Jay Rohr
Young Frankenstein proves the potential of parody to explore not simply ridicule. Even better, unlike too many contemporary spoofs, mockery is reserved for human foibles rather than the source material. The result is a masterful display of cinematic brilliance where, as Mel Brooks put it, “good sense and caution are thrown out the window and madness ensues.”
The film stars Gene Wilder as Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. Grandson of the notorious Victor, he has made every effort to detach himself from his family’s gruesome reputation for grave robbing as well as what he considers dubious claims of reanimating the dead. Having inherited his grandfather’s estate, Frederick travels to Transylvania to review the property. There, he encounters colorful characters courtesy of Marty Feldman, Teri Garr, and Academy award-winner Cloris Leachman as Igor, Inga, and Frau Blücher. Together they uncover and restart Victor’s old experiments which Frederick realizes could very well work.
It’s important to keep in mind Young Frankenstein isn’t inspired by one film. Like most Mel Brooks parodies, several movies contributed to the overall comedy. In DVD commentaries and interviews, Wilder and Brooks have stated that the composition draws elements from Frankenstein (1931), The Bride of Frankenstein (1935), Son of Frankenstein (1939), and The Ghost of Frankenstein (1942). Not to mention a meticulous assessment of the original novel. Visually, though, their spoof is primarily influenced by the first two films directed by James Whale.
Replicating another movie’s appearance is a remarkably complicated undertaking. Cinematographer Gerald Hirschfeld and production designer Dale Hennesy worked closely with one another as well as makeup designer William Tuttle to satirically recapture the look of the 1931 horror classic. Hirschfeld once reminisced about “over-emphasizing” backlighting, keeping middle tones at a minimum, and overall high contrast. They needed a mind-boggling multitude of photographic and special effects to properly capture fog, rain, corpses, candles, and 500,000-volt electrical discharges.
Meanwhile, Dale Hennesy produced impressive, massive sets, often decorated in ways which allowed the cinematographer to capture any tone desired. But perhaps the production’s greatest stroke of luck involved finding Kenneth Strickfaden, “an expert in high voltage electricity, film set designer, and electrical special effects.” Utilizing skills earned as a carnival electrician, he established the Hollywood notion of the quintessential mad scientist lab. Most notably, the one seen in James Whale’s Frankenstein. When tracked down to ask about that set, Strickfaden had most of the old props in a garage. This would all combine to lend a layer of authenticity rarely seen in spoofs.
Timelessness echoes timelessness, especially as one immortal creation inevitably influences another. Science fiction begins with Mary Shelley’s legendary novel. Whatever proto elements existed in previous stories, such as the Japanese fairytale Taketori Monogatari (The Tale of the Bamboo Cutter), about a moon princess hiding on Earth to escape a space war, or how Shakespeare’s The Tempest is arguably a mad scientist story — Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus amalgamates science and fiction into the contemporary concept.
Mary Shelley’s writing marked the path cinematic masterpieces followed such as Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927) which would stylistically inspire James Whale’s adaptation of Shelley’s novel, especially the character of Marie, the artificial woman echoed in The Bride of Frankenstein. In addition, the 1931 film adaptation of Frankenstein fused Gothic romanticism with German Expressionism and a dash of the carnival. There’s no denying a certain flashy panache blending spectacle with atmosphere. Utilizing ideas generated by “films such as Das Kabinett des Dr. Caligari (1919), Der Golem (1915) and Metropolis, Whale’s Frankenstein paved the way for future horror features.” Consequently, the ensuing classic would almost inevitably get parodied.
After all, as Russian philosopher and literary theorists, Mikhail Bakhtin essentially argued, “as soon as someone creates art… the parody already exists in theory because it derives from the style of the original.” Consequently, iconic art is often an obvious target since the spoof is their shadow. Granted, ridicule often deflates icons, as Brooks did with the Western genre in Blazing Saddles (1974).
He once remarked, “We’re going to take on every cliché in the book and hope that we’re going to kill them off in the process.”
However, that was aimed at the Western which painted an erroneous mythologized notion of the United States. In that respect, parody provided a means of exploring flaws in the genre. With Young Frankenstein, the script Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder conceived offered an opportunity to highlight the metaphorical aspects of horror while making them easier to look at. Commenting on films such as The Mummy (1932), The Exorcist (1973), and The Relic (1997), Mark A. Hall wrote in the essay “Romancing the Stones: Archaeology in Popular Cinema” that allowing films, “to stand as colourful, narrative-driven popular metaphors questioning received wisdom then they form a valid, more coherent debating position in a social dialogue.”
Heightening the horror into the realm of the absurd made it more palatable but no less socially relevant. Furthermore, it showcases the fright film’s tendency towards a myopic view of the unsettling. After all, monsters aren’t always reanimated corpses and grave robbing mad scientists.
At one point, Brooks and Wilder magnificently depict the seemingly rational descent into violent mob mentality. The frightened townsfolk easily go from zero to bloodthirsty in record time. And although one could argue there’s a reason for their anxiousness, especially when Kenneth Mars as Inspector Kemp alludes to the previous Frankenstein films, they are just as easily quieted by The Monster’s impassioned speech at the end. Young Frankenstein illustrates the fickleness of the mob, warning how easily even rational people can be led astray by fear.
Having fought in World War II, Mel Brooks saw first-hand the horrors of people inspired to embrace their worst impulses. Yet, the atrocious ways humans mistreat one another are shamefully prevalent in myriad ways. Consider the Red Summer of 1919 when white supremacist terrorism triggered race riots in three dozen U.S. cities murdering hundreds of African Americans. Or the rise of modern populist movements worldwide. Although comedic, the pitchfork and torch mob in Young Frankenstein is no less a warning.
It’s easy to link such concerns to Mel Brooks being Jewish. Jeremy Dauber, who wrote Mel Brooks: Disobedient Jew observed that “Brooks did so much to shape not just Jewish comedy and American comedy, but also how American Jews thought about themselves in the second part of the twentieth century.” In essence, facing the duality of those never fully embraced by a society that claimed to have open arms. Something easily seen in monster movies, especially the Frankenstein franchise.
Comedy, as a form of cultural examination, often has the shortest shelf life. Even the best examples lose their humorous aspects as norms evolve and references fade into obscurity. To get the gags, engaging with Ancient Greek comedies requires some knowledge of their theatrical traditions, mythology, politicians, popular people, etc. Similarly, certain jokes in films like Airplane! (1980) don’t land with contemporary audiences because certain pop culture references have vanished from public consciousness. The abysmal parodies disgorged by Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer — Epic Movie (2007), Meet the Spartans (2008), Disaster Movie (2008) — are a prime example of comedy relying too heavily on painfully dated pop culture references, the crudest crassness, and objectionable stereotypes. Although their failing is also marked by another key flaw.
“The parody of… Mel Brooks is defined by love, knowledge, and appreciation… The comedy of Seltzer-Friedberg, in sharp contrast, is defined by… contempt for the attention span, intelligence, maturity, and frame of reference for the audience, and an even more raging contempt for the source material they’re spoofing. Friedberg and Seltzer aren’t writers; they’re comic terrorists who cavalierly destroy what others create for their own ugly self-interest.”
Young Frankenstein is a golden example of this contrast between attempts at parody. For example, the Seltzer-Friedberg Scary Movie spoofs often mock being gay. Brooks, however, maintains the quiet queer-coding found primarily in The Bride of Frankenstein. The campiness of this darkly comedic sequel, the titular Bride’s connection to drag aesthetics, and the effeminate reimagining of Dr. Praetorius, who lures Dr. Frankenstein from his marital bed to continue their “experiments” — Vito Russo details a great deal of ways the Whale pictures can be interpreted in The Celluloid Closet.
Jeremy Dauber also wrote about the “sense of performance, of code and disguise, of relationships obscured and blazing forth,” as well as how, “Brooks mused in an interview in 1977 that every one of his movies… was also about ‘the love story between two men.’” Granted, he may have meant something closer to intimate platonic affection, yet an openly expressed love between two men, whatever the context, wasn’t common at the time. And the kindness with which Gene Wilder’s character treats Peter Boyle as The Monster is loving in a way men weren’t typically displayed on screen. More common was the gruff almost begrudging bromance seen in flicks like Scarecrow (1973) featuring Gene Hackman and Al Pacino as bonded hobos.
Comedy gives license to an open display of emotion contrary to many antiquated masculine notions, and while there is room for the interpretation of a father-child dynamic, to say a symbolic moment can only have one interpretation is idiotically restrictive. The overall point is that Brooks didn’t shy away from emphasizing things audiences found uncomfortable. Turning them comedic made them, for lack of a better term, more acceptable, but most importantly, present. When Wilder is gently hugging Boyle, different viewers may interpret the scene their own way, yet they cannot deny seeing two men tenderly engaged with one another.
That desire for human connection is a theme linking every Frankenstein adaptation back to Mary Shelley’s novel. From Peggy Webling’s play Frankenstein: An Adventure in the Macabre (which influenced the James Whale film) to numerous scenes in Young Frankenstein, there is an obvious search for fulfilling relationships. The Monster’s desire for acceptance is the most obvious. Then there’s Frederick, who doesn’t really connect with his socialite fiancé, Elizabeth, played by the marvelous Madeline Kahn. Although, it’s Gene Hackman, uncredited as the Blind Man, whose scene personifies loneliness the best.
Comedically, it’s one of many highpoints in Young Frankenstein. Thematically, it goes to the very heart of the film. Hackman as a blind hermit, desperate for companionship, welcomes the reanimated corpse with open arms. Here we see incomplete people trying to find the missing pieces of their lives. Consider Frederick, who only seems to come alive when he embraces the mad scientist in his blood; his long-denied heritage completing him. There is also Frau Blücher resurrecting her lost lover’s experiments to keep his dream alive and, by extension, have some semblance of him around.
It’s easy to reflect on the obvious comedic delights of this 50-year-old film. Recapping beloved jokes is simple enough. I suspect fans of the feature even heard a horse cry out when they read the name Frau Blücher. (There it is again.) But humor is the surface layer of a great spoof.
Parody tends to attack the now. Its punchlines are designed to jab at current cultural notions. Young Frankenstein, however, is a smart comedy, not simply because of clever word play, visual mimicry, or masterful timing. The movie’s real intelligence is lampooning human behavior in general which changes less frequently than pop culture references. That provides a universality to the film’s events which apply across time. From the angry mob incited by fear of the unknown and abnormal to the loneliness of its incomplete main characters to a desire to resist death, Young Frankenstein comedically clonks humanity with our own absurdity.
Although this may inspire self-reflection, it can also be easily ignored. The deeper points of view overlooked while laughing. And that’s okay. There’s nothing shallow about missing the layers of a clever comedy so long as the jokes land. But the presence of such depths may be what keeps the film humorous so many years later. By speaking to something deeper, Young Frankenstein can tickle as well as terrify audiences with an honest look at humanity.
