Luna Theatre's "Monster' (2nd review)

Luna Theatre Company’s current production of Neal Bell’s Monster— a modern adaptation of Frankenstein— has evoked deeply conflicting reviews from two of Philadelphia’s critics. The Inquirer’s Toby Zinman thoroughly panned it for (among other things) missing “the big ideas that any student writing an essay on Frankenstein could identify.” Broad Street Review’s Lesley Valdes wholeheartedly praised the production, writing that it’s “encouraging to see what art on a shoestring can do,” and noting that “One prop, good lighting and sound design sustain Monster’s set.”

But Valdes’s thorough endorsement should have paid more attention to what Zinman rightfully criticized about the production values; and Zinman, for her part, failed to see that in an age when most people admit that they would rather die than live in broken bodies, Bell’s play not only updated the Frankenstein themes, but provides the perfect metaphor for our vitality obsessed times.

‘Why do we die?’

Shelley subtitled her original story “the modern Prometheus” to warn of the potential danger that lurked in the abuse of technology brought about by the industrial revolution: We can create life, but only with dangerous consequences. Bell’s version keeps the 19th-Century setting but updates Shelley’s themes. His Dr. Frankenstein (Dan Hodge) initially sets out to answer the question, “Why do we die, why does the spark go out?”; and after creating his monster (John Lopes), he declares— in a scene that’s both noble and horrifying— “from this moment, there will be death no longer.”

But as the play progresses, Bell modifies Frankenstein’s intent, riddling his character with existential angst that asks, “What does that mean, to be here, alive for a moment, and then gone?” This Frankenstein doesn’t fear sudden death so much as the long, slow road that leads us there. Indeed, when his fiancée Elizabeth (Melissa Lynch) asks, “Do you love me less now because I’m a minute older?” Hodge’s expression shows that she has hit the mark of his deepest anxiety.

When the creature asks, “Are you that afraid of dying?” Frankenstein flatly responds, “Why do you think I made you?” Here Bell speaks directly to our age— to a generation obsessed with an endless array of scientific advances to stave off the humiliation of aging.

Missing out on real life

Our modern Frankensteins work to develop telomerase inhibitors that keep our cells from aging when they divide, hopefully leading to average life spans of 150 years or more; couples spend more $20k a month on fertility treatments in order to conceive babies into their 40s, and men and women as young as 30 take hormonal replacement therapies to retain young-looking skin, teenage sex drives and taut physiques. The anti-aging industry alone already reaps upwards of $30 billion a year. Its companies encourage doctors to promote this lifestyle. The monster they’ve created is us.

And for what? In Bell’s play, Frankenstein misses out on all the real activities of life— shunning love, friendship and familial relations (he writes his family one letter a year while at college)— and treats every human relationship with only intellectual curiosity. So why prolong such a life? Bell’s play hints at an answer when Frankenstein prods the monster to reveal what the “great sleep” of death felt like. But why do we, like Frankenstein, use biological means to fight a psychological anxiety?

A long 90 minutes

I don’t know why Toby Zinman expected the adaptation to remain even reasonably faithful to the original Frankenstein, or how she missed all the Biblical references, not to mention the struggle between man and God that Bell now couched in the language of existential despair. At the same time, I can’t see why Valdes praised this production so unreservedly.

Hodge does provide a fascinating performance, creating a portrait of a scientist that’s full of passion, capable of the heights of productive genius, yet always teetering on the brink of madness. At the same time, he fills his Frankenstein with a sense of sorrow when he fails, lamenting, “I wanted to solve death but all I made was a human, who still suffered.” Lopes truly frightens as he lunges about the stage, towering over everyone he kills. The supporting actors, to varying degrees, fill their roles reasonably well.

But Zinman’s right: It’s a long 90 minutes, and I found only the first hour worthwhile. However, the fault lies not entirely in the repetitious script but in the production. Director Greg Campbell can’t rely on talents like Hodge, Lopes and Lynch to carry the entire production of only a moderately engaging script without sets or good lighting.

The action flashes back and forth through time over a dozen locations, and a black backdrop, a single chair, and some wood planks on the floor fail to compensate for the script’s dramatic lapses (although Millie Hiibel’s costumes more than satisfied visually to create the period). Maria Shaplin’s lighting didn’t do enough to modify each scene, and only the cellar and the ice flow locales overcame the bleak set.

Part of me still resists the idea of using multimedia to create backdrops. But the two recent examples I’ve seen at the Wilma—in Amadeus and the current Rock 'n' Roll— worked so effectively that I’d encourage companies with limited budgets to try it.


To read another review by Lesley Valdes, click here.