Those familiar with the film version, "Gods and Monsters," will find a new appreciation not only for the story itself but for the filmmakers' loyalty to this great book.
Father of Frankenstein is an elegant and poignant tale about the hidden gay side of Hollywood, war stories, and dementia. Like the Frankenstein movies of James Whale, the book begins with a dark and stormy night, only not in the cliched terms of 19th-century hack Paul Clifford. Nonetheless, I drew an instant parallel with Paul Clifford's words: "It was a dark and stormy night . . . and the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."
In its own way, Father of Frankenstein is based off these words. James Whale, famous director of the movies he'd rather not be remembered for, had a stormy life beginning somewhere around London. Somewhere between his inauspicious beginnings as a impoverished child in a factory and his mysterious demise near Hollywood, he lived a full and colourful life. The book begins at the end, really, after James Whale is an old and shattered man. He's recovering from a stroke. Well, he'd like to believe he's recovering, but his worsening mental state disabuses him of that notion rather quickly. His damaged mind dwells more and more on the past until he can scarcely differentiate between the present and events forty years past.
And then there's Clayton Boone. He's a moody loner, a presager to James Dean, I suppose. Young, muscular, virile, and not too bright, he's everything James Whale looked for in a monster. But like Frankenstein's monster, Clayton Boone won't do what his creator wants him to do.
Bram provides us with an insider's view of Whale's life--itself something of a horror story. His turbulent life--and lifestyle--haunted him until his death in 1957 (an "apparent" suicide). Of course, such things that Whale suffered
were never publicized--or much acknowledged--while he was still alive. In this biography Bram seems to pull no punches, as he deftly presents the life of Whale that few outside Hollywood knew (his homosexuality, for instance), especially his background growing up in England, his experiences in World War I, and so on.
Whether a fan of Whale (the classic films "Frankenstein" and "Bride of Frankenstein" still have a following!) or not, the reader can expect a mesmerizing
read--something out of "Time" magazine and not the "National Inquirer"! At times, however, it does resemble "People" magazine a bit, but Bram does not resort to bitchy sensationalism to carry the book. He gives us a very interesting--but not altogether revealing--look at Hollywood in the Thirties. (Billyjhobbs@tyler.net)