t starts with a genuinely unnecessary, cautionary statement to warn audiences of the horrors about to unfold – though, admittedly, several sequences were of questionable appropriateness for theater viewers of 1931. Unlike the numerous sequels that would follow, this original vision contains no humor (an additive that would prove to be overwhelmingly detrimental to nearly all of the them), examining the gritty notions of human dissection, hanging, strangling, child murder, mercy killing, and burning. It’s a spectacularly inventive, dark thriller that blends science with horror in a terrifying, cultural, and instructionally moralistic manner – a combination that few other movies could ever hope to emulate.

Henry Frankenstein (Colin Clive) and his hunchbacked assistant Fritz (Dwight Frye, creating the prototype for the popular Igor character) spy on the burial proceedings of a recently deceased man, intent on stealing from the grave – not jewelry or trinkets, but rather the fresh body itself. After they fail to retrieve a brain from an executed convict nearby, Fritz breaks into a college to steal a preserved specimen. Unbeknownst to Frankenstein, Fritz carelessly brings back an abnormal brain for the obsessive, secret experiment taking place in an abandoned old watchtower.

Elizabeth (Mae Clarke), Frankenstein’s fiancée, worriedly converses with her friend Victor (John Boles), concerning her soon-to-be husband’s erratic behavior; the two go so far as to visit a former university doctor (Edward Van Sloan) for advice. He admits that Frankenstein’s specialization in the fields of chemical galvanism and electrobiology surpassed the boundaries of the school, and that his insane ambition to create life will likely be too shocking to comprehend. When the three of them make a surprise visit to the isolated laboratory atop an uncharitable hill, they discover that the raving physician has assembled a human body from various pieces and plans to reanimate it with electricity.

The story of Frankenstein (here, based on the novel by Mary Shelley, the composition from John L. Balderston, and the play by Peggy Webling) is highly creative, so it’s no surprise that this theatrical adaptation (not the first take, but the first feature-length one) would be an equally successful masterpiece of noirish thrills and Grand Guignol delights. While the acting is less than exceptional, the picture has become a legendary inspiration for nearly every horror movie to follow, serving as a compilation of unforgettable, powerful sequences more than as a flawless whole. An operating table is hoisted to the heavens to be stricken by crackling lightning; “It’s alive… It’s alive!” vehemently declares the mad scientist; the monster (Boris Karloff in his most iconic role) turns around to reveal a cold, emotionless visage with scars across its face and bolts in its neck; a farmer carries his daughter’s lifeless body, the most tragic of victims, through the town’s crowded streets; and the monster is cornered in a windmill by an angry, torch-waving mob. These remarkable moments suppress the minor annoyances of Baron Frankenstein’s (Frederick Kerr) grumbling, the frantic search for the monster in every room except the one in which Elizabeth is locked, or Maria’s father placing blame on a culprit at which he couldn’t possibly have guessed. Above all else, however, the film is monumentally enduring.

– Mike Massie