Frankenstein

photo: Carol Rosegg

There's another Frankenstein monster in town. This one's gym-toned in leather pants with a military crop. He looks punk rock but, like everyone else in this relentlessly somber sung-through musical, he sings mostly Wildhorn-like ballads. (Also like everyone else he wears one of those distracting head mic's that make you think he's an operator standing by to take your call). Like that other singing Frankenstein he's not so scary: this musical is so determined to capture the romantic flavor of Mary Shelley's novel that it forgets to deliver the suspense and the thrills, and while it's faithful to the main events in the novel, it isn't anywhere near as thematically interesting. What the show does have going for it (besides the cast: it must be said that the three principals act and sing the hell out of this show with intense passion and commitment) is a steady focus on the relationship between the monster and his creator. It leads to a strong, emotionally potent conclusion between the two, but the monotonous show seems to take forever to get there.