Danny Boyle's Frankenstein: This is what you call a screenplay

The sky was spitting rain as we stepped out of office. Providentially, a taxi — a rattling old thing held together with duct tape and hope — came spluttering to our rescue. We got in, and began our slow crawl through the metal-choked streets of Mumbai to an evening of wonderful incongruities. Sukha bhel in office, coughing radiators, mud-splattered trouser cuffs, wine, canapés and high-theatre (Danny Boyle’s smash-hit Frankenstien, all the way from the National Theatre in London).

Mingling of experiences
This mingling of the plebian and the privileged is presumably what David Sabel, head of digital media at the National Theatre, had in mind when he set out to bring London’s West End to those of us prevented by geography and finance from going there. But would it live up to the promise? Can watching a play on screen — no matter the number of cameras filming it, no matter the number of fancy arcs and pirouettes they make — ever be as good as being there?

Apparently not. “Something is lost, when you approach it this way (seeing it on screen)”, admits Sabel. “It’s not the best possible experience, but there are advantages though. You get great intimacy with the performers, you can see the nuances of their performance, it’s like having the best seats in the house.” Well, it was time to put his claims to the test.

An awkward opening speech by an absurdly well-coiffed Anil Kapoor began the proceedings. It was followed by a short documentary about the play and its players began the proceedings. It was pretty much par for the course stuff. The basic hypothesis of Frankenstein is that human beings cannot be trusted to govern that which is forged by their own passions and intellect. It’s a time-tested, fear-inspiring formula repeatedly explored to great financial success in movies such as the Terminator or The Matrix series.

Dear, to inject freshness into a done-to-death story-line, approaches the subject from the point of view of the monster, which neither the original text nor the numerous film adaptations have done. It’s an interesting tack that is engaging for a while before it becomes predictable in its execution. Abandoned by his creator, shunned by society for his appearance, the monster learns hate and deceit “at the feet of my master”, and in turn, he becomes a true monster inside and out.

It is not particularly thought-provoking stuff. Missives against intolerance and meditations on human frailties have been done before, and done better. Dear contrives to spell out the nuances of thought in such obvious terms that one cannot help but feel a little patronised. In the scene where the monster rapes and murders Elizabeth, Dr. Frankenstein’s wife, Benedict Cumberbatch (as Frankenstein) goes to great lengths to make obvious the duality of his impulses, his rational urge for revenge, and his subsequent regret, firmly imposing the realisation on the audience. There is not really much chance for interpretation or discovery.

To be or not to be there
However, what the writing lacks is more than made up in stagecraft and performance. And much of the credit for Frankenstein’s success should go to Danny Boyle, Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller (as Dr Frankenstein). Cumberbatch’s monster is an absolute delight. The opening minutes, when the monster tears out of the ghostly illuminated womb of his master’s creation, and a rough cobble of limbs and organs thrash violently around the stage, trying to find purpose and unity, is disturbing to watch for its physical intensity. Cumberbatch’s naturally elvish features, even covered by thick grotesque scars, allude to the man the monster once was. The audience’s sympathy for the creature — which is essential in making the narrative work — is almost a given with Cumberbatch’s monster.

We, unfortunately, didn’t have an opportunity to see Miller in the monster’s role, but if reviews are anything to go by, his performance has been lauded in just as lavish terms.

The other hero of the show is the stagecraft. A huge conical mass of light-bulbs hangs imposingly on the stage, a massive orange stalactite of energy. One cannot even begin to imagine the wonder of actually sitting in the National Theatre watching it light up in its vast and luminescent glory. There is a definite difference in perspective, for the audience at the show and the audience watching the screening. It’s not merely the addition of a fifth wall, but also the visual perspective that multiple moving cameras provide. In a dark hall at the NCPA, sitting thousands of miles away, we were catching every subtle facial expression that no one beyond the first few rows in the theatre can hope to.

The cameras also alter the visual language of the play. In the scene where the monster first encounters rain and revels joyously in its sensation, the camera is placed in a bird’s eye view, which elevates the audience to a God-like status, looking down at Cumberbatch. Later, when it cuts to a long shot, we see what the audience sees, from a level similar to that of the actor, which inspires solidarity and sympathy.

These are issues to parse over. Theatre is at a very interesting juncture. Technology has made it possible to widen its audience beyond the confines of the hall. Filming is no longer an after-thought or intrusion, plays are being blocked, rehearsed and designed specifically to cater to the presence of the camera. Maybe in the future they will be written with the camera in mind. The lines between cinema and theatre will blur further.

Whether this bodes well or ill for theatre is open to debate. However, one thing is clear: no amount of fancy camera work can be a substitute for the actual experience of being there. As the screen went blank after the curtain calls, there was a strange sense of loss. The initial shock gave way to an overwhelming urge to be there, to feel the atmosphere charged with applause and wonder, heavy with the sweat of the actors. As we made our way out after the show, I happened to mention this to a friend, and he quipped, “It’s better than nothing, right?” Right. 

Frankenstein is showing today at the NCPA at 4 pm and 7 pm.