by Eric Lindbom
The exclamation point on the title of THE BRIDE! (in theaters), like the quotation marks around the new “WUTHERING HEIGHTS,” uses punctuation as PSA, warning us we’re in for a radical riff on a classic text, purists and fan service be damned.
THE BRIDE! is an estrogen scream turned screed. It revels in writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal’s fascination with the strictures on, and releasing of, female power and desire which she memorably portrayed as an actor (SECRETARY, THE KINDERGARTEN TEACHER) and filmmaker; her directorial debut THE LOST DAUGHTER was stellar drama with Olivia Coleman as a repressed, morally conflicted vacationer, played in flashback by Jessie Buckley.
Buckley is back as THE BRIDE! formerly Ida, a ‘30s party girl in Chicago who’s accidentally killed by her mobb-ed up boyfriend. Her corpse is later dug up by not mad enough scientist Annette Bening at the behest of Christian Bale’s lonely, verbose Frankenstein monster who’s called Frank for short. When she’s revived, the memory-challenged bride, with a black smeared Rorschach face and bird’s nest hair, wants crazy fun. After the monster couple are pushed into offing some would be rapists in an alleyway, they embark on a cross-country spree – from Chicago to NYC and Niagara Falls. Along the way, the pair become media fodder and inspire women to rebelliously let loose while aping the Bride’s look though this element is a barely explored tangent.
Buckley is amped up to the rafters so Bale wisely underplays Frank as besotted with her and misunderstood, hiding his stitched noggin under a hat. He’s only driven to violence as an inevitable last resort. Along with its committed stars, what THE BRIDE! has going for it is visual pizzaz. Production designer Karen Murphy has a field day creating neon drenched Manhattan streets and champagne bubbly black-and-white movie musicals starring Frank’s idol, an ersatz Fred Astaire character (Maggie’s brother Jake G) which leads to fantasy scenes of Frank ‘Putting on the Ritz” in a nod to Peter Boyle in YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN.
While THE BRIDE! grabs the eyes, it leaves ears ringing especially no thanks to Buckley also playing FRANKENSTEIN author Mary Shelley as a harpy providing a largely superfluous narration. This trope honors the original BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN where Elsa Lanchester played both Shelley (in a witty prologue) and the bride, with her iconic lightning bolt hair do and a vocal hiss inspired by swans in London’s Regent Park. The reason director James Whale’s masterpiece endures is its expert melding of black humor and scares. THE BRIDE! leans into laughs (its end credits play over Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s novelty hit “The Monster Mash”) but is as far afield from horror comedy adjacent as BEETLEJUICE (even serving up its own spastic dance number).
This no doubt proved a major factor in its disastrous box office to date as some probably felt gypped by false advertising. Its release proximity to Guillermo del Toro’s fusty but faithful FRANKENSTEIN didn’t help (let alone any comparisons to Yorgos Lanthimos’ exponentially superior POOR THINGS).
Gyllenhaal serves up a smorgasbord of genres – musical/dark comedy/gangster flick/Gothic thriller and a romance on the run chase that goes overboard channeling BONNIE AND CLYDE. Individually some of these sequences shine but they don’t coalesce. If some critical admirers describe THE BRIDE! as a punk rock approach there’s too many clashing chords.
The core relationship between Ida and Frank competes with an over population of secondary characters including a subplot with Peter Sarsgaard as a cop with a past involving Ida and his wilier, sexism-restricted sidekick Penélope Cruz, who once again wobbles when not serving as a muse for Pedro Almodóvar. Some feckless gangsters also clog up the story. At 126 minutes, THE BRIDE! could use a trim as well and eventually wears us down. (SINNERS seems much shorter though it’s 11 minutes longer.)
Despite these setbacks, THE BRIDE! has a sparkly veneer and an audacious heart that will entice some viewers. If you’re unclear if this messy mélange is for you, here’s an easy gut check. If you’re crazy for the anachronistic dazzle of Baz Luhrmann you may beam instead of burp.
Eric Lindbom is a hardcore horror buff with a strong stomach, weaned on the Universal classics from the ’30s and ’40s. He’s written film and/or music reviews for City Pages, Twin Cities Reader, LA WEEKLY, Request magazine and Netflix. He co-edits triggerwarningshortfiction.com, a site specializing in horror, fantasy and crime short stories with illustrations by co-editor John Skewes. He lives in Los Angeles.
