Modern Fart (A Critical Review of I, Frankenstein)

This piece is officially under a Raphael Warning. I will henceforth be cool, but crude. Please stop reading now if you're offended by hypothetical penile trauma and/or you are my parents (or Aaron Eckhart, I guess?).

This evening, I stumbled upon what I believe to be the world's greatest hypothetical.

For those of you who can't see it. The question reads as follows:

Would you rather take a three second minor shock to the dick hole for free, or pay $25 to see I, Fartenstein?

Ignoring the iPhone's questionable take on the proper spelling of "dickhole," I feel like this is a question that bears dissection. (Though I fear that I've tipped my hand by christening it I, Fartenstein in my original question.)

For a refresher, here's the trailer.



The film (which I have not seen) apparently stars Aaron Eckhart as Frankenstein, a naming convention that I assume to be a decision of convenience by the filmmakers. His character should rightly be called Frankenstein's Monster or Monster T. Frankenstein, if he's adopted his creator's surname. Bill Nighy plays some kind of generic bad guy, who I've named Business Jerk. Yvonne Strahovski is also in it, playing Blonde.

At the start of the trailer, Frankenstein declares, "I am like none other," before confusingly announcing, "There's an entire army of monsters like me, tens of thousands of them," roughly a minute later.

I assume there is a reason for this, but I'll probably never find out what it is. I bet Frankenstein was cloned or something, or maybe someone found Dr. Frankenstein's notebook. Also, there are gargoyles? (And not cool ones like the Manhattan Clan.)

This appears to be your standard steampunk inspired bust 'em up featuring a some sort of superhuman protagonist with vaguely defined powers. You've seen this movie before.

Now lets turn to the other end of the hypothetical, the dickhole shock.

I haven't really worked out the delivery method of the shock (I'm not a weirdo), let's just assume it's convenient and you can do it without the presence of an audience. As defined in the question, it only lasts three seconds and is mild (think 9-volt battery on your tongue).

Let's do a comparative analysis of the two experiences.

• Dickhole shock is almost assuredly something you've never experienced before. I, Frankenstein is just Van Helsing all over again.
• Dickhole shock lasts 3 seconds. I, Frankenstein is 92 minutes.
• Dickhole shock costs you nothing. I, Frankenstein (in this scenario) costs you $25. With that kind of money you could see any other movie twice. 
• I, Frankenstein stars Bill Nighy, which is, admittedly, a point in its favor that Dickhole shock can't match. 

Being a consummate researcher, I've decided to expand my inquiry beyond just a simple comparative list. I presented eight of my friends with this very hypothetical and have catalogued their responses below:

"Dick shock for sure."
"I would rather see I, Fartenstein. That dick shock sounds unpleasant."
"Both."
"Yeah, put me down for simultaneous."
"Both as well. Have you seen the scars on his chiseled chest?"*
"It's really not that bad."

Unfortunately, my scientific survey went about as well as my score on the AP Stats test (2) suggests it would have. Out of eight responses, we got one for dickshock, one for the movie, three unsures, a non-response, one that was a mean joke that I won't reprint and one endorsement (?) from someone who had already seen the film.

*

You may ask why this film in particular has so raised my ire, especially now that I'm trying to follow Mack Brown's advice and abandon snark to embrace sincerity and kind-thinking. I, Frankenstein, has forfeited that mercy by being the latest in a long line of cynical, shallow, stupid and derivative movies that attempt to capitalize on the name recognition of characters that are conveniently out of copyright.

I, Frankenstein and its ilk are testaments to the laziness of the modern studio. It is grist for the mediocrity mill, and the mediocrity bakery never tires of producing soggy, inedible loaves of garbage-bread. That the film has gone so far as to deface our hallowed institutions like Muscle & Fitness magazine with seedy buzz marketing is unconscionable.

Let's be clear, I don't blame the thousands of cast and crew that worked on I, Frankenstein. I don't even blame the writer for churning it out. People have to eat, and I don't begrudge them work. I just wish their talents had been directed toward something better. You can make big, dumb action movies that don't hinge on high-concept nonsense to be successful. The best and most successful current action franchise is doing that every year.

I think the worst part about I, Frankenstein is that it was CLEARLY DOOMED TO FAIL. One look at the trailer was enough to know that it would never succeed, and it's not. It grossed $8 million on its opening weekend, which isn't a good sign of it making back its modest $65 million budget - especially factoring in whatever payola was involved in that magazine cover. That doesn't even show up on the official books!

I'm upset because I like movies, you guys. I want movies to be good and I wanted talented people to produce things of value. I don't even mind a bad movie if it at least tries to be interesting, but we're currently at peak steampunk monster capers and that's no good for anyone.

Stretch your wings, Hollywood, fly like the mighty gargoyles in the trailer. Crush your fears like so many Bill Nighys beneath Frankenstein's boot-heel. Heed my prophecy (you guys are into those right?) otherwise, audiences will continue to stay home and opt for dickhole shocks, and you'll have none to blame but yourselves.