In this ongoing SHOCK column, journo Trevor Parker sifts through discount stores for the cheapest and coolest DVDs and Blus he can find and lives to tell the tale.
Survive long enough in the movie business and all sins are forgiven, all sentences eventually commuted. Take Roger Corman, the granddaddy of exploitation cinema, whose heyday of notoriously skinflint productions and blatant rip-offs of blockbuster premises earned him disdain from the Hollywood establishment. Today, thanks to the durable shelf life of the kind of genre films in which Corman specialized, hes the grinning recipient of honorary Oscars and subject of fawning documentaries filled with affectionate reminiscences from the many superstars whose careers he helped to ignite.
Cormans directorial talents are a little less redeemable than that of him serving simply as producer or talent scout. During the fifties and sixties, Corman-as-director was tireless in churning out artless kiddie-matinee dross like THE WASP WOMAN, making his few decent films from this era, such as the comedic LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS and BUCKET OF BLOOD, feel more like some kind of happy accident. Cormans cycle of films for AIP that loosely adapt author Edgar Allen Poe are rightly admired, though this columnist belongs to the naysayers who would cite the genius of screenwriters Richard (I AM LEGEND) Matheson, Charles (THE TWILIGHT ZONE) Beaumont, and Robert (CHINATOWN) Towne, along with the immortal appeal of star Vincent Price, as chiefly responsible for the Poe films following, as opposed to any deft directorial choices on Cormans part (Them’s fightin’ words, Parker! Corman is King! – Ed)
All of this preamble leads up to an examination of Cormans final (to date) directorial effort, 1990s FRANKENSTEIN UNBOUND, recently re-released on a cheap bare-bones (and man, is it ever bare-bones: there isnt even a menu!) disc from Anchor Bay. UNBOUND is based on a novel by Brian Aldiss and features John (ALIEN) Hurt as weapons developer Dr. Buchanan, whose latest death ray prototype unwittingly shreds a time portal into the sky above. Buchanan is wrenched, along with his slick and sassy computerized car, back through time; the portal isnt overly concerned with keeping place either, as Buchanan is flung from future America over to the Swiss villa where teenaged Mary Shelley is on the verge of writing her legendary novel FRANKENSTEIN. It becomes obvious to Buchanan that Shelley is basing her fiction on true eventshe soon encounters the real Doctor Victor Frankenstein, played by the late Raul (KISS OF THE SPIDER WOMAN) Julia. Buchanan then insinuates himself into the events that will unfold in Shelleys novel, and finds himself standing perilously close to the madness and the Monster
What can be celebrated with UNBOUND is Corman foregoing his usual cynically formulaic approach to casting, namely enlisting a known T.V. star or a previously bankable name in their decline. Hurt and a young Bridget Fonda as Mary Shelley are a welcome sight, and the great Raul Julias mellifluous stage-trained line readings are perfect for this sort of operatic material. Jason (THE LOST BOYS) Patric pops up midway through the film in a hilarious cameo as a foppish Lord Byron, and its fun to hear a pre-stardom Fonda mangle her accent. Less successful is Nick Brimbles portrayal of the Monster as a shouting, oafish brute. Brimble is in no way helped by Nick (The HARRY POTTER films) Dudmans lumpy splat of a makeup design, leaving the monsters visage looking like an insect after a high-speed collision with a windshield.
Corman also understands, as does his fellow genre renegade Charles Band, that filming in an actual medieval castle can up ones production value considerably. Thus, UNBOUNDs Italian locations are gorgeous and entrancing. Outside of this, the other elements of UNBOUND are much more difficult to try and defend. Corman is a classicist and has the frilly shirt-cuffs, the dank laboratories, and the bubbling beakers down pat. The overblown, amplified Gothicism of UNBOUND, howling its arias to the cheap seats, presaged Coppolas similar take on DRACULA by four years. What Corman also unfortunately brings is his characteristic rushed sloppiness: Confusing edits (such as during the death of Frankensteins betrothed), awkward inserts (Buchanan is dressed rather flippantly for a trudge across an icy tundra), inexcusable gaffes (a trio of supposedly butchered sheep are lain on their sides and can be seen still breathing quite heavily), and a more than a few instances of unintentional comedy (how about the Monster tearing off his own wounded arm and then wielding it as a club?). The script itself, co-written by Corman, takes Aldiss interesting CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHURS COURT riff on FRANKENSTEIN and goes nowhere with itits ultimately pointless and the conclusion is an abrupt disappointment. There are a few minor gore moments to help pass the time (best is the Monster literally disheartening some poor night sentry), but nothing particularly striking or original.
FRANKENSTEIN UNBOUND serves as an ignominious finale to Cormans directing career, as he is highly unlikely to unfold his canvas chair one more time while his age creeps toward the nine-decade mark. Even at a few measly bucks for the UNBOUND disc, it would be better to take pass on this one and then go grab one of Scream Factorys VINCENT PRICE COLLECTIONSa much better option for remembering the salad days of Cormans lengthy career.
