Though the high-profile double whammy of Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein and Maggie Gyllenhaal's The Bride! has inspired many to revisit James Whale's Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein, other adaptations of Mary Shelley's brainchild have also drawn attention, though perhaps none so much as Franc (Quadrophenia) Roddam's The Bride, scripted by Lloyd Fonville and released by Columbia Pictures as an anticipated blockbuster in August 1985.
Like Gyllenhaal's experiment, Roddam/Fonville's was greeted by lackluster attendance, and unlike the recent release, the 1985 entry is quite a departure from the skittish, Gyllenhaal mate-made interpretation (which, of course, never reaches fruition in Shelley's book), leaning more on fairy-tale tropes and classic lore to enthrall.
In fact, the 1985 Bride lifts motifs from My Fair Lady and Born Yesterday and as such, pulls from Ovid's Pygmalion, which George Bernard Shaw brought to the public's fancy in 1913. (I suppose if one wishes to push the matter, Ron Howard's Splash deserves comparable acknowledgment in this developmental category).
To render the thematic parallel, Charles Frankenstein, played by Sting, bestows life to Eva, played by Jennifer Beals, in an elaborate opening that recalls the finale of Whale's classic sequel. From that point, Sting's Frankenstein molds his creation to be a fine, upstanding, young woman of indisputable charm and intellect, as long as she doesn't surpass his own. When such bleeds into that forbidden territory, a monumental rift occurs between creator and creation.
To offset this contentious track, the movie injects a parallel relationship, featuring Clancy Brown's "monster," Viktor, and his friendship with David Rappaport's Rinaldo, a man small in stature but big in heart, who grooms the gentle giant to become more or less refined. This pact, though as transformative as Eva's, often taps the exploits of Francois Rabelais' Gargantua and Pantagruel, where earthy discussion becomes the order of any adventurous day, even among the unorthodox sort.
Beyond some fleeting nudity from Beals' double, the Roddam/Fonville concoction is family friendly, with its storylines contrasting enough to teach a worthy lesson. In the end, Viktor wins Eva's heart (and vice versa) through an implied, telepathic link and, on a more profound level, by the simple fact that they're good people, even if having been brought into the world through "immoral" ambition.
That Eva doesn't scorn Viktor predates Del Toro's decision to have Mia Goth's Elizabeth favor Jacob Elordi's Creature, or in the case of the director's ballyhooed The Shape of Water, having Sally Hawkins' eggheaded Elisa favor Doug Jones' "Gill-man." This concept also matches the way Gyllenhaal presents Frank and "Penelope" as a tight, anti-establishment ("us against the them") couple.
Nevertheless, the 1985 Bride is much more subdued in how it builds its uncanny though fated matchup. Where Del Toro's adaptation insists that traditional, leading men shouldn't win traditional, leading ladies, the Roddam/Fonville Bride isn't at any time preachy or autocratic, despite delivering an occasional, feminist call.
With this said, the 1985 movie, even if derived from varied material, succeeds as its own work of art and because of that, feels superior to the thematic flow of 2025/2026's prominent, Frankenstein pictures, even if they each do hold their own aesthetic virtues.
The Bride deserved more respect than it received back in the day, but by the very fact that it's a Frankenstein movie, it hasn't faded into obscurity. It's been (re)discovered and reassessed since its underperforming release, and the revived interest has only increased (in particular) in the wake of Gyllenhaal's movie. If you haven't watched this one in a spell, or if you've never seen it, give The Bride a shot. It carries all the required elements to stir plenty of quaint, Gothic charm, proving that, as with only the best fairy tales, scares and sentimentality can coexist.
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