This is the story of a man facing up to the horror of his own creation. No, not a critique of David Cameron’s soon-to-be published memoir For The Record in which he apologies for the monster that is Brexit. But Mary Shelley’s description of a nightmare which through “the bridge of words” gave life to what many consider to be the first and greatest science fiction novel, which has thrilled audiences for the past 200 years.

Rona Munro’s adaptation of Frankenstein, condensed into two forty-five minute acts in a co-production between Perth Theatre, Belgrade Theatre Coventry, Selladoor Productions and Matthew Townshend Productions, places the creator at the heart of the action. And by creator, I mean Mary Shelley, not Victor Frankenstein, the latter of whom’s character and motive form the thrust of Act 1, with the second half largely devoted to the fate of his monstrous creation.

While not as dramatic, gripping and chilling as the original – many of the sound and lighting cues are more subtle than sudden, and the gearshifts dot to dot rather than plumb the depths of its plot – director Patricia Benecke draws fine performances from her seven-strong cast.

Most notably, Eilidh Loan as Shelley who imbues her long passages of narration with wit, intelligence and curiosity as she at first wrestles with the direction of her design – provoked by a dare between herself, her husband Percy and Lord Byron to see who could write the best horror – before strutting like a peacock for having “caught dread with ink and industry”.

“Now that was a proper deathbed scene,” she boasts. Before announcing with an arched brow, “You’re welcome.” One of many wry asides, along with the comically concise “Sorry, Elizabeth” who succumbs to a violent death at the hands of the vengeful monster in order to teach her husband a lesson on how it feels to lose love.

Ben Castle-Gibb, making his professional debut, does a fine job too as the beautiful, young and clever – if slightly deranged – Frankenstein, capturing his erratic temperament (“like a candle flame fluttering wildly in a draft”) with measure and maturity. And Michael Moreland brings a brittle humanity to the “most miserable creature that ever-lived” whose very presence strikes fear into the heart of all who cross his path – with the exception of Greg Powrie’s kind De Lacey whose lack of sight forces him to base his “you sound sincere” judgement on the spoken word alone.

My opening reference to David Cameron was not just a throwaway quip for one of the main themes which emerge like “the shape of a man” in the Arctic ice of the opening scene are rooted in Brexit and the austerity-driven policies of his and subsequent Tory governments. Namely, the destruction of the weak and the poor which as Shelley chides us towards the end of the play should be our shame.

Peter Callaghan
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