Movies of War

Nearly 100 years after she first graced the screen, Elsa Lanchester’s Bride of Frankenstein has become a feminist icon. When we think of a monstrous woman, it’s often her billowing hospital gown and electrified updo we’re picturing. Though she looms large over the horror genre, the Bride only appears in a single scene, with most of James Whale’s 1935 film centering on the decision to create a female companion. Finally brought to life, the Bride hisses in horror at the man she’s been created to match and rejects the assumption of her love simply because they share the same origin. Insisting, “we belong dead,” the Monster (Boris Karloff) brings the castle down upon their heads, and we’re left to wonder what might have been. What would the Bride of Frankenstein do if she had the chance to roam the world, and who would she choose to be her mate? Yorgos Lanthimos’ Poor Things attempts to answer these questions by offering extended life to a proxy Bride. Based on Alasdair Gray’s postmodern retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the story begins with a pregnant woman flinging herself into the river. Moments later, we see her sitting in dour black and white, banging sullenly on a piano as an ominous man watches from the shadows. We soon learn that after Victoria (Emma Stone) drowned in the river, her body was brought to the laboratory of Dr. Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe). Feigning altruism, the mad scientist surgically removed the fetus and transplanted its brain into Victoria’s skull before bringing the corpse back to life. Victoria no more, she arises as Bella Baxter (Stone), a fully mature woman saddled with the brain of a newborn child. Lanthimos presents this unsettling creature with absurd humor while Stone — in an Oscar-winning performance — leans into the bit. Bella stumbles around Godwin’s elaborate home, struggling to master control of her limbs. She speaks with the fractured sentences of a child and throws tantrums when she does not get her way. While indeed humorous, deeper consideration reveals the horror of this juxtaposition. Victoria made a clear decision to end her life, but Godwin has robbed her of this autonomy. Later scenes will reveal that Victoria dreaded motherhood and referred to her unborn child as “the monster,” a shocking inversion of Frankenstein lore. With her own identity gone, she has become a human incubator for the child she did not want to bear. Seemingly punished for her choice, Victoria has been turned into a living marionette by a man Bella refers to as God. She will eventually forgive her “father” for this act, and Dafoe does much to redeem the character. He dotes on his latest experiment and begrudgingly allows her to leave his house, but not before trying to lock her down. Sensing Bella’s growing wanderlust, Godwin arranges for her to marry Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef), his medical assistant and protege, though she is still intellectually a child and barely understands what she’s agreeing to. Playing into Max’s attraction to the beautiful and beguiling woman, Godwin draws up a contract binding the couple to remain in his house for the rest of their lives. Shocked at the suggestion, Max admits he’d assumed that Godwin was raising the woman to serve as his mistress, taking advantage of a dead woman’s body while removing her ability to give consent. Incensed, Godwin explains that he is a eunuch incapable of sexual acts — hardly the defense he thinks it is. As Bella matures, we discover more of Godwin’s tortured mind. Constantly dismembering corpses in his lab, we see that the “genius” has also been experimenting on animals, grafting pigs’ heads onto the bodies of birds and vice versa. Though monstrous, we learn that Godwin was once a subject of similar experimentation at the hands of his own world-renowned father. In addition to surgical scars covering his body, his thumbs were dwarfed in a painful attempt to slow the process of cellular growth, and essential organs have been removed so his father could see what their absence would do. Though pitiable, Godwin has inherited this exploitative view of medicine. While Bella is gone, he and Max create Felicity (Margaret Qualley), another infantilized woman who must be tended to like an infant. When Bella asks why they would do this to another human being, Max simply explains, “We missed you.” Having finally convinced Godwin to release her — chloroforming Max when he stands in her way — Bella sets out to see the world with a sleazy lawyer named Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo). Lanthimos switches to color as the young woman gleefully discovers the dual pleasures of food and sex. Raised in Godwin’s progressive house, Bella has the confidence of a man and the insatiable curiosity of a child. She sees no reason to limit herself and does not code her words in feminine subservience. Outside the bedroom, Duncan bristles at her frank honesty. During dinner with another couple, he forbids her from saying anything but “delighted,” “how marvelous,” and “how do they get the pastry so crisp?” Bella rubs his nose in this absurdity, rejecting his need to diminish her mind. But it’s Bella’s unrestrained sexuality that Duncan cannot abide. While he rests, she explores the city and winds up finding another partner. Duncan is devastated by this news, while Bella marvels at his blubbering hysterics and can’t understand why she should limit herself to a single man. It’s in this perceived rejection that Duncan transforms from a confident cad to a predator consumed with jealousy. He smuggles Bella onto an ocean liner where she will essentially be trapped by the sea, but this plan backfires as the maturing woman meets new friends who introduce her to philosophy. Once again, Duncan tries to control Bella’s expanding mind, throwing her books overboard. He knows that knowledge will lead to empowerment and the realization that she can survive on her own. In a last-ditch effort to restore his idea of dignity, Duncan proposes marriage, threatening murder if she does not agree. He can’t understand a partnership with a woman who doesn’t depend on him and knows he must force Bella into commitment because he has nothing to offer but control. In Marseille, Bella finally ditches her sniveling companion and turns to sex work as a means of employment. Applying to a nearby brothel, she candidly explains, “I need sex and money. I could take a lover, another Wedderburn, who would keep me, but may require an awful lot of attention. Or else it’s twenty minutes at a time, and the rest of my day is free to study on the world and the improvement of it.” Though she takes issue with her inability to select her Johns, Bella views the job as a capitalist experiment and an opportunity to explore humanity. While this startling sequence could be interpreted as glorifying sexual abuse and a woman willfully foregoing consent, Lanthimos instead presents a refreshing look at the empowerment sex work can offer under the right circumstances. With a kind, albeit toothy mistress, Bella explores the nature of human attraction, embracing her own proclivities while learning the value of intimacy. Maturing with each experience, Bella grows into a conscientious woman. Though she never loses her delightfully blunt way of speaking, she stops centering her immediate desires and takes others into consideration. Devastated by the deaths of unhoused babies, she gives all her money to the poor, charmingly unaware that the random sailor she hands the loot to will probably keep it for himself. As a sex worker, she’s introduced to a larger system of competing needs. Though the work is often unpleasant, she befriends a young socialist named Toinette (Suzy Bemba) and learns to sacrifice for the collective good. When news of Godwin’s failing health brings her back to his house, Bella reconnects with Max and makes plans to settle down. But Duncan rears his ugly head, this time joined by a man who is somehow more vile. Confusing Bella for Victoria, Alfie Blessington (Christopher Abbott) interrupts the wedding, insisting that she is already his wife. Likely curious about her mother, Bella returns to Alfie’s ancestral home and quickly discovers his cruelty. The decorated soldier constantly points a pistol at his household staff and torments them with dangerous pranks. He insists Victoria was a willing partner in this sadism, though he is hardly a reliable source. We can now assume that she jumped into the river to escape her husband’s constant abuse. Perhaps it was not the baby she loathed but the way motherhood would tie her to his awful man. Fearing that his wife will leave him again, Alfie enlists a doctor to perform horrific genital mutilation, assuming female hysteria caused Victoria to flee and not his own depravity. He plans to drug her with chloroform and oversee the painful operation, explaining, “My life is dedicated to the taking of territory. You are mine, and that is the long and short of it.” Claiming that she would rather die, Bella thankfully gets the upper hand, and Alfie accidentally shoots himself. Mimicking Godwin’s horrific experiments, she removes the man’s human brain and replaces it with that of a goat. Alfie will live out his remaining days bleating and grazing the plants on Bella’s patio. Though cathartic, this shocking modification adds purpose to Godwin’s dastardly work. Alfie’s debasement was not performed for Bella’s amusement, but to prevent him from harming anyone else. Though not overtly horrific, Poor Things is a story of monstrous men who find power in objectifying women. We can draw a direct line between Godwin’s attempts to trap Bella with diminished mental capacity and Alfie’s planned surgery. Both men use perverted medical procedures to attempt control over female desires, assuming that with limited options, she will perform the illusion of choosing their companionship. But perhaps more sinister is the line we draw between Duncan’s pathetic jealousy and Alfie’s attempts at forced subservience. Duncan’s hamfisted manipulation may be annoying in the courtship phase, but his attempts to make Bella a proper woman are stepping stones down the dangerous path to Alfie’s physically abusive control. Thankfully, we leave Bella in a feminist utopia. Godwin has passed away, and she has inherited his lavish estate. With McCandles’ help, she begins studying to become a doctor, her way of contributing to society. The happy couple lives peacefully with Toinette while Felicity continues to mature, and Alfie idly roams the grounds. Perhaps if Lanchester’s Bride had escaped Dr. Frankenstein’s crumbling lab, she could have led a similar life or found a group of like-minded friends. Bella’s story becomes a hopeful what-if; a vision of the life women could lead if we unlearn the patriarchal controls implanted in our brains since birth. The true horror of Poor Things lies not in what Bella experiences, but in the way her empowerment reflects our own limitations. Navigating a series of predatory men determined to exploit her at every turn, we watch Bella’s liberation and realize we’re still trapped in the dangerous world she’s somehow managed to escape. 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