It’s Halloween once again. A time when iconic ghouls, monsters, and killers from across the eras rise to terrify victims of all ages in this most haunting of holidays.

No matter the type of creature and no matter the era of origin, an iconic appearance is key to a horror character’s staying power in the minds of fans. And few characters are as instantly recognizable as Frankenstein’s Monster and The Bride, who have stayed in the minds of audiences and creators alike since 1935’s The Bride of Frankenstein.

They’ve been so memorable, in fact, that Universal Pictures recently announced that a Bride of Frankenstein remake written by David Koepp is in the works. Honestly, it’s strange it’s taken them this long; movie studios are more predictable than ever.

But for a film so instantly recognizable, even to those who have never seen it, The Bride of Frankenstein is far less about its cone-haired female creature and far more a meditation on the existential ruination of its signature bolt-necked Monster played by Boris Karloff.

The Bride of Frankenstein, directed by James Whale and written by William Hurlbut, and oh-so-loosely based on the Mary Shelley’s classic novel Frankenstein, is a meditation on the relationship between the profane and the beautiful, the spiritual and the blasphemous, and how their profound differences can only lead to inevitable death and destruction in the most tragic of circumstances.

The narrative takes place right where the 1930 Frankenstein leaves off — all you need to know going into Bride is that Frankenstein created a creature by reanimating life and it did not go very well. In Bride, The Monster survives an angry mob burning a windmill down upon him while an injured Dr. Frankenstein is to be taken back to his home, where his new wife awaits him.

But the supposed peace is not held for long, as The Monster once again roams the countryside, looking for acceptance and finding only fear and hate. Meanwhile, Dr. Frankenstein is approached by the obsessed Dr. Pretorius, a former colleague who also wants to reanimate life but needs Frankenstein’s help to do so.

These two dueling storylines of a creature brought back from the dead only to suffer through living and of a doctor whose inescapable obsession with playing god leads to him forsake his own life detail the profanity of unnatural life and the tragedy of human hatred. For what could have been the beauty of new life in the creation of The Monster is marred by the limitations of such unnatural creation and the toll of hatred and fear propagated by humanity.

As a whole, The Bride of Frankenstein is stranger, funnier, and deeper than its predecessor and most of its contemporary monster films, which is surprising given its origins as a film that Whale originally refused to make. Those elements make the film into something far more potent and timeless than what may be expected of a film from its era, even given the fondness often shown for the classic Universal Studios monster films.

As The Monster travels both through towns and wilderness in search of peace, Karloff’s creature takes on a journey with more than a passing resemblance to Christ’s Stations of the Cross. From being attacked and scorned by villagers to partaking in a Last Supper-like meal to being tied up and hoisted high on a pole that is most certainly a riff on the crucifixion, The Monster is beset by a fearful and hateful humanity that rejects his status as a living being. But The Monster is not a savior. Far from it. He’s a creation of man whereas Christ is the Son of God. Being scientifically raised from the dead means that The Monster is the embodiment of sacrilege, lacking entirely the divine spark of God. As such, his Christ-like tribulations reinforce his own blasphemous nature while still eliciting sympathy.

The amount of violence and death wrought by The Monster makes him a terrifying creature at first, but his continued suffering and growing humanity quickly turn him into a sympathetic, even pitiable, doomed protagonist. Even so, Whale’s film consistently asserts that while The Monster may be a tragic and far more human creature than what is originally believed, his unnatural origins are doomed to have disastrous consequences on all who are touched by him.

It’s a fine line that is walked admirably well throughout The Bride of Frankenstein, and one that is absolutely necessary in order to powerfully assert the message at hand. If the life of The Monster were ultimately blessed, then The Bride’s could be as well. Nevertheless, Frankenstein is seduced by the chance to once again create life. Transitioning from reluctant participant to obsessed creator to repentant sinner, Frankenstein’s arc is ultimately about the rejection of foolishly playing god and accepting a better life, one where he can be with his new wife and perhaps ultimately create life through more natural means.

Time and time again, Whale’s film shows us that what was done by Frankenstein was a violation of life itself and something that simple, uncaring humanity could never accept. Through his interactions with a saintly blind man who befriends him (in a scene hysterically parodied in Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein) and even in saving a woman who falls into a river, we see that The Monster is not inherently violent or destructive, but driven toward such actions through the hate and violence of humans. Concepts of friendship are finally understood by The Monster, only to be ultimately ripped away, making his now self-aware life all the more tragic.

When The Monster meets Pretorious, who asks the newly-talking creature if he understands his origins, he shows that he does, stating, “I love dead. Hate living.” For a creature that has experienced both life and death, pining for death once again is a truly sobering note in a tragic gothic tale.

Of course, no discussion of The Bride of Frankenstein would be complete without discussing The Bride herself. While the creature only appears in the final 10 minutes of the film itself, her meaning can be felt throughout. The idea of a female creature is ultimately what brings Frankenstein back to his old ways, creating a type of bride from his own power while already having a loving bride that has chosen him. And it is the idea of a bride, the ultimate embodiment of a “friend,” that gives The Monster himself some hope of peace and acceptance from another living being.

And in the creation of The Bride, we once again see the allure and horror of casting aside the will of God in order to create life in ones’ own image. The Bride is mesmerizing and strangely terrifying, a new creature that cannot grasp its own existence yet. However, upon seeing The Monster, who approaches her with a heart-breaking tenderness and warmth, The Bride lets out a primordial scream of terror, rejecting The Monster who thought her to be the one creature on Earth that could love and understand him.

And in The Bride’s repeated rejections, The Monster fully and completely rejects life itself. Allowing Frankenstein and his true bride to escape the castle where The Bride was brought to life in order to truly live, The Monster proclaims to Dr. Pretorious and The Bride, who inhumanly hisses at him in return, “We belong dead.” Pulling a lever that overloads every machine as a tear rolls down his cheek, The Monster destroys himself and the other two in a massive suicidal explosion.

Do they truly belong dead? That is up to the viewer to decide. But The Monster’s tragic resolution to reembrace death after the unendurable measure of rejection he faced in life means The Bride of Frankenstein is something more than just a classic horror film. It is a haunting, beautiful piece of existential rumination on the nature of life and death. To borrow a phrase from The Monster himself, The Bride of Frankenstein is a film that belongs alive.