National Theatre Live's 'Frankenstein' 23/09/2020

In many ways, there have been a lot of good things to come from the period of lockdown we were all forced globally, some more willingly than others, to endure. For my household of culture vultures, this included such things as the streaming of plays and other stage shows through youtube, virtual tours of Unesco world heritage sights and live zoom interviews. These are things which without, I’m sure a lot of people would have found isolation considerably more testing, if not at the very least less entertaining. I am of course referring to the middle class amongst us. Those who find the idea of dinner without a bottle of chateau la fit on the table not only catastrophic, but embarrassingly so. Although, perhaps by making these events not only easily accessible but also free, the lockdown has thrust certain luxuries which were previously seen as bourgeois and exclusionary, into the homes of people who wouldn’t normally feel comfortable, or perhaps don’t have the financial means, to attend them in ‘real life’. It is a fortunate consequence that has permitted the elbowing to the front row, so to speak, of those who often find themselves excluded from ‘high society’. With a second lockdown looking more than likely, we can only hope that the international desperation for an engagement with the arts, as well as a hopeful if not slightly disingenuous form of regularity will spur on the creators of these philistine transfixiations.  

Like many other families, the rents and myself made the most of these live streams and opportunities to catch shows we would otherwise have missed. Not that I consider myself a regular theatre attendee at all. We tend to lead towards the more working class mode of entertainment by way of £5 cinema tickets and a pint on a Sunday afternoon. Still, when an opportunity arises there is no reason not to grasp it with both hands. See how the other half live, etc etc. The most memorable of the performances we watched together was, for me, the stage adaptation of Mary Shelley’s ‘Frankenstein’, starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller. Upon watching what I would actually call a ‘masterpiece’ (not a term I use lightly), I was amazed not only by the acting of the two aforementioned gentlemen (two versions were streamed in which they swapped the roles of Victor Frankenstein and ‘the monster’ and my step-mum and I did indeed watch both, it was that captivating) but also of the content of the play itself. In fact, I immediately ordered a copy of Shelley’s novel in order to confirm that the play was an incredible adaptation as well as a theatrical piece of its own valor. 

I think part of the reason why I was so engrossed by the play was due to the realistic conveyance of human emotion, a centric theme vigorously explored throughout. More so than a mere drama production. Inherently, I found ‘Frankenstein’ to be a play encompassing the primal basis of human nature, teaching us as much about our own behaviours as the comportment of others. For me, it was the first time theatre has truly seemed like an expression of something profound, even philosophical, as a legitimate method of encouraging a deeper level of understanding. The conveyance of the monster’s pain implored the observer to ache almost in the same way he does, just through witnessing his treacherous misery. Much like the Monster’s grasp of humanity develops as the play does, I found myself realising the distinction between base human emotions, and the deeper, more profound feelings which we cannot repress or abrogate as we learn more about the world and our place in it. Though try as we might. 

The first time in the play that I began to realise what an utter genius Mary Shelley was, was the scene where Frankenstein’s monster learns about the painful heat of fire through the sense of touch, when he finds the remains of the fire left behind by two men. It is such a simplistic act, and one I’m sure many of us repeat regularly, but the portrayal of it held so much more depth of meaning. I saw this relatively minor physical pain as a propellant of sorts for the later onslaught of excruciating affliction the monster was set to endure. The creature then discovers hunger, how the desire to quell it can serve as a motivation to act, to carry on when everything else around you is unknown. As a device, ‘the monster’ portrays not only the physical desires and reactions men experience, but also the effect that our behaviours can have on one another. His only wish when he is but a few days old is to find food and survive, this is all he knows, thus these become the base primal instincts of humanity. However, almost immediately he is met with revulsion and hostility, showing the callous vanity humans are capable of exhibiting. 

By contrast, Frankenstein perhaps teaches us lessons not only about what we ought to value in others, but also about how to interact with people whose values don’t necessarily directly align with our own. There’s a reason Shelley also suggested the title ‘The Modern Prometheus’ for her short novel, as he was a man trying to do good for others by stealing fire for them, yet was chained as his actions were seen as deceitful and wrong. Our ignorance or intolerance to other people’s ways of thinking or towards people who are considered ‘different’ to us is represented through the irony of Delacy’s blindness. The only other character in the whole play who truly accepts Frankenstein’s monster as a valuable member of society (with the exception of Elizabeth, although like Delacy her acceptance is also met with a fatal and premature end). Delacy’s inability to see is most prominent in proving that appearance is both insignificant, yet at the same time one of the most important aspects of another person when it comes down to interaction between ourselves as a species and our judgement of one another. We see an example of this through the inducement of Delacey’s son’s fear. A fear which leads to his son’s intent to protect his father but transversely expresses his instinctual cruelty towards the monster. Doubtless in part due to the pain and suffering Shelley had endured throughout her own life, she manages to encapsulate the complexities in human danger, both the desire to protect and the instinct to harm in so doing, which shows the best and worst of human nature. Our capability for destruction is undeniable and perhaps one of the best things we can learn from this play are lessons of acceptance. 

Additionally, I think one of the most important lessons is that of loyalty. The monster decides to kill Elizabeth because he is harshly betrayed by Victor, his creator, who taunts him with the creation of a partner. Through this act, we as an audience are shown the development of the monster’s humanity in such a way as to make us aware of how the evil ways in which he has been treated have damaged him. It is not that humans are good because we are capable of our own thoughts and conclusions, but rather it is how we execute that educated power within ourselves in relation to our treatment and regard of those around us. From a religious perspective, perhaps we ought to understand this as a message condemning the recreation (or attempt thereof) of God’s work, as well as the unfairness of our lot in life. Ultimately, Elizabeth suffers despite having committed no wrong throughout the play, showing in one of the most intimate formats that our fate does not always necessarily align with our actions. 

I would argue that the play ought to be taken as a lesson that it is necessary for us to change our inherent behaviour, making us question why it is that our instincts tell us to treat strangers with contempt and rejection, when surely it would be much kinder to accept people into a welcoming and nurturing society. In this sense, perhaps we should be ashamed of ourselves, both individually and communally. Why is it that we don’t trust difference? By extension, does this mean that we ought to trust ourselves?