⭐⭐
Adapted by Rona Munro, this version of Frankenstein has a promising premise but doesn't quite manage to deliver on its intended horror, or originality.
Mary Shelley stands alone on the promo poster for Rona Munro’s new production of Frankenstein. This adaptation then, is supposedly her story. But despite her wild energy and dramatic monologues, by the end of play we know little more about her than that she is tormented by the monster (well, duh?) and has a penchant for storing her pen in her hair.
Casting Mary Shelley as the protagonist of her own tale could have conjured fantastic feminist readings. Unfortunately, the play is more concerned with Viktor Frankenstein and Shelley is ultimately rendered a narrator. Her asides raise a few chuckles and her manipulation of her characters about the stage is satisfying to watch, but she has no consequence on the story. Perhaps this is the message in that the author’s story takes on a life of its own, much like the monster. But if this is true, why cast Shelley at all? A narrator for such a popular story is unnecessary and as a character in her own right, she is never fully developed. We learn nothing of her life or past and regardless of her shrill screams that the monster is her true nightmare, we never learn why. Nor do we understand how - Michael Moreland’s monster is very human and rather tame. Confusingly, one monologue (well written) tears into Viktor Frankenstein, chastising how great men like him are often monsters, thus suggesting Viktor is the true villain and his monster the victim. While plausible that both figures are fragments of horror, director Patricia Benecke’s unwillingness to decide makes the production tonally muddy.
Eilidh Loan’s performance as Shelley is engaging, and she adopts a thick estuary accent, adding to her sparky, snarky delivery but it’s marred by an odd intonation which becomes grating. With little meat on the bones of her character, Loan has little to work with and, unable to make up for this simply by turning up the volume, her character, and the piece as a whole, are left shouty and directionless. The rest of the cast work hard to play multiple roles, often with the smallest change in costume. Ben Castle-Gibb is convincing as the tortured scientist, while Natali McCleary’s Elizabeth is honest and sweet, but the couple don’t get enough stage time to develop much chemistry, leading to a death scene which is difficult to care about. There is some emotion with Justine, the Frankenstein family’s maid, who is falsely accused of murder and hanged. A brilliantly simple piece of physical theatre sees Sarah MacGillivray’s neck snap by just lowering her head and teetering - effective and disturbing. The injustice of Justine’s death is explained bitterly by Elizabeth, who blames society’s judgement of the poor - a hint at the story’s underlying themes of social inequality, love and life, but they aren’t given enough space to root and germinate in this production.
Becky Minto’s set design conflates inside and outside with a white geometric structure, carved with bare trees and bookshelves. There are two levels, allowing separate scenes to run in parallel or add depth to scenes occurring across the space. Complementing the set, the costumes are monochrome, clean and sharp - only Mary and her monster stand out. Strutting in black boots and a leather coat, Shelley is feisty, but the same coat on her monster, paired with cream joggers and shaggy hair make him look more like an ageing rocker or an old yogi than a terrifying creature.
The sound design by Simon Slater is a little rudimentary - a repertoire of thunder claps, whistling wind and shaky violins is all a bit GCSE Drama, and at one point, the transition between two pieces of music is so abrupt, you can almost hear the technician press the next sound cue. Equally a bit lacklustre is Grant Anderson’s lighting - a cold colour palette of whites, greens and purples is fitting if not a little uninspired, though suspended flickering light bulbs are aesthetically pleasing and anchor the idea of Frankenstein’s laboratory. Sadly, rewriting this play was perhaps not one of Munro’s light bulb moments.
This Frankenstein is loud, lively, and though a somewhat innovative production, it’s one without a clear purpose. ‘Full of sound and fury, signifying [not much].’ The play is energetic, shocked with electricity, but never manages to come to life.
Frankenstein tours across UK venues until 7th March.
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