Adding to this heady mix, Franz Waxman’s music audibly evokes the different moods of scenes and characters; a masterpiece of melodic and harmonic accompaniment just when talkies had come into their own. From the whimsical yet ghoulish bone-tinkle of the dance macabre, heard while Dr. Pretorius is in the crypt, to the monster’s entrance, Waxman’s notes cheekily play across the spectrum from unattainable beauty to inescapable charnel horror.

The film begins with a flashback sequence recounting the key events of the first film, artfully framed by saucy drawing room chit-chat between Byron, Percy, and Mary Shelley (Elsa Lanchester), whose ample bosom and double entendres caused much concern with the Production Code censors. Prompted by Byron for more (story, that is), she tells how the monster survived the burning windmill, and how Henry and Elizabeth were reunited. As Byron and Percy listen intently, the camera moves quickly back and out of the drawing room, and brings us back to the burning windmill.

As little Maria’s parents find out why it’s a bad idea to hang around old burning windmills when everyone else has gone home, Elizabeth and Henry are lounging about their incredibly large bedroom. Elizabeth, always the strong and resolute one, is distraught and tells Henry she keeps seeing Death waiting in the dark corners. Henry, ignoring her fears, tells her how his meddling in life and death must be part of some divine plan. Understandably overcome with worry, she swoons just as Dr. Pretorius makes his bold entrance, ingratiating himself between her and Henry. The gaunt, badly-in-need-of-a-comb, doctor has been experimenting with creating life also, and wants to show Henry his accomplishments. Over Elizabeth’s objections, Henry is soon sitting in the doctor’s flat.

Dr. Pretorius disappears into another room and quickly returns carrying a large chest. Dressed in clothes that could be mistaken for those of an alchemist or a cleric, he pulls glass containers from the chest. In a display of special effects that are still impressive today, each one is shown to contain a miniature person he’s grown “from seed.” Over gin, the two argue, but Pretorius insists that Henry make a female. While his seed process is good for creating pocket-sized people, he doesn’t possess Henry’s knack for creating the seven-foot tall variety.

Meanwhile, the monster, trying to befriend a shepherdess, has the usual bad luck and winds up getting chased, once again, through a forest of starkly barren tree trunks by the exasperated villagers. They corner him and truss him up in crucifixion fashion, then cart him off to town and a dungeon cell.

Without skipping a beat, he breaks free of his massive chains and the dungeon, and goes about making his hurt feelings known by trashing the villagers. Hungry, he stumbles onto a gypsy campsite with the usual catastrophic results. Now more tired and hungry, he makes his way through the woods until he hears serene music and follows it to a small cabin. Looking through the window like a curious little boy, he sees an old man playing a violin. Not using the best of tact to introduce himself he barges in, but this time there’s no fear. The old man is blind, and as lonely as the monster. Finally, the monster has found a home.