Say, when does the new IFrankenstein app come out? And what does it do again? It makes you forget that you’re not watching another Underworld film … for about three seconds. Gee, that’s useful. Yes, I’m not sure what genius decided to curtail the Underworld franchise only to greenlight this thing – this inhuman monstrosity, this soulless misunderstood outcast, this poorly developed metaphor …
Yes, from the people who brought you ICrap, it’s I, Frankenstein, a modern re-imagining of the lumbering, electrified, zomberiffic oaf (Aaron Eckhart) brought to life by his namesake (and Mary Shelley). For hundreds of years, this Frankenstein walked the Earth while getting while slimmer and hunkier and unboltier. And now that Frankie’s gone to Hollywood, we get to learn all about it. Lucky us.
We begin in the old country. I say old country because I have no goddamn idea where the Hell this movie is supposed to take place — Transylvania? Leicester? Manhattan? My living room in blue light? Several times in this movie I asked, “um … where are they? How did they get in on the ground floor of a building that is suddenly twelve stories deep?” But I’m jumping ahead. Frankenstein’s monster, hereby “Frankenstein” killed his creator’s wide and then went Arctic. The “good” doctor, anxious for revenge, went to find it and died. Frankie felt a little guilty that point and carried the very stupid mad doctor back to a cemetery where demons attacked him and gargoyles came to his rescue. The gargoyles then brought him back to their gothic castle painting in Notre Dame or, you know, anywhere, and debated 
homicide. Gargoyle Queen (Miranda Otto) decided to be merciful because, hey, murder isn’t cool and besides, she has to get back to Middle Earth.
It’s best not to really delve into any of this. Suffice to say — gargoyles good, demons bad. There are bloodless fights with fire and beacons and end-of-the-world scenarios. Two-fisted Aaron Eckhart refrains from brooding every so often so he can mope. Bill Nighy chews scenery as if he subsists on the stuff. Frankenstein acquires a decidedly small-haired love interest (Yvonne Strahovski) somewhere in the middle and they find an apartment where she can … read a book. I just couldn’t be more confused when this happened. I mean, the place is the remains of a nuclear winter bunker. The walls aren’t complete; the bed is a mattress and the building is mostly frame. And yet there’s a first aid kit above the fully functional bathroom sink/mirror. I have no idea where they are or why they’re there or what the plan is, but then he wakes so he can take off his shirt while she watches and then she leaves so he can … read the book. And what is the book? Why, it’s Dr. Frankenstein’s diary, of course. Centuries later, mad science is still, apparently, groundbreaking. A little needle, a little thread, a little lightning … sure, he couldn’t program a VCR, let alone build any of the machinery it pertains to, but his work is still groundbreaking.
This is a stupid movie. But it beats the heck out of the Underworld saga. I like fake gargoyles a lot better than fake vampires.
Soul-challenged, the boltless wonder attacks
While demons confront to the max
Half-life full of stress
Seems kinda pointless
Hey there, whaddayathink Frankie, say relax?
Rated PG-13, 93 Minutes
D: Stuart Beattie
W: Kevin Grevioux and Stuart Beattie
Genre: Underworld
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Gargoyles
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Mary Shelley
