction and horror after having spent no more than approximately three minutes on screen. This is cinema at its finest.

As I touched on earlier, this is a story about relationships. There is the Frankenstein-Pretorius team, the blind hermit-monster friendship, and the monster-bride arrangement. The relationship between the hermit and the monster is the only of these three that is not aimed solely (or at all) at proliferation, and it is the only one from which anything positive results. It is based on love, unlike the others, which are purely utilitarian. This might seem like an elementary lesson, but it gets at something more basic: the necessity of love and the consequences of greed. In the end, there is one final act of love that redeems everyone, but not without great cost.

Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein came out in the dawn of non-silent cinema. I wonder if people back then, having seen these movies, expected that all the films of this type would be so good. It must have seemed like the beginning of something magnificent. We now know that these films are far above average, meaning director James Whale was not only brave, he was a cinematic genius. What a way to usher in a new era.