My dear readers, while my work with the horror genre is rather time consuming, I do my best to make time for passive pursuits. Yet I fear the same perfectionism that defines my professional life is difficult to dismiss. It is the reason I cannot find satisfaction with the topiary gardening that I have taken up in these warmer months. The fine art of crafting shrubbery was meant to be a relaxing pasttime, and I thought it would be a most worthy project to reproduce my sweet Penny Dee in greenery. But thus far, a failure to make my vision manifest has robbed me of any enjoyment. I keep imagining that I am giving the thing a sort of reserved posture but no matter what alterations I produce, every time I return it seems as though the figure is pointing to a window in the east wing most frantically. It is not at all the effect I’d hoped to create and I certainly do not intend to draw further attention to the east wing after all the disturbances we’ve had there of late.

Baron Frankenstein (Udo Kier) knows a thing or two about maintaining certain standards. He is a rather brainy type with novel ideas about surgical experimentation, and the baron explores these notions in a home workspace where only the most rigorous laboratory conditions will do. For example, only a person with his extensive medical background is permitted to examine post-mortem wounds with their own genitalia, a most savvy precaution against unwanted contamination. In keeping with this meticulous mindset, his latest project demands a very particular sort of fellow — specifically, he is searching for a man of Serbian ethnicity with a certain zeal for physical affection. This combination, if the good doctors’ calculations are correct, should produce a specimen ideal for siring a race of sentient and obedient corpses. Apparently, he has all sorts of bidding to do and really requires a substantial undead workforce to meet his needs.

While spying on the patrons of a local brothel, Baron Frankenstein becomes convinced that Sacha (Srdjan Zelenovic) is the just the fellow he needs. But the baron is unaware that Sacha is an aspiring monk who happens to be accompanying Nicholas (Joe Dallesandro), his more prurient associate, out of mere politeness. And so, in a rather comic misunderstanding, the baron decapitates Sacha and makes off with his head. Though he manages to successfully whip this pilfered body part into a suitable whole, the baron is greatly displeased with his subject’s disinterest in sexual congress. Frankenstein’s wife and sister (Monique van Vooren), however, is not quite so down on the whole project and asks permission to keep Sacha as a sort of bedroom attendant. None of this sits too well with Nicholas, who is rather disappointed with the Frankenstein family’s liberal use of his friend.

Flesh for Frankenstein is by no means a film that wants for sensational content, and I imagine that any audience member hoping for nothing more than a good bit of bloodshed and a few cheeky glimpses inside the boudoir will be most satisfied. But with a pair of thoroughly artistic chaps like Andy Warhol and Paul Morrisey lurking behind the scenes, it only seems fair to expect some effort at profundity is at work here and, at the risk of seeming presumptuous, I believe their message is quite clear — no matter how devoted one may be, it is best to not bring work home with you. Failing to create a proper bit of separation between the laboratory and the living quarters can really put a damper on one’s domestic situation. As Flesh for Frankenstein demonstrates so clearly, even bonds as doubly reinforced as siblings turned spouses can be ruptured by partially outfitted test subjects popping up at the dinner table. It is the sort of scene that is best avoided if harmony in the home is to be maintained. 

Flesh for Frankenstein runs 95 minutes and is rated R for “bizarre” violence, sexuality, and for language.