Review: Victor Frankenstein is a madcap, ultimately pointless bromance

The problem with Mary Shelley’s 1818 horror classic Frankenstein has always been protagonist Victor Frankenstein. The novel’s plot requires him to be embarrassingly mercurial, completely lacking in empathy, and prone to lengthy periods of fevered hysteria, so he can check out of the story for weeks whenever Shelley needs time to pass. Above all, he’s brilliant enough to create intelligent life from dead tissue, but still too dim to parse the simple threat “I shall be with you on your wedding night.” He’s meant to be a hubristic, tortured soul, but he’s more of an irresponsible narcissist. It’s no wonder that to most people, “Frankenstein” still means the monster rather than the creator. Victor Frankenstein has always been less memorable…

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