Disclaimer: I dont own any of this stuff. Duh.
William Henry Pratt- stage name Boris Karloff- was on the telephone with Universal Studios.
"I understand perfectly well, sir. Yes, I know you've got an ad campaign set for it. No, I've never been ungrateful for what Frankenstein did for my career, that's exactly why I feel so strongly about this issue."
He knew it made no difference. The monster would talk, no matter what he had to say about it. No matter how many times he told them that the reason the creature was sympathetic was because he was inarticulate. No matter how much he begged them not to destroy all that he had worked to make tragic and beautiful about his dear monster. The sequel would contain a talking monster, spouting lines like "Love Dead. Hate living." God, he needed a drink.
He began to pour himself a sherry, when he heard a knock at the door. He went to answer it, running through his brain a list of people he knew who would visit at this ungodly hour of the night.
When he opened the door, he immediately dropped his drink. There was a small crash, and shattered glass mixed with amber liquid on the floor.
"I'm so sorry, I was just a bit startled" he said as he began to sweep it up. The monster simply stepped over it and entered the house.
"Would you like something to drink?" he asked. Bloody hell, what was he doing offering alcohol to a monster? Hadn't he seen any of his own movies?
"No thank you. I never drink wine."
"Like Dracula."
The monster looked exactly the way the book had described him. Yellowed skin with veins and muscles visible beneath it, grotesquely enlarged proportions, stitched together sloppily. A true product of mad science.
"What can I do for you, sir?" That's what they'd put on his grave tomorrow, he thought. Polite to the end.
The monster looked at him.
"My visit here was a product of my own foolishness, Karloff. When I saw you in Frankenstein, in my naiveté, I thought you might have been another like me."
"That's the best compliment an actor can receive."
The monster stood up and advanced towards him.
"Why is it that you do not fear me?"
"Mr. Monster, quite frankly I am more frightened right now then I ever have been in my life."
"And yet you stand here offering me your hospitality. You do not run, or scream, or threaten. You treat me as if I deserved kindness."
"That's probably because I'm expecting to wake up any minute. Or maybe I feel I know you too well to treat you any other way."
There was silence. Then Boris burst out:
"I really feel I should tell you, I didn't want to play the scene where I- you- kill the small girl. I felt it was completely out of character."
"You were correct. I once saved a young girl from drowning. Her father shot me."
"We're doing a sequel now. You talk- not as well as I see you really do. It'll be called The Bride of Frankenstein."
"Does that refer to me or my creator?"
"You."
The monster smiled, and his eyes began to tear.
"I always begged my maker for a mate."
Boris didn't have the heart to tell him how the movie ended. The monster continued his monologue.
"If I had only been shown love, I never would have harmed a soul. The world remembers me for the destruction I caused, and yet I could have shown so much more. If people had been able to look beyond my hideous figure, they would have seen a truly human heart and soul."
"That becomes clear during our new movie. In the Blind Man scene."
The monster walked towards the door.
"I am sorry to have taken up your evening."
"Not at all. Drop in any time."
The monster headed out onto the street. Boris called out to him:
"By the way, what do you think of speech?"
"I am proud of my verbal abilities, but I don't think your character needed it."
Boris went back inside. He poured himself another drink.