What a strange departure. Where the original _Frankenstein_ was simple but direct, lean and effective and memorable for the right reasons, _Bride of Frankenstein_ is forced, meandering and overproduced.

Disregarding the ending of the initial adventure is a bad way to start, especially when that moment was such a key part of what made the story so powerful. Here, after a long dalliance in Mary Shelley's parlor(?!) and a rapid recap of the saga so far, we learn that creature and creator have each miraculously survived near-certain doom, and neither appears to have learned from their mistakes. I say this because both are almost immediately right back at it, doing the same crap that delivered them to death's doorstep in the first place. For a mindless monster, that can be forgiven (though _Bride_ quickly transforms him from a stumbling hulk of raw emotion to a speaking, stogie-smoking antithesis), but Doc Frankenstein had effectively denounced his own actions when last we saw him. And why should I buy in for the epic conclusion this time, knowing how permanent the last one turned out to be? You just erased it an hour ago!

Still, the chase to replicate the mad doctor's one-off experiment is a catchy catalyst; the potential of a mate for the lonesome creature a tempting tease. The giant's passing friendship with a blind priest is strong material, if far too fleeting and simplistic. There are several such effective flashes, glimmers of potential amidst all the oddball distractions and broken promises, but they're entirely unrefined and unrealized. Worst of these offenders is the bride herself, who exists more as an idea than a legitimate character. After so much anticipation, it's tough not to feel deflated when she springs to life for all of five minutes at the very end and then fizzles out like a wet firecracker. Efforts are made to conclude the story with profundity once again, but this time the lesson is less organic and nuanced. A blunt, strained farewell for a gaudy, pointless sequel.