Men's Horror, Women's Doom, and Visual Balance in Boyle's 'Frankenstein'
Mediations on National Theatre Live's 'Frankenstein' (2011), adapted by Nick Dear and directed by Danny Boyle.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein requires no introduction. Perhaps the most poignant exploration into the human condition to date, complete with examination of Faustian morality and a contemplative, intense narrative, the novel is a seminal work for the genre of sci-fi. The National Theatre Live’s 2011 production of Frankenstein, directed by Trainspotting’s Danny Boyle and written by Poirot’s Nick Dear, adapts Shelley’s novel into a visual exhibit of its very soul. The opening sequence all but embodies this: no less than 10 minutes of The Creature coming to life, tearing himself out of an amniotic sac, and finally securing stability in his first steps. Where the adaptation really sets itself apart is in the form of its double casting, in which Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller play both main roles on alternate nights, highlighting the same coin that both The Creature and Victor Frankenstein are two sides of. No scene does this better than their first duologue, in which both characters are expertly played to take a deeper and darker delve into each of their psyches. And the final scene too - it’s almost as if there’s no other way it could possibly end - an endless pursuit fuelled by hatred devoid of empathy, between one who cannot fathom it and one whose is overshadowed by pain.
What We Understand About Gender from Boyle’s Frankenstein:
Though Boyle and Dear’s work is successful in paying homage to the novel in many respects, this article will focus on the way it presents the men and women of Shelley’s Frankenstein in the National Theatre Live’s 2011 stage adaptation. Having recently watched the recorded version in which Benedict Cumberbatch plays The Creature and Johnny Lee Miller Victor Frankenstein, the ways in which Boyle and Dear’s version portray women and men with reference to the overarching contemplation of humanity unfortunately leaves us with a simple message: women, who tend to be truly humane, are because of this doomed at the hands of men’s hatred. In addition, the notable women characters of Boyle’s Frankenstein are tools, whose position does not surpass that of making a ‘beautiful wife’. Perhaps this is a flaw of the men ‘of the time’, yet in each case the women who are desired are left to suffer through burning alive, rape, and murder by means of neglect and revenge.
It's simple to put the play’s moments of seemingly easy misogyny down to the source material being ‘of its time’ - that being the 18th century - but none of it was present in Shelley's writing. Sure, the original text might have been archetypal in its representation of its female characters, but nothing as blunt as the adaptation’s mocking of women through their own dialogue and with each other one-on-one. Writing misogynistic comments on the part of men is one thing, but when performed on part of women, I can’t help but feel saddened that the focus is drawn from such a compelling narrative, rich in theme, to laugh in the face of its female characters who cease to be taken seriously. However, upon reviewing Dear’s original script (which can be found here) it seems as though the majority of the female characterisation was well-intentioned. It is rather in its theatrical process where problems begin to emerge. Much of Elizabeth’s deeper characterisation was cut in the live performance; Naomie Harris didn't end up making Elizabeth as real as she could have been as a result. A quick review of Dear’s script actually enforces Elizabeth’s strength of character - somewhat reminiscent of the practicality of Dracula’s Mina - and places her as a great foil to coax out any semblance of humanity in Frankenstein, only to be met with his awkward attempts at emotion and enforce his abhumanity. Such a presentation enhances the twisted morality of Frankenstein and does a great deal more to illustrate his character and relationship with The Creature, rather than portraying Elizabeth as a naïve object in the scheme of the entire narrative.
Therefore, the reason I am disappointed in the adaptation’s treatment of their female characters is not wholly due to Nick Dear’s writing, but due to Danny Boyle’s direction. In fact, one of the most dismaying moments of the play was the joke at Clarice’s expense: she details her husband would rather have 'a bag over her head' during sex. The sincerity of Boyle’s joke (and, too, the sincerity of the audience’s laughter) is incredibly ironic when considering Frankenstein critiques the tendency of human nature to base all judgement on appearance. Not only this, but having each nerve-touching comment concerning women’s interactions with men played for laughs - such as Frankenstein’s deadpan gripes with Elizabeth, not only as an inferior, but as a wife - is more infuriating than one can say, particularly when it comes to forming an opinion of Frankenstein himself.
The Importance of Visual Balance When Adapting Frankenstein for Theatre:
The source material’s Victor Frankenstein is at least just as detestable as The Creature himself, and I would say this can be the case for Dear’s Frankenstein too, yet Boyle’s Frankenstein wins a moral high ground by default: unlike The Creature, we have not seen him rape, murder, and burn. Instead, we do not even see him create The Creature - the visual representation of his responsibility is thus removed. His betrayals are achieved through words, through lies, through deception. In a novel, whilst this may equate to written description of The Creature’s actions, it is much harder to equate Frankenstein’s spoken word with the visual image of The Creature’s crimes. Further, the central debate to which man our sympathy is drawn to comes to a head in Dear’s pivotal decision to add Elizabeth's rape as an addition to the story - to enhance it, somehow.
Though The Creature has a multitude of empathetic moments throughout Benedict Cumberbatch’s performance, and Johnny Lee Miller’s arrogant, selfish, and frankly apathetic Frankenstein evokes little sympathy in first instance, the visual weight of rape seems a nail in the coffin for our sympathies towards The Creature. The visual of the family burning in the house with its brief shouts and flickering orange lights more reminiscent of a fake LED fireplace than a house fire seems much less damning than a visual manifestation of the universal fear of rape which women face day-to-day. And this was an addition, again, to enhance the story. Indeed, The Creature is certainly less sympathetic in the final scene in light of this; I had more convoluted feelings concerning his character upon takeaway, which certainly helped balance the blame for his actions more evenly between him and Frankenstein. But our sympathies that previously lay with The Creature become overshadowed by his brutal betrayal of Elizabeth’s trust, visually destroying his humanity. And uncomfortably enough, we are left to side closer with a man so apathetically responsible for The Creature’s very existence.
Where the novel draws parallels between Frankenstein’s and The Creature’s more humanistic attributes, the adaptation levels its two antagonists on an even playing field by emphasising their horrific actions - signalling that human nature is doomed at the hands of powerful men, in both physicality and in mind.
I wholeheartedly agree that Frankenstein, though an exploration of humanity, is primarily an exploration of man and should be focused to its fullest effect on the treatment man undergoes perceived as man. However, this does not have to be at the detriment of the treatment of women, particularly in the face of the pioneering woman of sci-fi.