What Maggie Gyllenhaal has done in her reimaging of The Bride of Frankenstein is utterly deranged. And thank God. 

No shade to brilliant director James Whale, whose 1935 Universal sequel The Bride of Frankenstein is both exhilarating and cheekily queer. But — as Gyllenhaal has repeated frequently on The Bride!’s press tour — his titular monstress never speaks a word in her few short minutes of screen time. Still, as that original Bride, Elsa Lanchester made this she-beast an instantly compelling marvel who has become truly iconic, an intoxicating mix of high femme and the horrific. 

Gyllenhaal smartly pulls these stylistic elements into her Bride!, as her revived Bride coughs up black bile that stains her lips in a perfect Cupid’s bow, with a chic and unnerving stain creeping up her high cheekbones. Gyllenhaal also borrows from Whale the inspired choice to have her lead actress play both the Monster’s Mate (as Lanchester was originally credited) and the author who birthed her, Mary Shelley. However, far from the prim, giggling lady presented in The Bride of Frankenstein, Gyllenhaal’s Shelley (played by Hamnet Academy Award nominee Jessie Buckley) is a yowling spirit from beyond the grave who is thoroughly mad, in both senses of the word. 

Presented in a suffocating black-and-white close-up, a heaving Mary Shelley introduces this story as the one she still wished to tell, even from the grave. Her rage of being silenced echoes across the ages, possessing a gangster’s moll in 1930s Chicago. And from there, Gyllenhaal weaves in references to Whale’s Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein, Shelley’s novel Frankenstein, as well as Mel Brooks’ parody Young Frankenstein, Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde, and Lizzie Borden’s 1983 dystopian classic, Born in Flames. 

It’s a chaotic mix that is wild and messy, and utterly exciting. Through sputtering dialogue, propulsive and repulsive visuals, and even spirited dance numbers, The Bride! comes together into a dark, campy, and romantic tapestry. 

The Bride! slams Frankenstein’s monster into 1930s Chicago gangland. 

This Bride’s story begins at a long table in a Chicago nightclub, where a moll called Ida (Buckley) is playing nice to a crude gangster (Our Flag Means Death‘s Matthew Maher). But something overtakes her, and its name is Mary Shelley. Possessed by the author, Ida drops her placating smiles and spits on this brute. Her American accent is shed for a snarling British voice that howls of the crimes of a local kingpin. Ida can’t stop Mary from speaking from her mouth, and soon Ida will pay the price with a fatal fall.

Elsewhere in this bustling city, Frankenstein’s monster (Christian Bale), who prefers to go by “Frank,” has arrived at the door of Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening), a mad scientist with an interest in raising the dead. Pointing to her published works, the century-old monster entreats her to take pity on him and build him a bride, meaning a resurrected dead girl who could end his lonely wandering. Reluctantly, Euphronious agrees, and after a bit of grave-robbing, Ida is reinvigorated with no memory of who she was before and an alt-girl glow-up.

This radical experiment jolts Ida’s bob all white, eradicating the previously dark roots. The bile she sputters stains not only her face, but leaves lines down her neck to her breasts, down her arm to her fingers. She is stained or tattooed, giving a constant reminder to the darkness within her, even as her burnt-orange silk dress flutters around teal tights. 

Within Ida lies a fire, which fuels her to drag Frank to an underground night spot for dancing and debauchery. But when two strangers reject Ida’s refusal of their advances (“I prefer not to!” becomes her mantra), Frank steps in with a deadly chivalry. Now, these monsters must go on the run from the law. Like the legend of Bonnie and Clyde, they chase their bliss, busting heads along the way — while seeming doomed to a very violent end. But until then, female copycats emulate the Bride’s look and itchy trigger finger, while she and her monster mate fall in love. 

Maggie Gyllenhaal fuses romance and rage.

The politics of The Bride! are anything but subtle, as the speech of women is presented as a threat to a sordid status quo. From the start, Shelley reflects on how patriarchal society oppresses women’s speech as a matter of course. Ida is a threat to gangsters because of what she could say to the cops. As the Bride, it’s a furious speech she gives about “brain attack” that incites imitators who share her feminist fury. After that first attack, which Frank intervenes in, she’ll use a gun to defend herself against another attempted sexual assault from a man. She’ll sputter the phrase “me too” and speak of the “angry dead,” indicating a legion of women who demand to be heard from beyond the grave. 

The genre leanings of The Bride! urge Buckley into a manic performance that is often over the top, but this is wisely constructed as Ida is a woman possessed by the mad dead. One moment, she’s a good-time gal, joyous in dancing or watching a movie with Frank’s favorite film star, the singing, tap-dancing Ronnie Reed (a slick Jake Gyllenhaal). Next, she’s wrathful and ranting. And Frank is never thrown by her moods, instead swooning over her mind, even if he can’t understand her tumult. Therein lies the romance; he doesn’t love her despite her outrageous behavior, but for all of her.

How many of us can feel divided, pressured to be pleasing and happy, but pulled by a fury at injustice that threatens to electrify us like a lightning bolt, ripping our flesh from our very bones? Through her Bride, Buckley embodies the stressful duality of being a woman in a world run by violent men.

In a cheeky B-plot, Gyllenhaal also critiques so-called allies through Detective Jake Wiles, who is played by her real-life husband, Peter Sarsgaard. It’s Jake who’s tasked with tracking down the monsters on a spree across state lines. But Jake is not much of a detective. He calls himself the “Gal Friday” to his “secretary” Myrna Mallow (a gloriously chic Penélope Cruz), who is the real brains behind his operation. While their relationship is playful and platonic, Jake is a charming fool who gets all the credit, while she does all the actual detective work and gets only condescending sneers from policemen. In this too, Gyllenhaal expresses a wail of frustration. And yet…

The Bride! refuses to take itself or cinema too seriously. 

Some elements of Gyllenhaal’s gender politics might feel distractingly sharp amid the genre richness, like a monologue from Sarsgaard about how women are used and overlooked by the men around them. However, The Bride! avoids feeling preachy by embracing the same level of earnestness for Gyllenhaal’s stylistic big swings.

Colors switch from a gothic black-and-white to a grave-digging sequence flooded in a dreamy dark blue. A party sequence throbs with bisexual lighting, its dancers swirling in pinks, blues, and purples. Neon lights glitter in grimy cities, while the Bride’s costume screams with colors bright yet dingy. Moods swirl with the flush of blues, yellows, reds, and greens. 

It’s not a bright, bubbly, or even joyous palette. These hues are a reflection of the Bride’s need to be heard, to be seen. She will not be demure; she demands to stand out. This exhibitionism is further bolstered by the aforementioned dance numbers. The film is not just Frank and the Bride’s story, but also their fantasy. Having long clung to Hollywood cinema for solace in a lonely existence (relatable!), Frank imagines meeting his bride as something out of a movie. He even mimics a Ronnie Reed dance move he saw on the silver screen to woo her. Later, they will envision themselves on the screen — as dancing lovers, as lurking monsters — and they will bring both of these fantasies into their journey, as they decide who they will be to each other. 

In one of the film’s most shocking sequences, the pair cut loose at a posh party, upsetting the formal veneer with a furious explosion of movement. Others will be possessed by the Mary Shelley spirit, compelled to join in, creating a feral and fun flashmob. Yes, seeing Frankenstein’s monster dancing is reminiscent of Young Frankenstein, but just when you think that might be a nod to the Mel Brooks’ classic, Bale bellows out, “Putting on the ritz!” There is no doubt. Gyllenhaal isn’t winking at her references; she’s smirking at us with a wide-open mouth, ready to yawp. 

Gyllenhaal rejects fluidity or a staunch form that adheres to genre conventions. Instead, she boldly blends elements of horror with humor, romance with repulsion, creating an unapologetically wild and campy adventure. Some might call The Bride! messy or juvenile. I would call it alive and rebellious. 

Gyllenhaal and her cast don’t just dust off a classic tale for a safe money grab. (Looking at you, Disney live-action remakes!) They tear various Frankenstein iterations to bits, then create an exquisite corpse of the pieces, festooning it with elements from other films about violence, revolt, and violation. The result is a film that is utterly electrifying, sure to spark something in hearts young and old. 

While I relished this movie’s wild journey, I also grinned to imagine the girls who will watch this like I once did The Craft, appreciating its genre thrills and, beyond that, seeing myself in the furious and feminine at its core. 

The Bride! opens in theaters and IMAX on March 6.