Apologies for the brief break in service; I'm now gainfully employed on a full-time basis and hopefully I'll be updating this thing at least weekly.
Anyhow, before I get into the nitty gritty of today's film, Victor Frankenstein, I should probably just clarify the following: your enjoyment of this film will be predicated more or less entirely upon your levels of tolerance for James McAvoy's overacting. Can't stand it? Walk away now; there's nothing for you here. If, on the other hand, you rather enjoy it when he gets all earnest and quivery in that slightly deranged way he has when he thinks he's doing serious drama, come in, friends, and read on.
I have to say, Victor Frankenstein contained a little too much quivering even for me. Running an hour and fifty minutes, I feel it could comfortably have lost twenty or even thirty, and nobody would have felt particularly short-changed in the McAvoy emoting department.
Look, you know what you're getting into when you settle down to watch a pretty, flashy movie about how Dr. Frankenstein met his assistant, Igor, don't you? There'll be attractive costumes, an overly noisy soundtrack, pretentious but punchy dialogue, little to no bloody and gore and no matter how hopeful you might be, the two male leads probably won't get it on at any point. It's a shame, really; Daniel Radcliffe's Igor seems remarkably sane for a former clown/physician, and has the sort of genuinely endearing presence that you can't help thinking would probably have calmed McAvoy's Frankenstein down in the end.
Did I enjoy it? Yes, sort of. Campy but kind of classy, a more judiciously-edited cut could easily become a favourite. Without substance, however, style can only hold my attention for so long, and I won't be in a hurry to come back to this one again.
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