‘Frankenstein’ lays bare the horror of the human heart

          What does it mean to be alive? What does a creation owe to its creator, or a creator its creation? What answer is there for the evil that men do?

Dispense with any preconceived notions of Boris Karloff’s stoic blockhead, or even Fred Gwynne’s campy but good-hearted “Munster.” Neither will you find the irreverent whimsy of the hilarious 1974 Mel Brooks cinematic production. No, the creature revealed in this Henderson Civic Theatre production of “Frankenstein” is a far more tortured and tragic iteration, and one that strikes a familiar chord for any soul who has contemplated the deeper themes of human existence.

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