"Frankenstein"

Last night my sister and I went to a National Theater Live event at a nearby movie theater. In 2011 Danny Boyle directed an incredible new stage production of “Frankenstein” starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller. Every night the actors would switch roles: one night Miller was the monster and Cumberbatch was the scientist, then the next night they switched, creator playing created. The play was filmed and shown on movie screens across the globe, and last night was one of two encore performances.

I was surprised at how crowded the theater was. Mostly teenagers or 20-somethings, whispering to each other over popcorn as the show began. The screen showed a stage, blank except for an upright “womb” of canvas eerily lit from behind. As the audience on screen still chatted and settled into seats, a figure inside the fabric began to move. A hand stretched out and probed the fabric, searching for a seam. The crowd quieted as the figure’s movements became more intense. Simulated lightning rent the air as the figure tore forth and fell, helpless, to the floor.

What followed was at least 10 full minutes of excruciatingly slow progress as the creature violently flopped and gargled, trying to stand and breathe and understand his surroundings. When he was finally upright it was a victory, even though the audience chuckled at the sight of a grown, nearly-naked man wobbling around stage like a toddler. As the play progressed we watched him learn to eat and dress and talk, his limbs and tongue never quite sure of their true purpose. He learned poetry and prose; he learned jealousy and pain and the importance of memories. He learned that he was different and that mankind shuns the unfamiliar. He learned to give and then to take. He learned desire. He learned revenge.

The technical details of this show were incredible. Sets were minimal and uncrowded yet intricate in design. A thin stretch of grass became a field glowing in the sunrise. The middle of the stage turned, rose, and fell, causing a storm-battered cottage to appear from one half while a pristine white room sank out of sight behind it. Over 3,000 assorted light bulbs stretched across the ceiling, providing blinding lightning and shimmering stars.

A steampunk locomotive charged on stage in one hectic scene, the hoots, screeches and howls of its passengers mimicking a mechanical cacophony.

While there were visuals that were gory and unsettling, Danny Boyle wasn’t going for bloody shock. The theater gave it an “R” rating (dark content and partial nudity) and the website advised that this show was only appropriate for ages 15+. The bleak setting of each scene tells the story much more effectively than outright gore; it disturbs to see the shadows of an action almost more than the action itself. And the dialogue is heartbreaking, eloquent and chilling.

I’ve seen adaptations of this story with over-the-top effects and crashing soundtracks, but here there was no need. Boyle didn’t need to create towering icebergs on stage to bring the audience deep into a frozen wasteland. Two weary figures and a swirl of fog told us enough. The focus was on the two men, creator and created, different and yet similar.

A previous engagement prevents us from going back to see the roles reversed tonight, so I sincerely hope they show it again. If there was ever a version of this gothic tale to see, it’s this one.

For a video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuYDiaT-mtg&noredirect=1

For more details on the incredible stage lighting (pictured above): http://www.whitelight.ltd.uk/news/?n=1276