As unfortunate as it is to say, mediocre and underwhelming comic book adaptations are everywhere you look these days, but not many of them can justifiably be described as unyieldingly awful. No matter how much you disapprove of Wonder Woman 1984, Thor: Love and Thunder, or any other polarizing superhero spectacular, I, Frankenstein exists on an entirely different level.
One of the single worst-reviewed movies the genre has ever seen, writer and director Stuart Beattie’s sci-fi fantasy horror was pummeled into the ground six feet under, and then right through the other side of the planet’s crust by critics, who left it high and dry with an embarrassing five percent score on Rotten Tomatoes.
It ended up in the red, too, after a middling theatrical run brought in just a shade under $77 million, not enough to turn a profit once marketing and distribution costs were factored into the bottom line. Based on the reception to the horrendous end product, it’s mind-blowing to think that Lionsgate genuinely thought there was a multi-film franchise on the cards.
Even more incredulously, I, Frankenstein and Underworld creator Kevin Grevioux planned for the two to cross paths, with a post-credits stinger featuring Kate Beckinsale’s Selene being written into early drafts of the screenplay before thankfully being dropped. Underworld ain’t great, but it’s The Godfather compared to whatever the hell this was.
And yet, Netflix subscribers have decided to subject themselves to the trials and tribulations of I, Frankenstein regardless, which has inexplicably become a Top 10 hit in several countries per FlixPatrol. Why? We can’t even fathom an explanation, but it’s 92 minutes they’ll ever get back.