To be more than the Monster. To understand that he was a product of science and obsession. To establish that he was more than some fiend roaming the mountainside. Karloff was able to do so much more later with Bride. But Frankenstein (1931) was more of a starting point. Bride would be where he could take this supposed beast and speak, even if in choice words from an abnormal brain. The confusion and aloof response to a world new to him, adapting to surroundings that seem to imprison him, a freakish humpback that only offers danger through lit torch, all that is introduced to him appears to harbor harm towards him. And a misunderstanding in his mishandling of a girl who he hoped would float like her pretty flowers. It all bombards him from his immediate awakening to his bitter *end*. Karloff lifting his hands to the light, reaching for something pleasant, with that taken from him far too soon. His eyes and hands, and that face expressing the experience of it all. How I respect and appreciate his talent.
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