I watched one episode of Stranger Things Season 3, then read the synopsis, because I refused to put on the blindfold. Frankenstein’s Monster’s Monster, Frankenstein, also on Netflix, and also featuring David Harbour, reminded me how to see.
Three seasons of Documentary Now! can’t hold a candle to this comic masterpiece, a triumph of sound, sight and mind that defies definition.
Is David Harbour exploring himself in this biopic, or is the biopic itself being explored through David Harbour?
To what lengths will man go, nay, to what extremes, until he has scraped the depth of empathy – and yet, David Harbour manages to transcend embodiment.
Is it possible that Orson Welles inspired David Harbour, or is inspiration merely a construct, a hopeless ideal designed to give audiences ideal hope?
In the words of acting, parody leads to satire, satire leads to discourse, discourse leads to fruition, and fruition leads to the self. Gorge not yourselves on the inanity of nostalgia, but drink deeply of the satisfying insanity that is… Frankenstein’s Monster’s Monster, Frankenstein.
