Compared with vampires, who always seem to be sleek and sexy, Frankenstein's monster has had it rough. Those head bolts are one thing, and then there are the leathery scars all over his face and his massive, clunky awkwardness. To make matters worse, while vampires are never deprived of dating and relationships in novels and films, Frankenstein's monster is doomed to loneliness and isolation. No one loves him, with the exception of his creator, Victor Frankenstein, who — according to Mary Shelley in her original 1818 novel — was a cranky eccentric with no friends.
So what's happening in Stuart Beattie's "I, Frankenstein," a film that claims to be a modern, 2.0 update of Shelley's 19th-century gothic horror? Not much, I'm afraid. Beattie does start out with the right intentions: the opening sequence of the monster burying his maker in a cemetery is suitably horror-infused. A bunch of demons turn up to kill him, but a group of gargoyles come swooping down to the rescue. After this, Frankenstein's monster (played by Aaron Eckhart) becomes a zombie of sorts and lives through the centuries to the present day.
Eckhart's creature has gel-laden hair, perfect six-pack abdominals and a Midwestern accent — he has come so far from the Shelley original he may as well call himself Frankie. (Actually, he's renamed Adam in the film.)