Victor Frankenstein's experiments are given a David Copperfield jazz-magic vibe that I don't think Mary Shelley intended but by far the biggest deviation of this mostly faithful adaptation is the fact the monster is a re-creation, not a creation - Robert De Niro is a resuscitated organ recipient, - scarred but not a hideous daemon - with prior knowledge, not a birthling - probably because it isn't easy to translate to the screen Mary Shelley's caginess regarding Frankenstein's methods of bestowing life upon the inanimate (pretty much in the book a man says the word, 'galvanisation' and then a big yellow eye opens); there's also fewer deaths in a rushed ending: once this movie's grand climax is revealed (an inspired gothic moment that repulses and horrifies and finally hits the right note) the movie decouples from the book, turning into about seven minutes years of Frankenstein's madness and incarceration and anguish, as if everyone has tired of the whole exercise and wants simply to sail prematurely home.
★★★☆☆
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