Sitting in the intimate Klein Theatre for Frankenstein, I wasn’t sure what version of the classic story I’d be witnessing—bolts-in-the-neck monster mayhem or something more nuanced. What unfolded was neither a predictable monster flick nor a hollow period piece. Instead, it was a haunting, emotionally charged production that asked deep, unsettling questions about parenthood, creation, and the horrors we create.
Adapted and directed by Emily Burns in her American directorial debut, this Frankenstein is less about reanimation and more about responsibility. Set in the original time period but told through a contemporary lens, the story begins with a quiet, tension-laced argument between Victor Frankenstein (Nick Westrate) and his fiancée Elizabeth (Rebecca S’manga Frank) the night before their wedding. It’s a smart starting point—grounded, intimate, and immediately human. Rather than launching into a gothic spectacle, Burns eases us into emotional complexity.
And just when you’ve settled into the rhythm of a domestic drama, the dread creeps in. From the moment the Creature (Lucas Iverson) is seen—briefly—in the show’s first opening beat, there’s a lurking tension that never releases. Burns crafts that dread masterfully, with long, weighted pauses and sudden blackouts in unresolved moments that leave the audience breathless. It’s clear we’re not watching a monster movie—we’re watching a tragedy.
A standout scene was one in which Victor chases the Creature through the woods while simultaneously having a conversation with Elizabeth at the kitchen table. No one leaves the stage, yet the lighting (brilliantly designed by Neil Austin) and the actors’ precise movements make it feel like we’re seamlessly drifting between two worlds—without ever touching a set piece. It was eerie, gorgeous, and a perfect example of how lighting and direction can elevate storytelling.
This production doesn’t shy away from asking painful questions: Are monsters born, or made? What are a parent’s responsibilities to their child—biological or otherwise? And what happens when we abandon what we create? These questions swirl around both Victor’s haunting relationship with his creation and his evolving dynamic with Elizabeth as they prepare to become parents themselves.
Rebecca S’manga Frank brings a bold, modern energy to the role of Elizabeth. She’s not the usual gothic heroine; she’s sharp, passionate, and challenges Victor in every scene. It’s refreshing to see a Frankenstein adaptation that gives its women agency and weight, and Frank delivers every line with aching sincerity and strength. Westrate walks the fine line between arrogance and devastation—his performance as Victor peels back the layers of a man both ambitious and broken, making it clear who the real monster might be.
Anna Takayo shines across all her roles of Justine and Esther, along with the voices of young Victor and Caroline, giving each character distinct emotional texture. Iverson’s portrayl of the Creature—handsome, articulate, and deeply wounded—offers a compelling counterpoint to every stereotype we associate with Frankenstein’s monster. He’s not green. He’s not stitched-together horror. He’s just an ordinary-looking, abandoned, and lonely man.
This show isn’t just scary—it’s unnerving, and in the best way. It doesn’t rely on gore or jump scares but instead draws horror from silence, implication, and the psychological consequences of neglect and creation. It’s quiet, eerie, and often difficult to sit with—and that’s exactly what makes it so good.
Emily Burns has created a version of Frankenstein that speaks just as much to today’s fears—of failing as a parent, of being unloved or abandoned, of becoming the thing we fear—as it does to its 19th-century origins. Supported by an outstanding creative team (especially André Pluess’s ominous sound design and Andrew Boyce’s minimalist yet moody set), this production lingers long after the final, intense blackout.
Frankenstein at Shakespeare Theatre Company is a monster story, yes—but it’s not about the creature you expect. It’s about the monstrosity of human choices, and the terrifying beauty of what it means to create, to lose, and to love.
FINAL GRADE: A
Frankenstein runs through June 22 at the Klein Theatre. Tickets start at $35 and are available at shakespearetheatre.org.
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