There is simply no excuse for this film. If it is meant to be a stylised "melodramatic" version of the novel, then by any standards of artistic taste it should be melodramatic, not a disastrously badly written hotch-potch of cinematic ideas. The "melodrama" merely makes the viewer run to vomit in the kitchen sink. The cast is fantastic, stellar; but they are made to spew such insipid, laughable lines that I would not be surprised if not a single one of them doesn't regret being in it - excepting Kenneth Branagh, who is probably still in denial about blotting his brilliant career with this utter tripe. The 1931 version deviates seriously from the book, but is a quality film. This version sticks closer to Mary Shelley's story but is somehow much more of a deviation - a deviation away from a sense of style and wit, and the changes the writers have made (Justine/Victor/Elizabeth love triangle?!) are simply disastrous. I thoroughly enjoyed watching this movie - I laughed pretty much all the way through. If you want to watch a BAD BAD film, this is the one for you. It is the best, worst film I have ever seen.