T.P.Cooke in Paris, in which the actor is stricken by gout, arrested by gendarmes, and paints himself green. Or is it blue?

The Monster appears! Yet another image from the blockbusting 1826 Paris run of Le Monstre et le magicien, again showing The Monster confronting its maker.

Béraud and Merle’s Le Monstre borrowed heavily from Richard Brinsley Peake’s Presumption, or The Fate of Frankenstein of 1823 — they even hired the original play’s Monster, actor T.P.Cooke. The Monster’s first appearance, as evidenced by the numerous illustrations it inspired, was the highlight of both plays. In a blast of smoke, lit by colored lights, The Monster bursts out of the laboratory. Frankenstein — Zametti, in the French version — pulls a sword. The Monster grabs it away and snaps it in two. In the original London play, The Monster then ran to a large window and leaped to freedom. In the French version, The Monster breaks the sword, throws it down and vanishes on the spot, dropping out of sight by means of a trap door. Cooke was familiar with the perilous device, having used one repeatedly to extraordinary effect as Polidori’s Lord Ruthven, The Vampire, in 1820. Cooke’s trap door, which came to be known as a “vampire trap”, used rubber doors and sandbags as counterweight, innovating on an old stage trick.

In a case of reverse influence, the French Le Monstre et le magicien would, in turn, transform Presumption when author Peake adopted Le Monstre’s stirring conclusion aboard a storm-tossed schooner, replacing the original avalanche ending. Both plays would influence new adaptations while still competing against each other for years to come. T.P.Cooke, crossing effortlessly from one play to the other, would, in time, rack up 365 performances as The Monster. Back in 1826, his Parisian sojourn would prove to be quite an adventure…

Upon his arrival, Cooke was stricken with gout, a painful affliction he blamed on the acidity of French wines. Laid up at his hotel, his foot wrapped in flannel, Cooke was unable to attend rehearsals but he rallied quickly and, relying on his familiarity with the part, he was able to make his June 10 premiere. Le Monstre was a phenomenal success, with police called out to handle the crush of sell-out crowds. On July 15, the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin touted its triumph and spoofed its competitors with a vaudeville revue called Les Filets de Vulcain, ou le lendemain d’un succès (Vulcan’s Nets, or The Day After a Success). Cooke participated, speaking heavily accented French and sans makeup, in a sketch called Le Monstre.

Cooke was the toast of Paris yet, having vanquished the gout, another incident threatened his continued participation in the season's hit play...

In August 1867, an unsigned article in the “Parisian Sketches” section of The People’s Magazine, An Illustrated Miscellany For All Classes, published in London by The Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge — whose ministrations apparently did not extend to them foreigners — related an anecdote about “the well-known and highly respected Mr. T.P.Cooke” having played The Monster at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin, “about as ugly a building as can be imagined”. According to the article, “a misunderstanding arose between (Mr. Cooke) and the manager, in consequence of some unfair advantage the latter wished to take.” The problem went unresolved until Cooke was forced to action. One morning, he sent word that he would not be appearing onstage that evening, whereupon the manager had Cooke picked up by gendarmes and marched to the theater “almost as a prisoner”. Cooke remained adamant and, ultimately “fearing a disturbance among the audience”, the manager gave way and the performance went on as planned. The incident, according to the chauvinistic People’s Magazine, was “a circumstance… which not only showed the despotic power the French police can exercise in theatrical affairs, but brought to light the determined character of our countryman as well.”

A final controversy of sorts has to do with the likely-never-to-be-resolved question of The Monster’s exact color. In The Recollections and Reflections of J.R.Planché (London, 1872), the playwright of The Vampire visited his friend Cooke in Paris, noting, “his success was so great that “monstre bleu”, the color he painted himself, became the fashion of the day in Paris.”

Otherwise, in Sinnett’s Picture of Paris, published in London, 1845, the author’s description of the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin singles out Le Monstre, writing, “In the year 1826… Mr. T.P.Cooke was received in the most flattering manner, and became quite the fashion of the day. His performance of the Monster in Frankenstein for eighty consecutive nights saved the theatre from bankruptcy, replenished its treasury, and for several weeks everything in Paris was pale green à la Monstre.”

Monstre vert or Monstre bleu? Either way, T.P.Cooke’s Parisian adventure was a colorful affair.

The Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin website.

The National Library of France Digitial Library site, Gallica.

Related:
The Monster of La Porte Saint-Martin

The Frankenstein of 1826, in Color

The First Monster: T.P.Cooke

Mary Shelley Meets Frankenstein

The Monster of La Porte Saint-Martin

"It is he! Oh, despair!” exclaims Zametti, the Frankenstein character, in another color lithograph from Le Monstre et le magicien, staged at Paris’ Porte Saint-Martin theater in June 1826.

Zametti, played by Ménier, is an alchemist who, in the end, perishes at sea at The Monster’s hands. The part is often attributed — erroneously — to Paulin Ménier, Ménier’s son, born 1822, who would become an actor of considerable repute. Likewise, the illustration above is by Feillet, a prominent lithographer and teacher whose work is often confused with that of his daughter, Hélène, herself a prolific artist.

In a closeup look at Feillet’s illustration, T.P.Cooke’s Monster shows a darker green color to the face down to the jawline and streaks of red greasepaint at the mouth and eyes.

The Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin, still operating today, is one of the most storied theaters in the world. Taking its name from the nearby triumphal arch, the original building was commissioned as an opera house by Queen Marie Antoinette in 1781. Incredibly, the building was erected in only two months — from the first stone laid on August 26 to its inauguration on October 26 — benefiting from money-is-no-object royal support. Twelve years on, a new Opera went up and the Porte Saint-Martin was transformed into a playhouse. The original building was destroyed by fire in the violent Spring of the Paris Commune in 1871. It was rebuilt and reopened as an 1100 seat theater in 1873.

In years to come, authors such as Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo presented their plays here, drawing in the most famous and accomplished actors and directors of the Continent. Edmond Rostand premiered his Cyrano de Bergerac in 1897, and Roman Polanski directed Master Class a hundred years later. Sarah Bernhardt appeared as Theodora in 1882, and Marcel Marceau triumphed in the Sixties. Today, la Porte Saint-Martin continues to boldly mix the classics and experimental theater, the two extremes coming together in the current offering, a contemporary version of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Le Monstre et le magicien of 1826 was an early hit at the original Porte Saint-Martin, by far the most popular and lucrative play of its season, running 80 sold-out nights to often boisterous crowds.

More images from Le Monstre et le magicien coming up this week!

The Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin website.

The National Library of France Digitial Library site, Gallica.

Related:
T.P.Cooke in Paris
The Frankenstein of 1826, in Color
The First Monster: T.P.Cooke
Mary Shelley Meets Frankenstein

The Frankenstein of 1826, in Color!

A lithograph from an 1826 Paris performance reveals actor T.P.Cooke as Frankenstein's Monster, in color!

Cooke originated the role in London, July 1823, in Richard Brinsley Peake’s Presumption, or The Fate of Frankenstein, to phenomenal success. Within weeks, five different copycat plays sprang up, all featuring monsters based on Cooke’s interpretation. Mary Shelley herself, attending a performance on August 28, came away delighted with the play and Cooke’s performance.

Dressed in a short tunic, wrapped in a loose cloak, barefoot, fright-wigged and sporting a blue-green complexion, Cooke would be the inspiration, the template, the model for all the theatrical Frankenstein Monsters for nearly a century, just as Boris Karloff’s blockhead and bolts version has been an icon and a reference over the last 80 years.

A measure of his notoriety, Cooke, though hobbled by gout, was called to Paris in 1826 for Le Monstre et le magicien, a new play inspired not by Mary Shelley’s novel but by Peake’s play, as were all of the Frankenstein plays — more than a dozen by now — staged in England, all over Europe and in America. Save for the basic theme of an artificial man and the dire consequences for his presumptive creator, very little of Shelley’s work remained. The Monster and the Magician’s authors, Antony Beraud and Jean-Toussaint Merle, even did away with the Frankenstein name. Here, the creator was called Zametti.

In a scene lifted intact from the Peake play, The Monster, brought to life offstage, bursts out of the mezzanine laboratory in a cloud of smoke. He crashes through a balustrade and drops to the stage, confronting Frankenstein, snatching away his sword and snapping it in two. The same scene was first illustrated in 1823 (posted here), showing Cooke in a signature heroic pose. The scene was also used to illustrate Peake’s book of the play (posted here), with The Monster appearing as a baby-faced giant. In the 1826 illustration above, for the first time, Cooke appears in makeup, with full-body blue-green paint, red mouth and red highlights across the eyebrows.

The Monster’s color was variously described by contemporary critics as blue or green. One version of the play was called The Blue Demon. Cooke was such a sensation in Paris that his makeup color was replicated on gloves and dresses, with newspapers as far away as New Zealand reporting that the season’s fashionable color was vert de monstre — Monster Green!

The art is by François LeVillain — not to be confused with a famous namesake who was a sculptor and medal engraver — a lithographer of renown who was at the peak of his powers in the 1820s. LeVillain’s spectacular illustration, by far the most dynamic representation of the creation scene, is filled with tension as Cooke’s Monster hovers like an Angel of Death over the Frankenstein character, Zametti, pulling his sword. Note the composition, with the flowing robe mirroring Zametti’s arching pose and feathered hat. Note the textured smoke, the beautifully rendered folds in The Monster’s costume, and the delicate, muted colors.

This remarkable illustration, unlike any other, reveals the original stage Monster’s true appearance.

The illustration is archived on the French National Library’s Digital Library site, Gallica. I'll be posting more images from the 1826 play over this coming week.

Related:
T.P.Cooke in Paris
The Monster of La Porte Saint-Martin
The First Monster: T.P.Cooke
Mary Shelley Meets Frankenstein

The Monster : Peter Boyle

A rare color photograph of Peter Boyle in makeup on the set of Young Frankenstein, the black and white horror comedy released 37 years ago this week, on December 15, 1974. The film was a pitch perfect parody of the classic Universal Frankenstein films, with an emphasis on Son of Frankenstein (1939).

Hailing from Pennsylvania, Boyle studied acting in New York, eventually landing with the Second City improv troupe in Chicago. His Hollywood breakthrough came with his harrowing portrayal of a violent bigot, in Joe (1970). Other early parts included memorable performances in The Candidate (1972) and The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973), confirming Boyle as one of the best character actors of his era. He worked extensively in television, garnering ten Emmy nominations, beginning with his unflinching portrayal of Senator Joe McCarthy in Tail-Gunner Joe (1977) and culminating with an Emmy win for his role in the X-Files’ Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose (1996). The episode also won for Outstanding Writing and was crowned by TV Guide as the tenth greatest episode in television history. Boyle was also a sitcom star as the cantankerous Frank in Everybody Loves Raymond.

Young Frankenstein (1974) was conceived by Gene Wilder and written by Wilder and director Mel Brooks at the peak of their talents. Besides Wilder and Boyle, the wonderful cast includes Marty Feldman, Terri Garr, Madeline Kahn, and Kenneth Mars. Boyle played the zipper-necked Monster as a big baby, his most memorable scenes including a traumatic encounter with Gene Hackman cameoing as The Blind Hermit and a deranged musical number singing “Puttin’ on the Ritz”. The film’s authentic look was driven by cinematographer Gerald Hirschfeld’s meticulous recreation of 30’s style lighting and camera movements, along with the use of Kenneth Strickfaden’s laboratory props first used in the 1931 Frankenstein.

Peter Boyle passed away in December 2006. The following year, Young Frankenstein was turned into an expensive and boisterous Broadway musical, with The Monster’s part given to Shuler Hensley. It has since gone on the road with a new cast.

There are some more shots from Young Frankenstein up on our companion blog, Frankenstein Forever.

The Free Silver Frankenstein of 1896

Frankenstein entered the public consciousness almost as soon as the novel was published. Mary Shelley herself was thrilled by a Frankenstein mention made in Parliament. Soon, in comment and caricature, Frankenstein became a reference, the name applied indifferently to the creator and his monster. A Frankenstein could be someone jeopardized or destroyed by his policies, or the monster itself, the terrible result of one’s actions. Here, from 1896, Frankenstein is “The Free Silver Monster” unleashed.

“Free Silver” was the hot issue of that year’s Presidential election. Bi-metallists advocated the use of silver as a monetary standard along with gold, a willfully inflationary measure that would theoretically benefit cash-strapped farmers and laborers. The Silverites were opposed by the Goldbugs, bankrolled by bankers and industry barons who would see their champion, Republican William McKinley, elected. By 1900, the Pro-Silver movement had lost traction and fell out of favor.

The unsigned editorial cartoon of The Free Silver Frankenstein appeared front page, center, in the Marietta Daily Leader of Ohio, on Thursday, October 29, 1896. The wild-eyed giant tramples a farmer and threatens a mother and child. The landscape is littered with demolished factories and vultures appear over destroyed cities.

The lengthy caption loosely interprets the Frankenstein story, introducing the concept to anyone who might not be familiar with the inspirational novel. In prose even more terrifying than the illustration, The Silver Frankenstein, created by “well-meaning” bimetallists, is said to have run out of control, producing “much poverty and misery”. It must be destroyed on November 8, election day, lest it “turn upon the silverites themselves and crush and kill them.”

By 1896, when The Free Silver Frankenstein was sent on its rampage, Frankenstein’s Monster had already been referenced a number of times to editorial effect. The Monster is still used today, and often, as a cartoonist’s shorthand for things gone out of control.

The Art of Frankenstein : Gray Morrow

I hope I’m wrong, but I always felt that Gray Morrow was underrated. Comics fans may have preferred flashier artists, but Morrow was fast, he was reliable and he was prolific, producing realistic art for all the comic book publishers and a collection of dazzling paperback covers in a career that spanned four decades. His science fiction illustrations earned him three Hugo Awards as “Best Professional Artist” and he drew the syndicated Tarzan Sunday strip from 1983 until his untimely death in 2001.

The illustration here was found on Shades of Gray, a wonderful showcase of Morrow’s work, run by blogger Booksteve. In a rough drawing that sizzles with action, Morrow pits the Frankenstein Monster against The Heap, the original comic book “muck monster”, a template for Swamp Thing and Man-Thing.

First appearing in Hillman Comics’ Air Fighters of 1946, The Heap was a WWI ace who had died in a swamp, his body macerated and transformed into a living mass of vegetation. The character would be reconfigured, updated and re-used by various publishers, eventually landing as a menace in Todd McFarlane’s Spawn. The version illustrated by Morrow is from its early 70’s Skywald incarnation where the once indistinct blob had developed a face and a sharp-fanged mouth.

Shades of Gray blog.

Related:
Gray Morrow’s superb SON OF FRANKENSTEIN cover for Monster World magazine.

The Art of Frankenstein : Shane Oakley

Here’s a fake book cover for Frankenstein that looks better than most of the real ones out there. UK artist Shane Oakley created this image in the style of an old paperback cover. The symmetrical effect and simple color design are pitch perfect references to ‘60s graphics.

I love Oakley’s art, all hard angles and stark contrasts. Some of his black and white illustrations are as rigorously controlled as paper cutouts, witness his interpretations of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing from Curse of Frankenstein (1957), typical of his sparse and perfect, to-the-point work for Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine.

There’s lots of great art to admire and enjoy on Shane Oakley’s blog. The faux cover was originally created for Hey, Oscar Wilde! It’s Clobberin’ Time!

With thanks to David Lee Ingersoll

Badge of Courage

80 years ago today, on December 4, 1931, Frankenstein arrived in New York City. This is the ad that ran in the New York Times.

The film had played to boffo boxoffice in a handful of cities over the previous two weeks. Word was that Frankenstein delivered on every gruesome thrill the posters promised. New Yorkers lined up in the rain, every showing was packed.

Today, the bolt-necked Monster is too familiar. The film’s graveyard, the laboratory, the torch-bearing mob are well-worn clichés, but back in ‘31, these were new and wondrous and disturbing images. There had never been anything quite like it. It was true, then, that
No Thriller Ever Made Can Begin to Touch It!

With thanks to George Chastain.

Related:
All Seats 35 cents: A different ad from The New York Daily News, and the story of the Mayfair Theater.
Frankenstein Premieres: Boxoffice receipts and a look at the trailer with scenes cut from the film.

Discovered! Ultra-Rare Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man Display

A crowd gathers on a chilly March evening in 1943, drawn to a garishly decorated cinema lobby. Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man has come to town and the exhibitor blows the works: Floor to ceiling posters shout Mighty Monsters Clash!... Hair Raising Horror Hits New Heights!... Inhuman Beasts! Performers in costume entertain the throngs lining up for tickets and, look, up there on the box office booth, The Monster and the Wolf Man are at each other’s throats!

Miraculously, almost 70 years on, the mannequin monsters have survived and are shared here with us, thanks to collector Bobby Beeman. These unusual plaster heads, a bit battered but complete, are an unexpected and extraordinary find, and a wonderful example of classic movie ballyhoo.

There appears to have been more than one set of these built. The Frankenstein Monster in the old photos has a classic flattop and forehead bangs while the surviving plaster head is rounded out and made up like Karloff in Bride of Frankenstein, with exposed forehead clamps and a distinctive burn scar on the cheek. The Monster’s head shows signs of long-ago repair and may have been modified along the way. The Wolf Man head has fared better, still sporting its scraggly hair and eerie glowing eyes, the bulbs, sockets and cord embedded in plaster and, amazingly, still operational.

Based on a few tantalizing clues and some digging around, it appears that the heads were constructed by the J.H.Blecher Studio of Detroit. Through the first half of the 20th century, the Greektown company produced full-body mannequins for department and clothing stores, and display heads for hat, wig and cosmetic suppliers. It may have also produced affordable plaster statuary for churches. In 1963, Mario Messana, a long-time apprentice of Harry Blecher, bought out the business. Now called Mario’s Mannequin Studio, the company concentrated solely on repair work for a dwindling market, the classic plaster and fibreglass figures being progressively replaced by mass-produced plastic mannequins.

Until his own retirement, in 1995, Messana stored away a number of classic torsos, assorted limbs and exceptional heads, including delicate, early wax creations by the famous Dutch studio of Pierre Imans. This is where the Frankenstein and Wolf Man heads, no doubt saved for their novelty value, were first discovered back in the Eighties.

It is possible, of course, that the heads were manufactured by another company, landing at Blecher’s or Mario’s unclaimed or brought in for repairs, but there seems to be a direct line of provenance here, based on the recollections of previous owners of the Frankenstein/Wolf Man display. Still, we don’t know who ordered these originally. It could have been Universal’s promotion department, a regional distributor, a theater chain or even individual exhibitors. Until new info or new photos surface, we can’t tell. The theater in the photos is still unidentified.

I want to thank Bobby Beeman for so generously sharing his remarkable discovery with Frankensteinia readers. Bobby has posted more images here, at the Universal Monster Army board, an essential and enthusiastic celebration of movie monster toys and collectibles.

More great photos on Universal Monster Army.
Tragic Beauties, a collection of haunting photographs from Mario’s warehouse,
by Barbara Abel.
An article about mannequins, with references to Blecher and Messana on Detroit’s Metro Times.

Related:
When Frankenstein Met the Wolf Man