We were so lucky that the laboratory equipment that was actually used on the original Universal Frankenstein film was still around. It was stored in the garage of the incredibly talented Kenneth Strickfaden, who had designed all that unforgettable laboratory machinery for the 1931 film. These were the contraptions that made the scary lightning zaps and conferred the entire set with a pulsating eerie glow. We visited him at his garage in Santa Monica and he dusted off each piece and miraculously it all still worked! Being able to once again use those original set pieces really lent an air of authenticity to the look of the film. Hats off to the remarkable Kenneth Strickfaden!
On set directing Peter Boyle as the hulking monster with his iconic zipper neck.
We used more special effects on this film than I had ever used before. To get that low-hanging fog we relied on tons of dry ice. The fireplaces had concrete logs so they wouldn’t set the set on fire, and we used silk strips of fabric fluttering in front of lamps out of frame to create the effect of flickering firelight on the walls.
Our costume designer was the prolific and talented Dorothy Jeakins. She had costumed such diverse films as The Sound of Music （1965）， True Grit （1969）， The Night of the Iguana （1964）， The Music Man （1962）， Elmer Gantry （1960）， South Pacific （1958）， and many others. She could do anything. She was one of the best costume designers that ever worked in Hollywood.
When we met and sat down to talk about the look of the costumes she asked, “For the villagers, do you want Alsatian? German? Bavarian? Transylvanian? Bohemian?”
I was amazed at her knowledge of all the subtle differences in different periods of turn-of-the century costumes. I said, “Dorothy, you’re the expert—it’s your choice.”
Gene chose to be in the lab coat for most of the movie and for his street clothes he picked out an old-fashioned, salt-and-pepper English jacket with a belt in the back. He knew Freddie Frankenstein’s style. He chose to wear a Ronald Coleman–type mustache. I said no, and then we shot two scenes, one with it and one without it. He was absolutely right. The mustache added great bearing and character. Gene was never more handsome than when he played young Dr. Frankenstein. He was also never more insane. The funny-looking Gene Wilder that I had originally met suddenly became a true leading man, albeit slightly crazy.
The artisans we had were thrilled to be working on a black-and-white picture. Our makeup creator, William Tuttle, had done the makeup for Singin’ in the Rain （1952）， North by Northwest （1959）， and The Twilight Zone. He was a master. When I told Bill that we’d be making the film in black and white, he hugged me! He put his head right against my face and said, “I was going to tell you that if you made it in color, the monster would be blue-green. He would look silly. But in black and white, the makeup will look incredible.”
On the set of Young Frankenstein framing a dramatic shot of Peter Boyle as the monster.
He showed me three or four different monster faces. I said to Bill, “I know the monster has to be dangerous looking, but at times he should also be beautiful and angelic.”
William Tuttle was a bit of a genius; when I told him we had to find some new way of fastening the monster’s head to his neck because I didn’t want to use the iconic bolts and have any copyright issues with the original Frankenstein, he came up with a stroke of genius—a zipper!
Every day Bill kept Peter Boyle in the makeup chair for more than four hours to complete his transformation into the monster. But it was worth every minute. Peter stopped complaining the minute he saw the incredible result at the dailies. We further exaggerated Peter’s stature by putting him in six-inch platform boots and padding his costume to add heft. He was indeed a big and scary but beautiful monster.
It had been a long time since black and white was standard cinematography, so I wondered if there was a cameraman still around who could work in this format. After an exhaustive search I came up with the right choice—Gerald Hirschfeld. He was a master cinematographer and well versed in the art of filming in black and white. He carefully studied James Whale’s famous Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstein to try and match their style.
After the first few days I said, “It’s good, Jerry. But I need something extra. I can’t even explain it. We’re making a satire. So it has to have a little more than we’re getting.”
Jerry said, “Leave it to me.”
Jerry got it just right. Perfection, and a little satiric. It was just a touch brighter than normal. It was perfectly sculptured black-and-white satiric photography with high-contrast backlighting that made the characters stand out. It was “James Whale, plus.” I couldn’t have been happier.