Maggie Gyllenhaal's radical take on the Bride of Frankenstein story takes a middle finger to the patriarchy. Plus there are musical numbers!

Jessie Buckley's anguished scream of a performance can't sustain an ambitious feminist opera that feels unintentionally, conspicuously tailor-made to align with Warner Bros.' neighboring DC

Her version of The Bride! is much harder to parse, and much harder to swallow. It’s a provocation and a challenge — a movie designed to prickle and puzzle the brain more than warm the heart. At times,

As the author’s non-consensual time share takes hold, Ida writhes on the dinner table. Buckley, an actor capable of seemingly elemental ecstasies, ejects oysters onto the striped shirt of Matthew Maher’s heavy. He’s as startled as we are at Ida’s feral spasms, her nasal Great Lakes tones switching to Shelley’s plummy, rumbly RP and back.

That annoyingly emphatic exclamation mark in the title isn’t just there for looks; it’s emblematic of the movie’s overkill