Review: THE BRIDE! is Raucous, Rebellious Horror Filmmaking

A lonely, rotting monster. A deceased snitch possessed by Mary Shelley's spirit. A romance from beyond the grave—but is it a love story?

Maggie Gyllenhaal's The Bride! is at once a reclamation of Bride of Frankenstein on behalf of Shelley, a whacked-out 1930s gangster mutation, and a voice for Shelley that never existed. It's a chaotic take that's more Poor Things than Universal Monsters, albeit a traditional Frankenstein interpretation. Gyllenhaal's fever dream of a monster mash seeks inspiration anywhere from Bonnie and Clyde to Fred Astaire; Todd Phillips' The Joker flicks to Pussy Riot's venom. It's a creature feature about feminist rage with a plot hanging by a thread, but by the sheer force of punk-rock gothic exuberance, The Bride! is one hell of a ride.

The indomitable Jessie Buckley stars as living Ida, then "The Bride," but in both instances—speaking through out-of-body outbursts—Mary Shelley. You see, Shelley's soul inhabits young Ida's body just before she croaks (chalk it up to crime syndicate funny business). Around the same time, Frankenstein's monster (aka "Frank," played glibly by Christian Bale) approaches the mad Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening), begging for a partner. So, Frank and Dr. Euphronious go graverobbing and hoist Ida's cold cadaver out of the dirt. She's reanimated without memories, much to Frank's pleasure, but the combination of Ida and Shelley might prove too much for anyone to handle.

The foundational basics that define Bride of Frankenstein are present, but you've never seen 'em like this before. Gyllenhaal's snazzy recreation of 1930s Chicago and New York City is dripping with eye-popping detail, with a shout-out to glitzy, showbiz-poppy production design. Frank's obsession with fictional actor Ronnie Reed seeps into visuals (Jake Gyllenhaal as the toe-tapping, nationally beloved superstar), as Gyllenhaal's adoration of Old Hollywood glamor becomes the film's defining trait. But, it's never in full synchrony with the practices of old, as The Bride! boasts a rebellious moxie that fuses a unique generational hybrid. It's like Nightmare Alley and Reefer Madness had a graveyard tryst while listening to Bauhaus, but even that doesn't quite capture Gyllenhaal's amorphous tribute to the past.

Buckley is unstoppable in all her roles, which call for such demanding splits in personality. Ida is a free-willed Chicagoan, whether alive or dead-alive, while wordsmith Shelley speaks with a flowery yet thorny vocabulary (in an English accent). She's two women fighting for control of the same body, as talented as James McAvoy in Split. But even better, she's this seething megaphone for women at large. Gyllenhaal uses The Bride to not only expose Frank's loneliness as the "male loneliness epidemic" kind, but goes further to use The Bride as a rallying cry for the women of the era, many of whom fell victim to misogynistic fates with no escape. Buckley's performance basks in a balmy bitterness that projects with scene-stealing intensity, as Bale watches in awe, Frank smitten by his queen.

The film, across the board, uses The Bride's predicament to say more about women's hardships as a necessary update. It's the little details, like Det. Jake Wiles (Peter Sarsgaard), recognizing his "secretary" Myrna Mallow (Penélope Cruz) as a capable investigator overlooked by his male colleagues (and more as their arc develops). You'll still bear witness to Frank's lies, as The Bride is fooled into thinking she's the stitched-up hulk's missus, but also how her words inspire other characters to reclaim their autonomy. Frank and The Bride share moments of mischievous bliss, where their budding passion feels true, but it's all based on Frank's deception, as is tradition for The Bride's arc. Without that moral examination, you're without the payoff when facades drop. Gyllenhaal stays true to these familiar beats but accentuates and elaborates on the meaning behind The Bride's climactic epiphany.

That all said, with so much swagger and volatile substance, The Bride! threatens to fall apart at least once a scene. It's so rich with almost hallucinatory imagery, from dance numbers that put on the ritz with freakshow jauntiness, to the way Frank imagines both he and his bride in the Ronnie Reed movies he frequents. It's also pure, unadulterated madness, like Gyllenhaal's screenplay was sewn together in a less attentive haste. There are so many elements—from Shelley's presence to the mafia inclusion—that barely come together and get by on emphatic audacity. Every scene feels pulled out of thin air, both a miraculous feat and—at times—a baffling endeavor as forward development suffers.

The thing is, while I spent most of this review gushing about The Bride!, the previous paragraph hits hardest. In a world where Good Luck, Have Fun, Don't Die was passed on by major studios, The Bride! is an anomaly because the risk factor is sky-high. The rewards, for those who appreciate their horror like jazz, unafraid of tempo zigs and zags, will be bountiful. But even then, Gyllenhaal’s vision is all over the place. Lawrence Sher's cinematography is sumptuous, Hildur Guðnadóttir's score is swingin’, and the cosmetic make-up effects on Frank are sublime—but Gyllenhaal is a looney scientist herself. Everything about The Bride! is cackling mad, and that can become difficult to grasp.

Horror won't be more avant-garde this year than The Bride! (a warning or an invitation). Gyllenhaal's experimentation is an exquisitely fearless take on an age-old genre tale that's boldly rejuvenated. There's so much to admire, yet a boisterous messiness that doesn't give an iota about how it's perceived. That will, unfortunately, cost The Bride! some viewers. But fortune often favors the brave, and Gyllenhaal's reckoning of a kinda-sorta horror picture is the latest example. Expect the unexpected, then double down three more times. 

Movie Score: 3.5/5