Pride and Carol and Gods and Monsters (Part Two)

Unless you're a fan of Hollywood's early Golden Age, most particularly the creature features of Universal Studios, you've probably never heard the name James Whale. The director of such influential horror classics as Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933) and The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Whale first came to Hollywood in 1929 following a highly successful directorial debut on Broadway. As an openly gay Englishman, Whale waved aside the conventions of his time, living life on his own terms within a community that adhered to a strict "don't ask, don't tell" policy: keep quiet about any unsavory activities lest you become an embarrassment to the studios. 

At the beginning of Bill Condon's superb, heavily fictionalized Gods and Monsters, it is 1957, and a fragile, homebound James Whale lives a life of genteel desperation with his disapproving Teutonic housekeeper, Hannah, in an immaculately kept colonial-style house in the Hollywood hills. Recovering from a recent stroke, the director is aware that his faculties are in decline--according to his doctor, he's fine from the neck down but this particular type of medical event causes hallucinations, rapid mood swings and sleeplessness. The prognosis: the effects are irreversible and only worsen over time. Time, unfortunately, is a luxury Whale doesn't have. His career as a director having ended in 1942, he has little to do aside from tormenting Hannah, reflecting on his time in the trenches during WWI and obsessing over the past loves haunting his delusionary episodes. Regrettably, medicine hadn't yet evolved sufficiently to address the needs of those suffering from severe PTSD, at that time diagnosed as shell-shock. 

When a silly, young film writer shows up to interview him, Whale plays along until he realizes that the kid isn't interested in his life at all: he only wants to hear about Whale's horror films. For his own amusement, Whale decides to play a little joke, insisting that his interviewer remove an article of clothing each time a question about Whale's "monsters" is asked. Once the braying fool is down to his underwear, the amused (and titillated) Whale suffers a sudden seizure that instantly terminates this fleeting moment of genuine pleasure. Observing this through the kitchen window, the long-suffering Hannah comes running to the rescue, where she and the almost-naked man haul the director to a chair. Once he's in possession of his senses, Whale is thankful he's done playing with this fatuous, aspiring journalist. Alas, the joke is on Whale: this incident comes back around to bite him in an uncomfortable scene that sets up the film's tragic final act. 

Shortly after this latest health-related incident, Whale, on an impulse, uncovers his old paintings and sketches that are covered in dust in the pool house. Admiring his work (and the male models who posed for him), he thinks that maybe he should start making art again. It would surely be better than harassing Hannah and waiting for the inevitable end to come. He's just needs someone to sit for his paintings.  Conveniently, there's a hot new yard worker named Clayton Boone who shows up one day to mow the lawn. Ever hospitable, Whale offers this magnificent specimen a glass of iced tea and polite conversation. At first, Boone is aloof and leery of the older man's intentions but soon, a friendship, of sorts, develops between the two, and Boone's attitude softens a little, especially when he discovers that Whale directed the early Frankenstein movies. Eventually, the younger man becomes comfortable enough to sit for Whale, who, over the course of the film, manages to relieve his model of more and more clothes. 

Boone isn't sure about any of this, but Whale insists he's not his type. Of course, this isn't quite true, but it doesn't really matter: Whale is well aware that Boone is straight and could crush him with his bare hands. Which may, ultimately, be what the elderly filmmaker has in mind. This remarkable film is defined by the sometimes tender, oft-times volatile and unsettled, relationship between these men as they navigate what turns out to be the last year of Whale's life. 

Though highly praised upon its release, Gods and Monsters was a box-office bomb. Hard to say why because the performances here are everything. Ian McKellan is, alternately, cultured and tortuous as a man at war with both himself, and the Hollywood system that discarded him. Inhabiting James Whale, McKellan lives up to his reputation as one of our finest living actors--this may be my favorite of all the roles I've seen him play. I also love Brendan Fraser's combination of toughness and vulnerability (as well as the rest of the package) although I'm not sure he got the recognition he deserved from contemporary reviewers. Incidentally, Boone is a fictitious character invented by author Christopher Bram for his 1995 novel, Father of Frankenstein, upon which this movie is based. Finally, there is the wonderful Lynn Redgrave, as Hannah, the (also fictitious) housekeeper/exacting caregiver for the fractious and chaotic Whale. Never breaking character, Redgrave maintains a strict gravitas even during some of her employer's more outrageous antics. With Gods and Monsters, Bill Condon helmed one of his best efforts (the others including Chicago and Dreamgirls). McKellan, Redgrave and Condon's adapted screenplay were nominated for Academy Awards in 1998. Condon's screenplay won the gold, which was the only Oscar the film took home. FYI: 1998 was a tough year for award contenders, what with Titanic, As Good as It Gets and L.A. Confidential also vying for honors. 

To be perfectly honest, I had never seen this movie before watching it yesterday, and, other than the fact that James Whale was a gay man who directed some of my favorite old horror movies, I knew very little about him.  I am amazed that, in a time when being actively queer was a career killer (not to mention illegal), Whale lived as authentically as he dared. Whether or not homophobia played a part in his career ending prematurely is a topic of some debate. The official story is that Whale had conflicts with studio executives after several of his films failed to ignite at the box office (allegedly the result of studio tinkering with Whale's already-completed projects). The truth is that, given the time and place, some element of bigotry likely figured into his "early retirement".  A high mark in gay-themed movies, Gods and Monsters, not unlike Carol, reflects a time when being true to oneself was a risky business, indeed, and not far removed from the realities still facing many modern-day Americans.