I can’t think of any story that has been followed by as many misconceptions as the tale of Dr. Frankenstein and his Creature.
Half of the people familiar with the story will tell you that Frankenstein is the monster.
Obviously they never read the book (or watched a faithful screen adaptation, for what matters).
Their bad, because the original story is a true masterpiece.
It’s during a competition for the best horror story that Mary gets the chance to tell this story, one that came to her in a dream, one about a scientist who ends up deeply upset and disgusted by his own creation.
We are in the late 19th century and Galvan has just discovered how electricity makes a dead frog twitch. From there to bringing corpses back to life, the step is really short for Mary Shelley.
Victor is a brilliant student at the university in Ingolstadt. To him and his professors, it’s obvious that science has all the answers already, all that’s left to do is recreate nature and its laws.
The challenge is almost inconceivable: defy death itself.
A lightning bolt striking a tree gives Victor the idea and it’s not long before a human body is assembled (quite gigantic, but you have to understand, human anatomy is quite complicated, he had to magnify it…). Only problem: the result is not quite what he expected.
The Creature is a monster.
Victor can’t feel anything but rejection and abandons it to rejoin his family in Geneva. Unfortunately for him, the Creature doesn’t take all the abandonment thing too well.
What follows serves at least to put your brain in motion: a fatherless monster in search of some solace from his solitude and a man who would go to hell and back to retrace his steps or at least destroy the horrendous monster he created.
The tale leaves you with a sour taste in your mouth and a question: who’s the real monster?
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