Yorgos Lanthimos’s latest release Poor Things follows Emma Stone’s Bella Baxter on a journey of discovery – both of herself and of the world around her. Bella is the result of a scientific experiment by Godwin, or God, Baxter (Willem Dafoe), who has replaced her brain with that of an infant and brought her back to life, allowing her to begin anew without any (mental) traces of her past life. The plot bears an obvious resemblance to Mary Shelley’s seminal 1818 novel Frankenstein, which follows its title character’s all-consuming quest to reconstruct and revive a man, and the texts explore similar themes of nature versus nurture, fate and free will, and scientific progress. Their explorations of the latter, however, vary radically, particularly in comparing the endings of the two works.
Shelley’s work, per its subtitle The Modern Prometheus, warns about the dangers that might accompany scientific progress. Victor Frankenstein’s desire to create a man is all-consuming, and his failure to truly consider what he is pursuing ultimately results in his abandonment of the creature and the subsequent deaths of numerous people. Poor Things does not outright ignore the dangerous potential of relentless scientific pursuit – Godwin suffers the effects of his own scientist father’s cruel experiments. However, Bella’s grand journey of self-actualization and philosophical discovery culminates in her decision to return home and continue Godwin’s work as a surgeon with a permissive attitude towards experimentation. Though the audience may hold moral reservations about Bella’s first major operation, transplanting the brain of a goat into an abusive man, Bella clearly views it as an unqualified success; the film ends with her and her companions leading a rather utopian existence, melding Bella’s passions for philosophy and surgery. Beyond her renewed dedication to surgery, Bella’s happiness alone functions as an endorsement of “scientific progress,” as it essentially validates Godwin’s initial experiment. So, if Bella Baxter and the Creature are both brought into the world by scientists executing transgressive visions of progress, why does the former achieve such happiness while the latter ends in self-immolation, leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake?
Perhaps the most important distinction between the two characters is their respective appearances. Shelley’s Creature is stitched together from body parts stolen from corpses; though Victor “had selected [the Creature’s] features as beautiful,” he is filled with “breathless horror and disgust” at the sight of his completed Creature, and immediately abandons him. In contrast, Godwin Baxter’s creation is perfectly intact – even though her body belongs to a woman who jumped off a bridge. She even has long, black hair to cover the telltale scar from her brain transplant. Bella Baxter is also, of course, played by a very beautiful movie star, and the film is well aware of this fact. The film’s early stretches feature lingering shots of Stone’s unblemished, porcelain skin, which appears even more porcelain in these scenes’ black-and-white cinematography. The camera pans over her nude legs and breasts as if to highlight their perfection, but notably avoids Bella’s stomach, preventing the audience from seeing the C-section scar that will become important later in the movie. Thus, Lanthimos emphasizes the seemingly immaculate nature of his protagonist, in contrast both to Godwin’s scarred face, and to the stitched-together “monstrosity” of Shelley’s novel.
The film quickly establishes Bella’s curiosity and desire to know the world beyond the walls of God’s mansion – a yearning she begins to fulfill in her travels with Duncan Wedderburn (Mark Ruffalo). In her interactions, Bella’s frank and still-developing nature stands out as she freely violates societal conventions – she speaks openly about sex and masturbation, refuses to tolerate anything that bores her, and at one point expresses her desire to punch an infant. While Bella’s behaviour certainly attracts attention and, at times, trouble, it is surprisingly tolerated, even viewed as amusing, both by Duncan and by their fellow travellers. Of course, for Duncan, it is not only her beauty, but also her childish naivete and enthusiasm for sex, that makes her appealing. For Bella’s fellow citizens, though, who have no other reason to be courteous to somebody who behaves so in opposition to societal norms, Bella’s beauty and superficial ability to pass as an aristocratic woman allow her to move freely in public spaces – a privilege that her God is not able to enjoy so easily.
Early in Poor Things, Godwin denies Bella’s wish to venture into the outside world, stating that he cannot go out in public due to reactions to his scarred face. While his refusal is partially motivated by his desire to prevent Bella from engaging with the outside world, it certainly seems likely that his appearance also plays a role in his hesitance. In fact, the late 19th century, when Poor Things is set, saw the proliferation of so-called “ugly laws,” primarily in the United States. According to Susan M. Schweik, these laws prohibited those who were “diseased, maimed, mutilated, or in any way deformed” from appearing in public, ostracizing and punishing both those with disabilities and those perceived as ugly. In this context, ugliness becomes “a social category that demarcates one’s rights and access to social, cultural, and political spaces,” as Ela Przybylo and Sara Rodrigues write in On the Politics of Ugliness. Though Godwin and Bella share the same passionate curiosity of the Victorian scientist, only Bella is granted the ability to embark on a journey of self-actualization, as her normative physical appearance allows her to exist more comfortably in public.
Godwin is somewhat accepted within the scientific community, as he is seen lecturing students and is able to take on Max McCandles (Ramy Youssef) as an assistant. The tension between Godwin’s stature as a scientist and the unsettled perception of his appearance aligns with Elizabeth Grosz’s writing on the figure of the freak in The Monster Theory Reader. The freak, she writes, is not the focus of “simple admiration or pity,” but is rather viewed as “simultaneously and compulsively fascinating and repulsive, enticing and sickening.” Thus, Godwin can be respected as a scientist even as his appearance – and disabilities, as caused by his father’s experiments – prevent him from being fully accepted; his surgical skill may be admired by his colleagues, but the extent of his experimentation is uncomfortable and dangerous. While the film does not show us public reaction to Bella’s scientific pursuits – and she would likely face her own challenges as a woman – she is shown at least to lead a less lonely existence than her father, accompanied by Max and Toinette (Suzy Bemba).
Like Godwin, Mary Shelley’s Creature bears a physical appearance deemed ugly, and he is also not welcome in the public sphere; when he attempts to enter a village, he is met with revulsion and chased out. The Creature shares Bella’s curiosity about the world around him, and similarly develops his intellectual capacity and abilities: he learns to sustain a fire through observation alone, and teaches himself to read and speak. However, while Bella is allowed the opportunity to develop in public, the Creature must do so in hiding, and consistently experiences violence and hatred due to his physical appearance, beginning with Victor’s abandonment of him. The Creature is certainly not afforded the same opportunities for growth and self-development as Bella, nor does he experience the care and affection that Godwin and Max express for Bella. This isolation and intolerance hardens the Creature, leading him eventually to pursue revenge against humanity as a whole and against Victor in particular.
One imagines that, had the Creature turned out as beautifully as Victor intended, he may have undertaken a similar journey to Bella, raised into an intellectual powerhouse who could have continued the work of his creator. However, it seems unlikely that Victor would have passed along the same advice that Godwin’s father gave (but apparently did not follow), and that Godwin in turn imparts upon Bella – to “carve with compassion.” It seems that the effects of his father’s own experiments on him led Godwin to understand the necessary limits of scientific progress, limits that Victor did not consider until he was in far too deep. Perhaps, then, this is the key difference between Godwin Baxter and Victor Frankenstein that allows Poor Things to have a far rosier view of scientific progress – as Godwin suffered the results of reckless experimentation himself, he carries an innate understanding of where boundaries should be drawn, and treats his experiments with care and love. In dialogue with Frankenstein, then, the film suggests that for science to develop in a truly progressive way, the field should welcome the contributions of those who intimately understand the damage that science can do – those who will be guided by compassion rather than reckless ambition.
Poor Things is currently playing at Scotiabank Theatre and the Park Theatre in Vancouver.