Dir/Wri: Maggie Gyllenhaal | Cast: Jessie Buckley, Christian Bale, Peter Sarsgaard, Annette Bening, Jake Gyllenhaal, Penélope Cruz, John Magaro, Matthew Maher, Jeannie Berlin, Zlatko Burić, Louis Cancelmi, Julianne Hough | US Fantasy thriller 2026 126’
“Never was a tale so fine as the Bride and her Frankenstein”
A Fritz Lang inspired black & white title sequence pictures a sinister Mary Shelley summoning inspiration for a sequel to Bride of Frankenstein (1935), James Whales’ silent horror movie, transporting us back to Chicago, New York and Niagara Falls of the 1930s for a ravishing riff on the Gothic tale. Like Elsa Lanchester before her, Jessie Buckley plays both the novelist Mary Shelley and the eponymous ‘Bride’.
The film opens on the banquette of Chicago jazz bar where a voluble, libidinous woman with blond Marcel waves, and more dark roots than Kunta Kinte, is having a moment. Ida (Buckley) will soon die, but not before admonishing mob leader Vito Lupino (Zlatko Burić) dining up at the bar. Two other men sit next to Ida although it’s unclear what their connection is to her: Clyde (Magaro), and James (Maher) – who tries to force-feed her an oyster – and then throws her down a stairwell.
Later Ida will be reanimated as the Bride in this daring second feature from Maggie Gyllenhaal. This latest film has that same focus: female empowerment, loneliness, and social alienation as The Lost Daughter. Overcoming a structural messiness by virtue of its sheer entertainment value The Bride is commendable for visual allure, ambitious vision and wonderful dance routines, all electrified by an outlandish performance from Jessie Buckley as the heroine.
Meanwhile, in another part of town, Dr Cornelia Euphronius (Bening) finds Bale’s Frankenstein knocking at the door of her plush laboratory. Ashamed by his ugly face and member akin to a bellybutton, Frank is looking for a mate, and pleads with the good doctor to make this happen along the lines of his own creation. In short, he’s lonely but wants love and romance. This ‘bride to be’ will certainly give him a run for his money.
Chicago in the 1930s was a rather raunchy place, not unlike Berlin of the Weimar years that were just coming to a close. We see Frank wandering through the streets in white tie and tails, wracked with loneliness. Chicago’s music scene was buzzing despite – or perhaps because of – the final knockings of Prohibition, and Frank, obsessed with Vaudeville, imagines himself as the fictitious star Ronnie Reed (J Gyllenhaal), dancing alongside Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers, spending his solitary days in the cinema, where he sings along with Fred, much to the consternation of the audience.
But first, Frank and Cornelia must head off to a cemetery to dig up Ida’s cadaver and galvanise her into action back at the lab. Burping and belching up black blood, the new Bride embodies a smokey-eyed Jean Harlow on a bad hair day, with the snarkiness of Mae West, the wit of Dorothy Parker, and the immaculate English diction of Joan Greenwood, all rolled into one.
Frank is a disillusioned romantic and Christian Bale plays him with a subtle soulfulness that makes Frank appealing despite his facial staples and sutures. And although horrified when the Bride first meets this ‘monster’, his toned body will be the kicker for a full-on romance (clinched in a scene where he strips off in a fountain).
The two ‘monsters’ gad about town after nightfall in a Bonnie & Clyde style escapade, causing hilarious havoc. Frank turns into the ‘Incredible Hulk’ whenever his feisty mate’s honour is challenged, and although her loucheness turns him off, his heart warms to her vulnerability. The Bride brings out the worst in him as the two of them embark on naughty crime spree, indulging in outrageous dance routines accompanied by hits of the era: ‘Putting on the Ritz’ is a riot. Their is a marriage made in Hell, of two troubled souls – and boy, does the Bride love oysters. (boom-boom).
The Bride is not just a companion for Frank, she has her own mind and speaks it incessantly serving as a feminist poster girl for all women undermined by men. Two detectives, Jake Wiles (Sarsgaard) and his sidekick Myrna Malloy (Cruz), then arrive to investigate the gruesome deaths all over the city. and this noirish plotline adds another dimension, bringing the film around to its satisfying (if overwrought) conclusion. The script could do with some pruning but the ideas are admirable.
Performance-wise it’s a brilliant cast although Penelope Cruz feels forced and one-note as the Spanish-speaking Malloy wheeling out her signature coquettish schtick, in contrast to Peter Sarsgaard’s detective that adds depth and emotion in a role that unites his past with that of the Bride. “Is The Bride a ghost story, a horror story, or most frightening of all, a love story?” say Shelley. You’ll have to decide for yourself.
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