Frankenstein
Monster stories are most effective not when they expose us to unknown and unexpected frights but when they reveal our own worst sides. The most monstrous creations of literature are invariably driven by self-loathing: the misshapen Richard III, the pathetic hunchback of Notre Dame, the disfigured phantom of the opera, the sadly misunderstood King Kong.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Traditional modern theater has had little luck in dramatizing horror stories. Perhaps decades of flying chandeliers and dancing candlesticks have left us jaded. Or perhaps American drama has been so obsessed with naturalism over the last few decades that anything fanciful, surreal, or bizarre seems phony. Whatever the reason, stage versions of classic psychological horror tales like Dracula and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are invariably either camped up for laughs or played stiff and straight, as if they were mere historical relics of what scared folks a hundred years ago. Cinema has fared better, but not significantly: no matter how much Francis Ford Coppola and Kenneth Branagh have tarted up Dracula and Frankenstein with smoke, blood, fire, brimstone, wind machines, and Robert DeNiro, their versions lack the chilling profundity of early silent-film adaptations like those by F.W. Murnau and Fritz Lang. I’d begun to think it was impossible for any dramatization of Frankenstein to create the same disturbing uneasiness I first felt reading Mary Shelley’s classic novel. Then I saw Redmoon Theater’s adaptation.
Like masterful choreographers or orchestrators of fireworks displays, Frankenstein’s directors and designers keep upping the ante, following each eye-popping technique with yet another breathtaking feat. To demonstrate the beauty Frankenstein’s monster first sees in everyday human behavior, Redmoon has created an idyllic landscape of small country homes as pretty as gingerbread houses. The beauty of the atmosphere is heightened by Charise Mericle’s remarkably delicate shadow puppets of soaring birds and a romping stallion. The simple elegance of this scene is brilliantly offset by the production’s harrowing moments, as when Frankenstein’s plaintive monster, who seems to have stepped right out of a child’s nightmare, dwarfs the mountains. And despite daunting competition from the wonderfully crafted puppets, Redmoon’s live actors prove limber and expressive. The grotesquely humorous danse macabre they perform at the Frankensteins’ wedding reception is guaranteed to come back to haunt.
