Whale was practically given carte blanche to do the film his way, and boy did he want to shake conventional things up a bit and add his eccentric wit to the mix. Bride of Frankenstein, under his keen direction, is part parody, part satire, and all quintessential spook show theatrics, providing him with a lucrative opportunity to poke fun at domestic relationships and his highly successful first horror film.
His decision to have the monster speak, albeit rudimentarily, did not sit well with Karloff, who felt a speaking monster would lose the audience’s sympathy; but again, time appears to have settled that point also. Karloff’s guttural growls and halting speech bring greater depth to the monster as he reveals his feelings of disgust with the living and his need for a friend.
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.
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