[Feature] "We Don’t Belong Dead!"; A Definitive Reclamation Of James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein

Since the revelation that filmmaker James Whale, a member of Golden-age Hollywood, was in fact a gay man; many have examined the late director’s work in search of queer content. The filmmaker's sexuality, like many of his queer contemporaries, was an “open secret” in Hollywood. However, to the general public, Whale’s identity as a queer man wouldn’t become public knowledge until the 1970s. Since then, the filmmaker’s work has been placed under the microscope, by both film theorists, and queer studies scholars alike.

The most predominantly examined of Whale’s filmography however, is that of his masterpiece Bride of Frankenstein (1935). Released eighty five years ago, Whale’s horror sequel has been in the time since, both reclaimed as a work of queer horror; and debunked as merely blockbuster bait of it’s day, supposedly having nothing to say about its director’s queernes. To understand the debate as to whether or not Bride of Frankenstein constitutes as a queer film, one must first analyse the era it hails from. Let us look back to the very muddled existence of queer representation in early cinema.

Going as far back as the dawn of cinema itself, queer images have existed on screen. While these images were merely coded as queer, modern film scholars and LGBTQ activists have noted them as the earliest examples of queer representation. Besides the fact that queers were a completely unheard voice during this period, queer identities and stories were unable to be told during this period, due to the Hays Code.

The Hays Code, or the production code as it was also referred to, was set up as a response to the growing number of concerns held by the religious right, and even from the pulpit of the Catholic church. The production code set out to censor any content that was deemed “indecent.” In the eyes of the code, any form of overt sexuality that was not considered heteronormative was perverted and needed to be shielded from the eyes of America. Sadly, due to such harsh attitudes of the time, queers working in the film industry were forced to keep their sexuality a deep dark secret, or otherwise be fired. Therefore, it became the studio's job to keep certain details of the private lives of it’s stars hidden from the public. However, during this period, some queer filmmakers managed to have quite successful careers, despite the heterosexist attitudes of the industry. One of the most prolific examples of this would be director James Whale.

Whale, an English filmmaker, is best remembered today for his classic horror films he made at Universal Studios, including The Old Dark House (1932), The Invisible Man (1933), Frankenstein (1931), and its sequel Bride of Frankenstein (1935). As with other queer filmmakers of the era, such as George Cuckor, Whale’s sexuality was hidden from the public. While the filmmaker himself never flaunted his sexuality, his queerness was an open secret to those who worked in the film industry.

Whale’s unique style of filmmaking was heavily influenced by German Expressionism and one of his most notable qualities was his ability to combine elements of gothic horror with comedic camp humor. Due to the production code’s tight restrictions, none of Whale’s films could explicitly mention homosexuality, but contemporary film scholars have reinterpreted some elements of his films, including his use of camp humor, as being queer coded. A queer reading acts to examine a film, analyzing different elements made by filmmaker for the gay subtext behind them. Such a practice of deep analysis, would be appropriate regarding the Hays Code era, as all content relating queers had to be subtextual anyway. While both of Whale’s Frankenstein films feature strong social subtext, regarding society’s treatment of the “other,” Bride of Frankenstein has been noted as especially significant by queer historians.

In viewing Bride of Frankenstein, one will find no openly gay characters. Viewers will however, be treated to the film’s queer coded villain, Doctor Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger). In the film, Pretorius’ role serves as the antagonist who, setting events in motion, eventually leads to the creation of Frankenstein’s Bride (Elsa Lanchester). Along with serving as a rival mad scientist to Doctor Frankenstein (Colin Clive) himself, Pretorius also acts as a bit of a comedic foil to the doctor’s “straight man” persona. One of the earliest cinematic practices of representing queers has been through the age old character trope commonly known as the “sissy.” The sissy trope grew out an uninformed notion that homosexuality meant the inversion of gender. The suggestion being that because gay men were attracted to men, this meant they really wanted to be women. Furthermore, the term sissy refers to any man who behaves in an effeminate behavior.

This characterization was often used to belittle gay men by comparing them to the more “conventionally masculine” ideals of straight men. The role of characters who fill the sissy trope is to serve as the comedic foil to the film’s protagonist…usually at their own expense. The underlying intent behind including such “foppish” characters in the silent era of films, was always to demean queer folk; to punish them for not following society’s heteronormative values. Interestingly, queer cinema historian and author Vito Russo, has gone so far as claiming that Pretorius is not gay necessarily; but does refer to the character as being “sissified.” (1)

As stated, while no characters could explicitly be depicted as homosexual, they could be coded as such. In other words, filmmakers could include queer characters, providing that they only subtly hinted that they were queer. Oftentimes, such examples of subtle coding went right over the code censor’s heads. The censors of the Hays production code were, as the documentary The Celluloid Closet (1995) stated, not “The sharpest bunch.” (2)

In the case of Pretorius’ characterization in the film; while not especially effeminate in comparison to previous examples of the sissy, the trope is still heavily rooted in his DNA. According to author and film historian David J. Skal, Whale intentionally directed Thesiger to play the part as an “over the top caricature of a bitchy and aging homosexual.”(3) Furthermore, examples of Pretorius’s queer coded behavior can be interpreted throughout various points in the film. In the film’s climactic finale, when the Monster (Boris Karloff) first lays eyes on his newly created bride, he reaches out to her only to be stopped by Pretorius. To an unsuspecting viewer, this exchange might not signify anything. However, a queer reading of Pretorius’ actions in this scene could be interpreted as preventing the monster from taking his bride, and fruitfully multiplying on their wedding night.

Lastly, the character’s queering is most notable in an earlier scene between himself and Doctor Frankenstein. In this scene, as the two scientists discuss Frankenstein’s work over a drink, they express their attempts to play god, in pursuit of scientific advancement. According to Skal, the film’s novelization is a bit more explicit than the film was regarding Pretorius’ sexuality. In this same scene from the novelization, Pretorius’ tells Frankenstein, “Be fruitful and multiply. Let us obey the Biblical injunction: you of course, have the choice of natural means; but as for me, I am afraid that there is no course open to me but the scientific way.”(4)

Considering all this, one must wonder how there could be any debate as to what the film’s “dominant meaning’” is. A dominant viewing practice of a film accepts the story being told, as well as the underlying perspective that was intended by the filmmaker. With all these queer elements present, as well as the film’s themes regarding society’s treatment of the other, it would be safe to say that Whale intended Bride of Frankenstein to have a queer perspective. According to those who knew him, however, that might not be the case. For instance, film producer and Whale’s longtime partner, David Lewis, claimed that the director’s sexuality was irrelevant to his body of work.

Before his death, Lewis said of the late filmmaker, “Jimmy was first and foremost an artist, and his films represent the work of an artist—not a gay artist, but an artist.”(5) Lewis’s position was later backed up by biographer James Lewis (no relation) and also Whale’s friend and fellow filmmaker, Curtis Harrington. Both men concurred it was “impossible” for James to have identified with the monster from a queer point of view. Based on what these accounts are saying, Whale only set out to adapt Mary Shelley's classic novel with the intent on making a simple popcorn blockbuster.

What Lewis doesn’t seem to understand, though, is that such intentions would negate any claims of Whale being a true artist. Taking into account the words of those who knew Whale best, while also considering all the obvious attempts at queering the character of Pretorius, is it possible that the filmmaker didn’t have a queer subtext in mind? Could a gay filmmaker direct a movie about society’s persecution of an individual’s otherness, all while facing the same persecution in his personal and professional lives, and not draw a connection between the two? As the true artist Lewis admitted he was, wouldn’t he have used his real life experiences to humanize his monster protagonist? Or quite disappointingly, is it possible that Whale made a film about the horrors of society’s persecutions and not believed homophobia was one of them?

We must consider the reality of both the artist’s life and the world in which his art was a response to. Knowing what I’ve detailed about the making of the film, the climate revolving around the director’s personal life, and the film’s use of queer tropes, I personally can’t bring myself to believe that Whale made an “accidentally” queer film. That said, I will not negate the words of those who knew him best. It is my best assumption that Whale never told these three men of his true intentions; out of fear word would get out, and the studio would replace him. I believe the dominant meaning behind Bride of Frankenstein is as a cautionary tale of sorts, warning audiences of the horrors that grow out of society’s hatred of the other.

Despite what the film’s Dominant meaning may or may not have been, Bride of Frankenstein offers plenty of material for queer viewers to “read against the grain.” For non film theorists, the concept of reading against the grain is a practice used in film analysis. This viewing practice allows an opportunity for audience members to have alternate interpretations that perhaps were never intended by the filmmakers. An audience's interpretation of a film can often depend on their own social background, such as race, gender, or sexual orientation; hence why this concept would be relevant. As is often the case with marginalized groups, through the majority of cinematic history, queers have longed to see stories about people like them. Due to this lack of queer content, gay audiences have traditionally been tasked with reinterpreting films that may not have intended to have a queer subtext at all. Regardless of whether or not James Whale incorporated elements of his own identity into his films, I personally believe that Bride of Frankenstein lends itself to being seen as queer content.

But let’s play devil’s advocate and assume that any queerness in the film is accidental. Just how might queer viewers form a connection to Whale’s film?

Outside of the characterization of Pretorius, there are many other elements in the film that lend themselves to a queer reading. In the decades since the film’s release, many critics have drawn parallels between the Frankenstein monster being chased, imprisoned, and persecuted by the village people and that of society’s disenfranchised queer. In the film’s opening, after the monster is run underground as a burning building collapses on top of him, the angry mob rejoices at his supposed death. As the mob carrying pitchforks and torches celebrate the monster’s “death,” one can’t help but draw comparisons to a gang of bigots about to commit a lynching. In the film, Frankenstein’s monster is seen by society as an abomination; a crime against nature that should never have existed. Words that are familiar to the LGBTQ+ community to this day. In other words, Henry Frankenstein’s “sinful” act at playing God, thus bringing the monster into existence, is a metaphor of 1930s views on homosexuality itself.

Like the disenfranchised queer, the monster represents what society does not understand, and so they fear him because of this. Furthermore, from a queer viewing perspective, one could draw parallels between the town’s Burgomaster (E.E. Clive) and the Studio System. In a scene where the police believe they have successfully confined the monster to a jail cell, the Burgomaster stands outside confronting a group of concerned villagers. When one woman asks about the monster, he simply denies any knowledge of this, attempting to diffuse the situation. This scenario of powerful figures trying to cover the truth is similar to that of the studio heads who sought desperately to bury the private lives of queer stars such as James Whale.

In a later scene, as the now injured monster is wandering around the forest, he comes across a log cabin whose sole tenant is an elderly blind man living as a hermit (O.P. Heggie). The blind man believes the monster can’t speak because he’s a mute and, delighted at the prospect of some company, offers to let his new friend stay with him. As he tends to the monster’s hand, the hermit rejoices at the future that the two will share living together, promising the two will take care of and look after each other, as he prepares dinner for the monster. This touching scene is cut short when a group of hunters from the village barge in, angrily informing the blind man of who and what he’s been hosting.

The Monster’s relationship with the hermit, whom he now views as a “friend,” has been interpreted by some film historians as a homosexual relationship. The blind man’s promising devotion of loyalty towards his new friend is not unlike that of a marriage vow. In particular, film critic Garry Morris claims of this now iconic scene: “No mistake – this is a marriage, and a viable one ... But Whale reminds us quickly that society does not approve. The monster – the outsider – is driven from his scene of domestic pleasure by two gun-toting rubes who happen upon this startling alliance and quickly, instinctively, proceed to destroy it.”(6)

In the scene where Pretorius and Henry Frankenstein first discuss the prospect of creating the bride, what follows is what I believe is the key to understanding the film’s underlying theme. As the two mad doctors discuss Henry’s work, Pretorius offers to share his own creations. Pretorius reveals several small bottles containing miniature living humans, each of which he claims to have grown from other cultures. Of these miniature humans representing different cultures, Pretorius displays a queen, whom he states was his first experiment. His second experiment however, is a king, who is desperate to win the affections of his queen, even going so far as to escape his containment and break open the jar that holds her. Third is perhaps the most telling of his creations: an archbishop who disapproves of the king’s attempts to win the queen’s heart. Besides the obvious level of camp that Whale includes in this scene, there are several things to interpret from Pretorius’ “creations.”

First, one may be tempted to draw comparisons between the filmmaker and Pretorius’ “queen.” According to film historian Harry M. Benshoff, amongst those in Hollywood who knew about Whale’s sexuality, he was dubbed “The Queen of Hollywood.”(7) One could be drawn to believe that this queen is meant to symbolize the filmmaker himself, as a sort of acknowledging wink to those who speculated about his sexuality. Another and more likely comparison could be made between the king and the archbishop who disapproves of his antics.

Firstly, the king seeks to break out of his man made prison and attempts to claim the one he loves. One could easily view this as a metaphor of a closeted gay man who wishes to express his love but is unable to, due to the confines of the restrictive prison society has created for him. Lastly, and complementary to this reading of the scene, one must consider the significance of the archbishop. The archbishop is portrayed as disapproving of the king’s attempts to claim his love; because of this, one may assume he represents not only the homophobic tendencies of the church, but also society as a whole.

In conclusion, it may be impossible to ever know what James Whale’s absolute intentions were in making Bride of Frankenstein. However, based on the evidence of queer subtext within the film, I believe the dominant meaning of the film was a reminder to heteronormative audiences that queers are still members of their society. That otherness should not dissuade you from being kind to another being and that queers have a right to exist regardless of our otherness.

The evidence of Whale’s message is imbued in the film’s DNA, from its use of queer representational tropes in defining it’s antagonist. For the sake of argument, even if Whale had no intention of making a film about the challenges of queer existence, the film still offers plenty of queer subtext, which allows viewers to form a queer reading of its text. Considering what I’ve detailed about the making of the film, what we know of the director’s personal life, and the film’s use of queer tropes, I can personally testify that Bride of Frankenstein is queer cinema. Considering not just its strong message, but the fact that for a queer film to be made in 1935, and manage to not sacrifice any of its subtext at the behest of the censors, Whale’s film may be one of the most important queer films of the twentieth century.

Endnotes

1.  Vito Russo, The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies (revised edition), (New York: HarperCollins, 1997), 50.

2.  David J. Skal, The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror (London: Penguin Books, 1993), 185.

3.  Ibid, 189.

4. James Curtis, James Whale: A New World of Gods and Monsters, (Boston, Faber and Faber, (1998).

5.  Gary Morris, "Sexual Subversion: The Bride of Frankenstein". Bright Lights Film Journal 19 (2007), Retrieved January 7, 2008.

6.  Harry M. Benshoff, Monsters in the Closet: Homosexuality and the Horror Film (Manchester, University Press, 1997).

7.  The Celluloid Closet, directed by Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman (1995; New York City, NY: Sony Pictures Classics, 2001), DVD.