The Golden Age of Hollywood is filled with stories of the fascinating individuals that made it such a curiously interesting time to be alive, allowing future generations to live through these often scintillating (and sometimes even vaguely implausible) parables that are often told through rose-tinted glasses, almost as if to imply the industry was far more exciting back then than it is now. Unfortunately, there are as many triumphant tales as there are sorrowful tragedies, with one of the saddest stories being that of the life of James Whale. At one point, he was considered the greatest director in Hollywood – his films, such as the original Frankenstein and The Invisible Man, made him a household name, and had him in a prime position as one of the most enduring directors to ever work in the industry. A few financial and critical failures essentially destroyed his career, forcing him to recede from public view in the 1940s, where he took an early retirement in his remote California home, surrounded by nothing but his painting materials and the occasional visitor, whether a devoted fan hoping for an interview, or an old colleague there to try and lure him back into the public eye. The final chapter of Whale’s life was the subject of Father of Frankenstein by Christopher Bram, which was subsequently adapted by Bill Condon into Gods and Monsters. Both works take a fictionalized look into the esteemed director’s final years, which were mired with heartbreak and ill-health, offering their own interpretation of what a great artist would experience after choosing to walk away from the industry that had been irrecoverably changed by his presence, and his efforts to fend off the temptation to re-enter this world that he so dearly loves, to the point where he could never return, having become a broken shadow of a man.

Gods and Monsters is the rare kind of film about Hollywood and its history that doesn’t feel either exploitative or like it is attempting to capture every detail of what it is like to be in the film industry. Instead, it looks at the life of one man, and focuses on his life after leaving the world he had known so well. The focus is on exploring Whale in the months leading up to his death (which was initially ruled as either a homicide or an accident, but which we now know was a suicide), and his relationship with various people, namely his loyal but outspoken housekeeper, and his new gardener, with whom he strikes up a friendship which may have been propelled by his innermost desires, having grown lonely in his isolation. As one of the few openly gay public figures in Hollywood, many years before being so explicit about one’s sexuality was even conceivable, Whale had an uphill journey towards acceptance, especially since his desire took the form of more internal yearning, rather than the more active expression of his lust, as we see in his vaguely combative relationship with George Cukor, another prominent figure that was never shy to reveal his sexuality at a time when such deviance was considered enough to destroy one’s career. Yet, despite this subject matter, the film never feels like it is peddling cheap gossip, with Bram’s novel being a very sensitive and thoughtful evocation of what he imagines life would be like for someone who was not ashamed of his identity, but rather apprehensive to act on his desires, in fear of alienating the few people who show him the attention he so deeply craved.

Condon may not be the most reliable director in retrospect (being considerably hit-and-miss throughout his career), but Gods and Monsters showcase a very clear and concise vision that speaks to his prowess as a journeyman filmmaker, someone with the ability to tackle the somewhat intimidating novel in a way that feels active and interesting. The film has two broad themes that it needs to balance – the first, as we’ve mentioned, centres on Whale’s sexuality and how he grappled with his identity throughout his life, while the second is focused on how he retreated from the public eye after critical and commercial failure, leading a very private life that would be reclusive if he didn’t occasionally entertain a few visitors or attend some soiree, normally given by someone of higher status but lesser talent – all of which occurred while he remained in the public consciousness, being one of the most iconic and celebrated figures in 20th-century art. Whale’s contributions to cinema can be never understated – his work was not only groundbreaking, it was definitive. Without his efforts, we would not have the modern horror, nor any of the other genres in which he helped pioneer through his revolutionary work. Gods and Monsters may be a very queer film, but it does not restrict itself to focusing on his personal life, and makes sure that the audience is well-aware of the impact he made on Hollywood, which makes his exile all the more tragic, since he was someone whose artistic spirit lived on until the very end, if we are to take both Bram’s well-researched novel, as well as the wealth of information we know about the director, as the truth, and which makes the way he chose to end his life all the more tragic, since there was very little doubt that he still had a lot to give as an artist.

Working with these two different themes, which are interwoven, Condon creates a poignant and powerful character study, which is handed over to the formidable Sir Ian McKellen in what is likely his greatest screen performance, or at least the one that proved that he was one of our generation’s finest actors. Having an actor like McKellen in the role adds layers of meaning to the film – as one of the first openly gay actors of his era, and someone who has been fervent in the celebrations of his unabashed queerness, it takes on a lot of meaning that he plays the role of one of the most influential gay artists of his generation. The beauty of this performance resides in McKellen’s ability to plumb the emotional depths of a man whose conflicting sense of self-loathing was undercut by his forthright confidence as an artist. He was a Renaissance man who suffered the fate of being severely misunderstood, which lead to a life that was mostly quite sad, but still had moments of genuine joy. He may not have been a bon vivant in the traditional sense, but he did enjoy life enough to find the motivation to hold on until the very last moment before his disease made living nearly impossible. Characterizing Whale as more than just an ambigious figure that resided in the shadows was imperative, and it’s difficult to imagine anyone other than McKellen being able to seamlessly blend both the humour and sadness inherent to the character. He is considerably helped by Brendan Fraser and Lynn Redgrave, who support him exceptionally well and help bring out the nuance in the film, which is built around the very strong performances delivered by a cast that understands the intricate nature of the story, and commits to exploring it as far as possible without veering towards overwrought melodrama, which could have been the terminal fate of this film had it not been so clear in its intentions.

Gods and Monsters is a film that is almost exclusively defined by McKellen’s performance, and quite understandably so – it is indeed a masterful portrayal that feels simultaneously lived-in and vivacious, possessing the qualities that make for a profoundly moving and deeply emotional story of a man questioning his existence rather than his identity, which is a more prominent theme in queer films. However, we can’t discredit the film as a whole – even beyond the magnificent leading performance, Condon’s work reflects a very keen interest in the subject matter, a kind of intimate understanding of the material that suggests that he’s a much better director than he is given credit for. Well-written (especially considering how he was tasked with condensing an entire life into 100 minutes) and told with a kind of precise honesty that makes for profoundly moving viewing, Gods and Monsters is an absolute triumph, a compelling and compassionate drama that feels unabashedly human. When given the opportunity for excess, Condon instead chooses the path that may be more challenging, but allows for a more insightful conversation about identity, especially in a time when such discussions were not all that common, relegated to the unfortunate recesses of the gossip papers. The film is a wonderful work of fictionalized history, managing to look beneath the veneer without being a revisionist parable – and for all these reasons, its difficult to imagine any more compelling a film to be made from this material, which is quite simply one of the most unexpectedly moving works of recent years, and an absolute masterwork from beginning to end.