Gods and Monsters

Gods and Monsters (Bill Condon, 1998) Frankenstein begot "The Monster." Mary Shelley created Frankenstein. But the Modern Prometheus who caught lightning in a bottle and made Frankenstein more than the sum of its parts was director James Whale.

James Whale's first directing gig was for Howard Hughes, directing sound and dialogue versions of silent scenes from Hell's Angels that had already been shot, taking advantage of film's new recording technology with the introduction of "talkies." He'd come from England where he'd made his name with an acclaimed stage production of "Journey's End" in 1928, supervised its move to Broadway, and then went to Hollywood, where he briefly served as a dialogue coach, then went on to Hughes WWI flying epic. A quick study and wildly imaginative, he'd completed the film version of Journey's End before his work on Hell's Angels was released from Hughes' meticulously and repeatedly washed hands. In another year, he would achieve his greatest success, overseeing a new, and what is considered the definitive, version of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein," using the stylistics of German Expressionism and creating a monster, but also getting under its skin, evoking a strange empathy for this defiance of Nature and God. It was the first film of a five year contract with Universal Studios, and his choice of the inventoried properties to direct, evidently because the other scripts ready to be made held no interest for him.

When considering Gods and Monsters, the film purporting to be about the last days of Whale, there is always a giddy part of me that recalls the delirious segment of "Monty Python's Flying Circus" (aren't they all?) called "Farming Club,' in which a serious BBC commentator begins to discuss the composer Tchaikovsky before it deteriorates ("which is a bit of a pity as this is 'Farming Club'"), and then returns to a discussion of the composer with the lead-off: "Tchaikowsky. Was he the tortured soul who poured out his immortal longings into dignified passages of stately music, or was he just an old poof who wrote tunes?"

Cruel, maybe. But the film makes the mistake that a lot of us who "read" films does—it makes its assumptions out of things it already knows, and, once having made those assumptions, stops.* It does a fine job of recreating Whale's work making his "monster movies," specifically Frankenstein, the one that towers over them all. It's good that it at least brings into the light of day Whale's homosexuality and how it might have informed his work. But, just as his two "Frankenstein" movies overshadowed the rest of his career, Gods and Monsters seems to only concern itself with that aspect of Whale's life (much like the "film aficianado" that Whale grants an interview to, becomes disenchanted that his interest is in the horror films and so demands that he remove an article of clothing for every one of those questions). There's a lot more that the film either ignores or glosses over, in exchange for trumping up a story about a possible relationship that Whale (played by Ian McKellen) might have had with his gardener (Brendan Fraser), a result of which, Whale ended up drowning in his own swimming pool.  As such, it does as much a disservice to its subject as Hollywoodland does to George Reeves.

The fact of the matter is, both movies try to shoe-horn some psycho-babble and ginned-up rumor to try to explain the completely private act of suicide. We don't what what drove these two men to take their lives. We can only conjecture.  But, what was on their minds at those final moments can only be explained by the subjects themselves, and those critical thoughts are far more complicated for the sort of detective work that might easily solve "who stole Lady Penelope's diamonds?"**

There's more to Whale than Frankenstein. He was a prisoner of war during WWI, where he lived a kind of "King Rat" existence, accumulating a sizable amount of cash from his fellow prisoners in poker games. He was an "out" homosexual at a time when everything was "on the QT and very hush-hush." He lived in Hollywood very well, from some extremely good investments, and in a long-term relationship with one man, producer David Lewis. He directed for both film and stage, and among his other works are The Old Dark House, the Claude Rains version of The Invisible Man, and Show Boat, considered by many to be the best version, which one could argue simply because it contains the towering presence of Paul Robeson. But there's more, and much more. However, owing to the vagaries of box-office and the whims of fashion, not all of Whale's work is available to see. And so, it becomes no longer part of the equation in the matter of considering Whale, the artist. What we're left with is his best known, but not most typical, work. Frankenstein explains James Whale as much as "Rosebud" explains Citizen Kane. And that is, inadequately.

Gods and Monsters is, finally, dishonest. It serves up melodrama, for what is a more compelling, if depressing, truth. What this "Master of Horror" finally feared was a life out of his control, that he was no longer master of. And rather than face that fear of life unimaginable to him, he chose the fast way out. Not as compelling, maybe, as what Condon's film serves up, but, I think it would be truer to the source—and tie in better with the milieu it's obsessed with—if it was to make the point that Horror isn't cooked up in flashes of lightning and sparking laboratories.  It is far more commonplace. Horror can be Nature itself, as ordinary as illness and disease and frailty. It's a better message, I think. But try and get an audience to go see that.

* Look.  I do it, too.

** The best evidence, of course, was Whale's suicide note, which was kept secret for many years, and as Nature (and Hollywood) abhors a vacuum, that allowed for decades of speculation to become fact—or rather ill become it.  This is what Whale's final message read: 

"To ALL I LOVE,
"Do not grieve for me. My nerves are all shot and for the last year I have been in agony day and night—except when I sleep with sleeping pills—and any peace I have by day is when I am drugged by pills.
"I have had a wonderful life but it is over and my nerves get worse and I am afraid they will have to take me away. So please forgive me, all those I love and may God forgive me too, but I cannot bear the agony and it [is] best for everyone this way.
"The future is just old age and illness and pain. Goodbye and thank you for all your love. I must have peace and this is the only way.
"Jimmy"

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In my studio career, I've done lots of auditions. Lots and lots. We've had whole days where folks came in to read a part, or we'd ask agents to bring folks in we'd never seen before to see who was out there, and if they had some possibilities.

There was an open-call for the part of a kid for a video game company, and we were pretty shy of "young adult" voices, so we held an open casting. People would come in, take a look at the script, and then I'd record them for one or two "takes," say "Thanks! That was great!" (whether it was or not) and go on to the next one. Then, we'd take all the recordings and put them into a nice little collection and ship them out to the producer/director/writer who would do the casting. Sometimes, they'd ask for our recommendations. They'd at least inquire if there were any possibilities. This particular writer/producer/director (we'll call him "Bob") was also an actor, so we could talk about specific qualities that we were looking for in detail. In other words, we could "fine-tune" the search.

The day of the audition, actor after actor showed up to have their voice recorded so that Bob could hear what they might do with the material, and as with every audition they ran the gamut from possible to horrible. By two in the afternoon, there wasn't anybody I thought was any good. Oh, there were a couple we could "get by" with, but on the whole it was one of the worst casting sessions I'd ever had. I'd even go so far as to try and direct these people into a performance to little success. In fact, I'd just finished the worst audition of the day when a guy showed up--a late addition to the schedule. He was about six feet, carried a back-pack, it was obvious he came in right off the street. He apologized for seeming unprepared, said he'd just graduated from Cornish and his agent thought he should do some auditions. I said, "Great! Whatever!" And put him into the booth. Then I gave him the standard instructions I gave all the auditioners about the part and what the producers might be looking for. I wasn't expecting anything different than what had come before.

But, a great talent can come from anywhere.

Right off the bat, he was good, with an intensity and a commitment that nobody else gave to the role. Plus, his timing was terrific, making the most of lines that had only a bit of humor to them. And--this was amazing--he had a sense of subtext, like the character actually had a life before he started talking, and it informed what he was saying now. Very rare, and that put him head and tails above all the rest of the auditioners. In fact, when Bob asked me if there were any I'd recommend, I said "Just one." That guy. "In fact, I wouldn't consider anybody else." "He's that good?" "He's THAT good."

So, Bob hired him. He thought he might be a bit old for the part, but he said, "He knows how to make himself sound younger, so we'll see." He said he was very easy to direct, and did things in a very subtle way. He was very happy with the performance, and the project was completed.

But it was rejected by the game company.

"He's too old!" they said in their infinite wisdom. "We want someone 14 to 15. He sounds 18, youngest." So, Bob had to recast and do it again, which was too bad. But, the client is always right in these things. So, this guy who was so good ended up getting replaced in the project.

But everything turned out all right in the end. This guy, this young actor, who'd just graduated, got paid for the part, and went on to do "other things."

And the client got what they wanted, which was to get someone who skewed a little younger. I'm sure they've forgotten the incident, and that they rejected this guy. But if they tried to get him today, they couldn't touch him.

His name: Brendan Fraser.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000409/

http://www.brendanfraser.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brendan_Fraser