Check out another review of Gods and Monsters by Patrick.

Gods and Monsters one of the best films playing in San Francisco right now, is the sad, tragicomic tale of one of the most inspired loonies ever to occupy the film director's throne, James Whale, the genius behind such indelible 1930s classics as Frankenstein, The Bride of Frankenstein, The Invisible Man and The Old Dark House. Great films then. Great films now. If you loved the Castro Theatre's recent festival of Universal Horror films featuring all of the above, you're in for a treat.

Bill Condon's excellent film opens in 1957, after Whale (Ian McKellan) has long faded from the scene. He lives a Has-been's lonely life, recalls the lost past, fruitlessly tries to seduce various young men (including an unctuous film buff, played with spectacular annoyance by Jack Plotnick), and struggles with the aftermath of a stroke that has further eroded his will to live. His only friend is his protective German maid Hanna (a brilliant and unrecognizable Lynn Redgrave).

Enter Clayton Boone (Brendan Fraser), Whale's a shambling, thuggishly handsome part-time lawnboy, a young drifter with no purpose, no identity. Whale first admires him as a possible conquest, but later comes to see him as quite something else. It seems as though young Clayton shares a distant resemblance to the most famous of Whale's film creations (the one played by Karloff).

Whale sets about trying to pull Clayton into his world, but he's repeatedly blocked by his illness and Clayton's violent revulsion at the older man's clumsy embrace. Yet, despite the profound gulf between them in class, background and sexual orientation, a tragic love blossoms, as Whale slowly realizes what role he really wants Clayton to play in the last act of his life.

Whale died a suicide in 1957 by drowning in his pool, but while the film freely fools with facts, its passion for its subject is unmistakable. Ian McKellan gets right to heart of Whale's vanity, fussiness, aching loss and loneliness. Rest assured he *will* be nominated for an Oscar this year. Lynn Redgrave should get a nod, too, as Hanna the smothering maid, one moment reacting indignantly shocked at her boss's sexual proclivities, the next minute bravely standing between him and the cruel world outside, like the most stubborn of hausfraus. She disappears so far into the role, I was shocked when the credits rolled by.

But the Surprise Performance of the Year Award goes to Brendan Fraser as Clayton Boone. I only knew of Fraser as a hunky stud from the Brad Pitt School of Acting, but it seems I was wrong. He acquits himself superbly as Clayton, revealing a rough, engaging rowdiness and tenderness at his core, his rage at his dead-end life and his fear at confronting the darkness the strange old man tries so hard to bring out of him. It's a rough performance and a powerful and brave one. To see such good work come from an unexpected corner is one of the great pleasures of the movies.

Writer-director Bill Condon weaves this tale of Whale's last days with a series of mostly good flashbacks that help us understand the roots of this unique artist and the profound sense of loss and alienation he confronted at the end of his life, (though the scene depicting Whale directing "Bride of Frankenstein" is stilted). Like Whale's films, "Gods and Monsters" is dotted with macabre funny touches that undoubtedly Whale himself would have appreciated. Yet, as the film approaches its tragicomic end and we learn of the object of Whale's greatest affection and what he must do if he ever hopes to find it again, you may find yourself deeply touched.

Condon adapted the film from Christopher Bram's novel Father of Frankenstein. Co-produced by fantasist Clive Barker, Gods and Monsters will amuse, delight and even move you. The film ends with one of the greatest closing shots I've seen in years, as Clayton finally becomes who he really is. One of those moments that make filmgoers say, "Now, *that* was a movie!"

[Thomas Burchfield can reached at TBDeluxe@aol.com and regularly appears on paper in Swing Time magazine.]

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