GODS AND MONSTERS (1998) A Film Review by Ted Prigge Copyright 1999 Ted Prigge
Director: Bill Condon Writer: Bill Condon (based on the novel "Father of Frankenstein" by Christopher Bram) Starring: Ian McKellen, Brendan Fraser, Lynn Redgrave, Lolita Davidovich, David Dukes, Kevin J. O'Connor, Mark Kiely, Jack Plotnick, Rosalind Ayres, Jack Betts
Like "Deep Impact" and "Armageddon," "Antz" and "A Bug's Life," and "Deep Rising" and "Virus," "Love and Death on Long Island" and "Gods and Monsters" feel eerily like the exact same movie, released (or supposed to be released) within months of eachother for extra effect. The former's a wonderfully droll piece of cinema, and a witty rethinking of "Death in Venice"; the latter's a much-similar, much more serious rethinking of the final days in the life of famous Hollywood director James Whale (of the first two Frankenstein pics fame) that only borrows from some of the elements of the former's source material (i.e. the protagonist dies). Both deal with an older man's love for a younger man, but the former only dealt with it in terms of non-sexual love and came off with clever bits of irony and whatnot (whatever it was, it was damned entertaining), the latter has the protagonist being notoriously gay, and his love for the younger man being that of the physical kind only blossoming into the emotional kind. Both films are still rather similar, with the only other major difference being that it's the older man as the celebrity this time, and, of course, that this one's far less interesting nor successful as the other one.
I can only attribute this not to the film's lack of ambiguity in its subject (though, for the record, the older man's love is still rather ambiguous), but to other elements that seem to distract and hurt the otherwise very good film that is "Gods and Monsters." Most of the film is a series of chats between Whale (played magnificently by Ian McKellen) and his gardner/object of obsession, Clay Boone (Brendan Fraser), where they exchange stories and respective thoughts, and all this is incredibly interesting for being not much than long talky scenes. McKellen, white-haired and polished, and Boone, blockheaded but surprisingly intelligent and understanding, share a very complex relationship that is the heart and major strength of the film. Starting off as a mere obsession with Whale's perception of physical beauty (in a way, Boone resembles the monster in his movies), we see their relationship turn from physical love on the part of Boone to joint respect from eachother and then to self-centered mooching, and it's all done with a gentle screenwriting touch by the director himself, Bill Condon.
It's most of everything else in the film that doesn't work as well as the main section, ranging from partially sucessful to downright sloppy. For example, much is made of Whale's bitterness over his failing health, and the fact that his mind is slowly going, so every now and then, we get flashbacks to memories, most of them traumatic, so we see that we see that he cherishes what he will soon no longer have. But these only pop up sporadically, albeit nicely when they do, while we are also subjected to melodramatic scenes where Whale is physically crippled by his past or driven to unbridled anger at who he's talking to. In a silly scene towards the beginning, Whale is giving an interview to an effeminate collegiate reporter wherein every question Whale answers results in the removal of one article of the reporter's clothing when he suddenly suffers a minor stroke. Later on, he screams at Boone for allowing him to uncover the wounds of the past. Both scenes would otherwise be fine, but they're handled in such an overly-dramatic tone that they're downright silly and distracting from the overall quaintness of the film. Nothing's as silly, though, as the sloppy depth the film tries for in terms of the Frankenstein-esque relationship between the main characters, Whale being the doctor, Boone being the monster, and Whale's german housemaid (Lynn Redgrave) being, oh, Igor. And gotinheimel, did it actually have to recreate a scene straight from "Sunset Boulevard" and then culminate it with a maudlin final reel that only makes the film's finale (Whale's suicide, also eerily from "Sunset Boulevard") seem contrived when, of course, it damn well shouldn't.
When it's dealing with the Whale/Boone relationship, it's wonderfully subtle and refreshingly interesting. When it ventures away from it, it's either too silly (the interview scene, for one) or too over-the-top, particuarly when it comes to Boone's outside life, which is so sloppily-conceived that it either had to be longer or cut out completely (the final scene, in particular, reduces it to merely being about how an everyday schmuck knew a famous member of Hollywood once upon a time). I wanted to see more about Whale, though, and maybe even more about Boone, though the Whale bits interested so much more that anytime it cut to Boone's outside life, I was merely waiting for them to cut to Whale. It'd be nice to see more of his past life, more flashbacks, some more detail (his flashback to making "Bride of Frankenstein" is wonderful, to say the least), though at least it gave some more insight into watching his films (I'll probably never be able to watch "Bride of..." again without thinking of it as a film about a bunch of queens, or so they say). But as such, none of it is as well-documented as the scenes between the two of them - they don't seem fake and contrived like other parts of the film, and if it had been more about the two of them as a unit, and how they were able to find something more to life by knowing eachother, I'd say it was one of the best films of the year hands-down.
This is mostly due to great performances, though, by McKellen and Fraser. I, at least, have no doubt in the pure competence of McKellen - he's one of the best actors working today (for more mainstream audiences, he was the only truly good thing about "Apt Pupil," and otherwise shoddy affair), and what's great about this performance is that it's not merely a typical posh homosexual role, but that it's a nuanced, sad, and deft performance - he makes Whale effortlessly complex, so that we don't immediately notice what he's brought to his role (in fact, along with Nolte and Hanks, I'd say that if the Academy knows anything, they'll pick one of these three as the winner - all three gave such subtle performances that you hardly knew they were acting). Fraser, shockingly enough, is excellent as well. He makes Boone a surprise - a pretty much intelligent working man who doesn't succumb to cliches, and only seems minorly disturbed when he discovers, halfway through the film, that the man he's been hanging around with is gay. I also liked how he killed off any suspicion about a potential tryst between the two men - any such idea would be distracting to their overall relationship (though, towards the end, the homoeroticism does nearly reach the surface, and mistakingly so).
Let's say, for the sake of argument, that they had been given a better script, one that was longer and dealt more with their outside relationships, making their moments together even more poignant and even more interesting. As such, it feels just like the kind of film that is overpraised while another one is dramatically underpraised. This one did have a better performance from the lead actor (though, for the record, John Hurt is pretty damned close in his dramatic power to McKellen), but the other one was far more subtler, and deepened the relationship in an almost effortless fashion, all while retaining a droll tone that was one of the film's biggest successes (best of all, it never for a second felt smug and/or cheap). The tone Condon has adapted for this film is far more maudlin and even occasionally schizophrenic - over-the-top funny, then subtly droll, then over-the-top dramatic - he even tosses in a line from Whale about how the monsters are, *gasp*, inside him - gimme a break (and what of Mr. Condon's direction? Well, it's mostly competent, but nothing too remarkable: a series of alternating shots, occasionally laced with a distracting DePalma-esque wide shot of a close-up/things in the distance, showing off the coveted depth-of-field technique). And throughout, I just kept on waiting for the two actors to get together again and share a conversation once again. Pity some actors are forced to give great performances in films that are only half-way wonderful.
MY RATING (out of 4): ***
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