‘The Bride!’ review: Maggie Gyllenhaal’s punk rock ‘Frankenstein’ remix

“Here comes the motherfucking Bride!” cries Mary Shelley (Jessie Buckley) at the beginning of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s messy-if-inventive riff on the Frankenstein story. If that doesn’t suggest that we’re in for something different, then nothing will. The author soon introduces Ida, a spirited 1930s Chicago escort (also Buckley) who knows a bit too much about the workings of a local gangster (Zlatko Burić). Within minutes, she’s thrown down the stairs to a wince-inducing, ankle-snapping death.

READ MORE: ‘Frankenstein’ review: Guillermo Del Toro’s monstrously good gothic spine-tingler

On the other side of town, Christian Bale’s monstrous figure walks into the office of Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening). He is the tragic result of Frankenstein’s experiments, a re-animated series of body parts held together by ugly staples. Hidden away from the world, his life is utterly desolate and he wants a pal – which is where Euphronious comes in. There are no prizes for guessing whose corpse they exhume with Ida reborn as The Bride – her skin and tongue stained black from the procedure.

Borrowing a little from James Whale’s 1935 Frankenstein sequel Bride Of Frankenstein – in that, Elsa Lanchester played both Shelley and the Bride, as Buckley does – Gyllenhaal has created a meta feminist monster movie that tips its hat to Hollywood’s golden age. Like a more scar-faced Bonnie And Clyde, the two ‘monsters’ lash out after they’re assaulted, crushing their tormentors and going on the run. The “Killer Bride” is soon making headlines and ignites a female-led revolution. Sadly, that storyline doesn’t really go anywhere though.

Christian Bale as Frank and Jessie Buckley as The Bride in ‘THE BRIDE!’. CREDIT: Niko Tavernise / Warner Bros. Pictures UK

On the hunt for the odd couple are Peter Sarsgaard’s detective Jake Well and his colleague Myrna Mallow (Penélope Cruz), who spends most of her time battling engrained male chauvinism. It’s another amusing but scattershot element of a film that juggles plenty of good ideas, but never smoothly. As piecemeal as Frankenstein’s monster himself, the best moments come as Bale’s ‘Frank’ goes to the movies, repeatedly watching the Fred Astaire-inspired Ronnie Reed (Maggie’s brother Jake), “America’s happiest dancing star”.

At times, Frank and The Bride imagine themselves on screen – amid some expertly choreographed, ritzy dance scenes. It’s a welcome, wall-breaking moment, and one you expect Shelley herself might appreciate (as the opening caption tells us, she wrote Frankenstein “on a dare”). Arriving just months after Guillermo Del Toro’s impeccable 2025 take on Shelley’s novel, this feels like the scrappier, rebellious cousin – angry, arty and aching with attitude. Certainly, it’s a world away from Gyllenhaal’s sedate directorial debut, 2021’s The Lost Daughter, which also featured Buckley.

Icelandic composer Hildur Guðnadóttir, who did such good work on Joker, delivers a raucous score while three-time Oscar-winner Sandy Powell has a ball with the costumes – led by Ida’s distinct orange dress. While the Bride’s relationship with Frank isn’t exactly a tear-jerker, Gyllenhaal has made something unique and singular. An outlier in the Frankenstein canon, it’s both a thought-provoking re-assessment of Shelley’s work and a bonkers feminist call-to-arms. They don’t come much wilder and weirder.

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