When I think about Freddy Krueger, the iconic villain of Wes Craven’s Nightmare on Elm Street, I’m haunted by the gleeful grin on his face as he lures children to their doom. When I think about Frankenstein’s Monster, the first image that springs to mind is a lonely disfigured man bonding over flowers with a little girl next to a lake in James Whale’s Frankenstein. In Elm Street, Freddy Krueger was a murderer in life and is now a murderer in death. He is only a vessel through which we are presented with the increasingly ludicrous ways in which he dispenses of his victims. Frankenstein, however, presents us with something different. A monster with a childlike sense of wonder, who is trapped in a world he does not understand, and worse, a world that cannot understand him.
The destruction wrought by the Monster isn’t born from a place of evil, it’s born from fear, self-defense, naivety, and/or other elements outside of his control, and therefore, we have no choice but to sympathize with him, even though he may perform terrible acts. When a child falls victim to one of Freddy Krueger’s nightmares, Freddy laughs. But when the Monster throws Maria into the lake, his intention was not to harm her. He thought it was a game. When he realizes his mistake, he attempts to reach out to her, but it’s too late. All he wanted was a friend, but his over-eager ignorance and brutish strength prove deadly. We can’t excuse his actions, but we also know that the outcome was the unfortunate result of a tragic misunderstanding.
The Monster’s first appearance in Frankenstein is unsettling. He emerges from the shadows, lumbering across the room as his creator gawks. Dr. Frankenstein attempts to prove the Monster’s awareness by opening the skylight in the lab. Curious, the Monster looks up towards the light emanating from above. He extends his arms, reaching for the light outside. The Monster begins to understand his circumstances. He is a prisoner, and the sunlight represents freedom. It’s only moments later that the Doctor’s assistant, Fritz, enters and screams in terror just at the sight of the Monster. Fritz represents the world at large, afraid of that which he does not understand. In his attempts to control the Monster, chaining him to the wall, whipping him into submission, he only angers and unleashes it’s undeveloped power and ultimately seals his own fate as its first victim. It’s easy to see how things could’ve been different. If only the Monster had been greeted with kindness and understanding, rather than fear and violence, perhaps Maria would still be playing with her flowers by the lake.
In honor of Guillermo Del Toro’s upcoming The Shape of Water, this month The Cinematropolis will be exploring Misunderstood Monsters. Those who don’t terrorize for the sake of terror, but who are forced into their “monster” status by external circumstances. Stay tuned for more explorations of cinema’s most iconic monsters who may not be monsters at all.
