I don't think Mary Shelly's original monster has ever (and I truly mean never, ever) been given more justice than this performance from Rory Kinnear. I was left in absolute awe of his devastatingly sad and soulful characterisation. It was a masterpiece. His poem extracts from Wordsworth here, rendered with such perfect character and beautifully emotive intonation. THIS is the bar for role and rendition. I don't think I'll hear or see anything better in my lifetime.
Despite everything, Frankenstein's creature was still the most compassionate being in the whole series. The actor who played her was simply terrific in his role.
Kinnear's recitation of Wordsworth made this series finale one of the best in cinematic history. This series could not have ended more perfectly. Period.
THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell’d in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;- Turn wheresoe’er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. But there’s a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look’d upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Trying to understand this poem. I wonder. Was everything always without gleam? And he as a child saw more than what was there or when you grow up you see the truth about the world. There's no gleam, no beauty of a celestial light. Was everything a lie? He as kid couldn't understand how the world really is. Although there's still something on the field, a tree that reminds him of his emotions and innocent feelings as a child.
Honestly the entire cast of this series was outstanding, they caught lightning in a bottle. It's a shame that Showtime weren't willing to front the cost of another season. I know it ended as intended, but the last few episodes make it clear the story needed more room to breath. If there was one show where we could get them to go back and just make an extra season, for me it would be this one. The creators deserve it.
words can barely Express the way I feel each time i listen to the beauty of this poem. With every verse I fall in love with the beauty in which this character recites each breathtaking line . Thank you
Nobody has ever been able to capture in a work of fiction the realism of the evil, the darkness and the cold horror of the human being and of real life like John Logan in this masterpiece. The cold and shivering human love, love? Disguised selfishness.
Rory Kinnear is on another level. What a truly brilliant performance as Frankenstein's Monster. His reading of this poem is nothing short of breathtaking.
In the end there are no monsters. Just truly complicated individuals who are very flawed yet relatable on the most deepest of levels. Frankenstein at his core is more human then anyone.
The gut-wrenching tragedy of his life makes it extremely difficult to watch Penny Dreadful a second time, yet I recommend it to everyone. Dr. Frankenstein thinks science can solve every problem. Could science even touch the abyss of grief felt by "the monster"? In fact, Frankenstein's efforts to "fix" the problem of death led to the tragic life of the monster in a kind of eternal twilight, where he is cursed with more awareness than any other living person.
Fantastic soundtrack, fantastic series. The themes and ideas it grappled with, it was so much more than just a Gothic horror show. But because it was a so-called genre TV show, it was often underappreciated.
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;- Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. (...) -But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone; The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
