I ended up reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I must tell you why.
The movie theatre in my city showed National Theatre Live’s Frankenstein last monday. It’s a play, not a movie, but I’ll say a word or two about it anyway.
Two great actors performing this sad story. Benedict Cumberbatch (always brilliant) played The Creature and Jonny Lee Miller played Victor Frankenstein. Two actors who have played Sherlock Holmes on TV.
The beginning of the play, when The Creature is born, was a little too long. Acting was great, though. When the play moved on it got better, up to the point of being great. Stunning acting, especially from Benedict Cumberbatch, and, I believe so, physically very demanding.
The story is sad. People don’t accept difference very well, that’s current even now. Loneliness, revenge, ostracism, sadness, abandonment, cruelty, violence, compulsion. Those are just some words that come to my mind.
Great play. And there’s an interesting thing about this play. Cumberbatch and Miller change parts. Not in one play, but in showings. Miller plays The Creature, Cumberbatch plays Frankenstein. I wish I could’ve seen that version too.
And then, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. It’s amazing, that this story was publiced for the first time in 1818. It must have been a strange situation that a woman wrote this type of story in 1818.
In the book, there are moments that there’s too much description of events, moods and landscapes. These days, when violence is daily on TV and movies, this story is quite tame. It’s a horror story but it doesn’t strike so. Yet, it’s a good book and worth reading. I wonder why I haven’t read it before? It just hasn’t occurred. But now it did and I’m pleased.