Charming, darkly witty and beautifully realised, James Whale's Bride of Frankenstein is that rare sequel that outdoes the (excellent) original in almost every way. Dr Frankenstein (Colin Clive) has narrowly survived the fiery finale of the 1931 Frankenstein and, unbeknownst to him, so has his monster (Boris Karloff). The doctor visits the lab of his like-minded mentor Doctor Septimus Pretorius, who has been working on bizarre experiments to create tiny homunculi and is determined to continue Frankenstein's work, whether he agrees or not. Infuriated by Frankenstein's refusal to once again meddle in the realm of life and death, Pretorius instructs the monster to kidnap his maker’s fiancée, forcing the doctor into starting work on a female version of his creation. The bride (Elsa Lanchester), however, has her own idea of what she wants.

Whale was initially reluctant to work on a sequel to Frankenstein, but was intrigued by the opportunity to expand on a tantalising concept from Mary Shelley's novel in which Frankenstein creates a mate for his monster, then destroys her without bringing her to life. Bride of Frankenstein is perhaps his greatest film, finding macabre humour and pathos in the plight of the monster, bride and Frankenstein— Colin Clive in particular, nearing the end of his career before a tragically young death at 37, finds a manic intensity in the tortured doctor that is thrilling to witness. Score, atmosphere and montage are all humming in perfect harmony and the immortal images of flashing lightning against the bride herself, horrified at being brought into existence, linger far beyond the final frame.