Spark of Being

Frankenstein as a freeflowing atmospheric art installation. Its distanced postmodern pandering felt like the antithesis of Shelley's work in some ways and I thought it never really commited to its considerable potential. The music was clearly its driving force and despite some strangely immersive hallucinogenic effects & occasionally interesting visual poetry it came together more as an inert visual companion to a great jazz concert than a film that would stand on its own. Maybe with some drugs.