The last days of Frankenstein (1931) director James Whale are explored.

James Whale: My life is a game of strip poker. Want to play?
[on meeting Princess Margaret]
James Whale: This is my gardener Clayton Boone. He's never met a princess before, only queens.
Hannah: Oh, men! Always pulling legs. Everything is comedy. Oh, how very amusing. How marvelously droll.
James Whale: [while sketching Boone] Oh, that shirt, Mr. Boone.
Clayton Boone: Hmm?
James Whale: Yes, I-I am sorry. It's just too white. It's too distracting. Would it be asking you too much to take it off?
Clayton Boone: [nervous] Well, I'm not wearing an undershirt today.
James Whale: Oh, pish posh, I'm not your Aunt Tillie.
James Whale: Bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, for you but not for me. O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling? Grave, where thy victory?
James Whale: One likes to live simply.
Hannah: Poor Mr. Jimmy. There is much good in him, but he will suffer the fires of hell.
Clayton Boone: Oh yeah?
Hannah: That is what the priests tell me. His sins of the flesh will keep him from heaven.
Clayton Boone: Hell, everybody's got those.
Hannah: No. His is the worst. The unspeakable. The deed no man can name without shame. What is the good English? All I know is bugger, he's a bugger, men who bugger each other...
Clayton Boone: A homo?
Hannah: *Yes*, you *know*...
James Whale: Making movies is the most wonderful thing in the world. Working with friends - entertaining people - yes, I suppose I miss it.
James Whale: And we're quite informal around here - no need to worry about a bathing suit.
Betty: Sounds screwy to me. I can't imagine a real artist wanting to spend time looking at that kisser.
Clayton Boone: Oh, yeah? Well, this kisser wasn't so bad that you couldn't lay under it a couple of times.
Edmund Kay: You're a dirty old man.
James Whale: Oh.
James Whale: Am I right in assuming, Mr. Kay, that it's not me that you're interested in, but only my horror pictures?
Edmund Kay: No, but it's the horror movies you'll be remembered for.
James Whale: I'm not dead yet, Mr. Kay.
James Whale: Who is this new yardman?
Hannah: Mr. Bugen... something B... I don't know. He came cheap!
[last lines]
Michael Boone: [viewing James Whale's illustration of Clayton as Frankenstein's monster] Is this for real?
Dana Boone: Clay, take out the trash before it rains.
Clayton Boone: Come on.
James Whale: It is kind of you to indulge your elders in their vices. Just as I indulge the young in theirs.
Ernest Thesiger: [speaking to Colin Clive about the implications behind the Bride of Frankenstein's dress and hair] I gather we not only did her hair, but dressed her. What a couple of queens we are, Colin.
James Whale: Yes, that's right, a couple of flaming queens. Pretorius is a little bit in love with Dr. Frankenstein, you know.
Clayton Boone: Well, um, w-what were some of your movies?
James Whale: Oh, this and that. The only ones that you may have heard of are the Frankenstein movies.
Clayton Boone: Frankenstein? And, um, uh, Bride of Frankenstein? And the Son of? And the other ones too?
James Whale: Uh, no, I-I just directed the first two. The others were done by hacks.
James Whale: I have no interest in your body, Mr. Boone.
James Whale: There are no Monsters here...
[Hannah is disturbed by the image of Boris Karloff as Frankenstein's Monster]
Hannah: Oh, that monster. How could you be working with him?
James Whale: Don't be daft. He's a very proper actor... and the dullest fellow imaginable.
James Whale: Take off your shirt, and I'll tell you all about it.
James Whale: [about the Frankenstein monster] He's noble. Noble and misunderstood.
David Lewis: You only embarrass yourself.
James Whale: Oh dear, I'll never work in this town again.
Clayton Boone: You must think the whole world is queer.
Clayton Boone: I am NOT... your monster.
Clayton Boone: The monster's lonely. He wants a friend. A girlfriend. Somebody. What's so sick about that?
Clayton Boone: No, I don't have a girlfriend.
James Whale: Why not?
Clayton Boone: You have to kiss some ass to get a piece of it.
James Whale: I suppose you'd like the top down?
Clayton Boone: If that's all right with you.
James Whale: Nothing would please me more.
[first lines]
Hannah: [whispering] She was ugly when I brought her. I not like her. Mr. Jimmy not like her. Better you indicate, Mr. David.
David Lewis: Stop.
Hannah: Shhh.
Betty: I bet he's some fruit just pretending to be famous so that he can get in the big guy's pants.
Clayton Boone: What makes you say that?
Betty: Just thinking out loud.
Clayton Boone: Well, why don't you just keep your dirty thoughts to yourself?
Betty: Alright then, he's interested in you for your conversation. We all know what a great talker you are.
Clayton Boone: Fuck you.
Betty: Not anymore you don't.
James Whale: There was a time when this place was full of pricks. Big, hard, arrogant pricks.
Clayton Boone: Enough already. Isn't it bad enough that you tell me you're a fucking homo? You have to rub it in my face?
James Whale: Oh, don't be daft.
James Whale: He's never met a princess - only queens.
James Whale: Oh, shut up. All we did was talk.
Clayton Boone: What was that all about?
[referring to conversation between Whale and Cuckor]
James Whale: Oh, don't worry. Nothing of any importance. Just two old men slapping each other with lilies.
James Whale: Hatred was the only thing that kept my soul alive. And amongst the men I hated... was my dear old dumb father, who put me in that hell in the first place.
James Whale: I've spent much of my life outrunning the past, and now it floods all over me.

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