Cumberbatch and Miller in Frankenstein

Part of me really wanted to be disappointed with Danny Boyle’s Frankenstein; to come out, smugly, announcing that there was no substance to the most hyped production of the decade so far. Frankenstein, which debuted at the National Theatre at the end of last month, has been the arts world’s Royal Wedding. Household names rarely make it on stage, apart from the X-Factor style musical talent contests. Frankenstein gives an exception: the cast members, narrative and director all of fame in their respective areas of TV acting (Benedict Cumberbatch, following his success in BBC’s Sherlock Holmes), literature (Mary Shelley’s 19^th century novel made waves before the Mae Clarke horror classic), and film (Danny Boyle’s creations include Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours and Shallow Grave). Surely, it was too good to be true?

Plenty of people wanted to find out. So many, in fact, that the production sold out before its first night – resulting in the National Theatre providing live broadcasts to jam-packed cinemas around the UK. I grabbed one of the last tickets for such a screening.

While Boyle’s production strays firmly away from the bolt-necked hammery of the thirties movie, Nick Dear’s screenplay retains the period European setting of Shelley’s novel. Like a Christmas panto, it doesn’t take long for buxom whores, top-hatted drunks and waistcoated children to appear underneath the humming light bulb canopy which looms over the stage as a harbinger of the scientific revolution Victor Frankenstein teeters on. It is into this world that the Creature is born, quite literally, from a womb-like contraption which dominates the opening scene. The roles of the scientist Frankenstein and his Creature are swapped between Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller (taking lead from Boyle once again after starring in Trainspotting), although after seeing Miller play the Creature and Cumberbatch Frankenstein so expertly, I find it difficult to imagine the reversal.

The play tracks the Creature’s birth and development, through his education at the hands of a blind academic – from whom he learns to read Milton’s Paradise Lost and Frankenstein’s journal, which details his origin – to meeting his maker and their following tumultuous relationship.

The two hour, interval-free play moves fast as we watch the infant-like Creature develop. Miller sprawls on the stage like a newborn, mewling, laughing, teaching himself to walk with the teddy legs of a toddler on a crown man. It’s mesmerising to watch him survive the great outdoors, ecstatic at the light of the sun and picking up obscenities from tramps. His drooling, spitting enunciation and contorted movements make him as monstrous as the stitches which piece together his skull.

Cumberbatch, as Frankenstein, does well to interact with the Creature, who, by the time of their reunion, has become the audience’s beloved anti-hero. Together they bring the messages of nature verses nurture, creationism and mankind’s own destruction in an eloquent, if rather laboured way. The Creature’s child-like adoption of Milton illustrates the concepts of original sin smoothly; the dialogue in the second half of the play is enjoyable and thought-provoking.

Frankenstein’s latter half is also when the Boyle’s creative input is clearest. We are taken from the eerie waters of Lake Geneva to the cobbles of an isolated shack on a Scottish isle. The Creature becomes more brutal, demonstrating how he has “learnt the ways of humans: how to ruin, how to hate, how to debase, how to humiliate. And at the feet of my master I learnt the highest of human skills, the skill no other creature owns: I finally learnt how to lie.” Gone is the amusing parroting of his kindlier masters, instead we are presented with a Caliban who has learned too much.

This smooth, clever play does have some stumbling blocks. The frequent injections of humour don’t strike the right tone, making an uncomfortable lightness which jars with Frankenstein’s merits. The representation of society is weak: outside of the aristocratic Frankensteins, we see only the comedic poor – De Lacey making a rare exception as the Creature’s tutor. It’s also likely that purists will find Dear’s adaption rather dumbed down.
However, ultimately it deserves its hype. Frankenstein is the National’s new War Horse – moving, clever and crowd pleasing. It’s just a shame more people won’t be able to see it.

Frankenstein is showing at the National Theatre until May 2nd 2011.

To book tickets, see the National Theatre’s website, or telephone + 44 (0)20 7452 3000.