THE GHOST OF FRANKENSTEIN (1942)
I said that I wasn't reviewing the rest of this series, but Son and Ghost of Frankenstein reside on the same disc. Why not? This is where the momentum is fossilized anyway. I can't execrate the last monster mash to be shot by Universal's A-unit. The atmosphere is still ghoulish, the cast is still aureate (though a truant Karloff is missed), and the pacing is still alert. Seasoned director Erle C. Kenton is clearly comfortable framing a genre spectacle. I didn't know it, but he also helmed 1932's Island of Lost Souls. Here, the plot feels a bit familiar. Ygor wants Dr. Frankenstein (that would be the original doctor's other son) to redress and rehabilitate his friend (that would be the monster). I'm tired of parenthesis.
As with Son, the real villain is Ygor. Lugosi is captivating, even if he doesn't have quite as much jerk-infused lunacy to feast on. I'm sorry; I'm referring to the style of cooking native to Jamaica. Personally, I'm fond of dry-rub jerk spices, but I'm down for a good marinade. What? Oh, the movie. Evelyn Ankers is essentially wasted as Elsa Frankenstein, the generic wife. That's the thing. Everyone present is punctually talented, but you get the sense that the congregation is going through the motions. The precursive film told the story to its natural conclusion. There is no more tale to tell! Be that as it may, Ghost is a worthwhile way to keep your corpse on ice.
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