There are bad horror movies, and then there are bad horror movies that feel like they were cobbled together from scraps of other bad horror movies, glued with expired tomato paste, and then left in the sun too long. Return from Death (Frankenstein 2000) is very much the latter. Directed by Aristide Massaccesi—better known as Joe D’Amato, patron saint of Italian sleaze—it’s billed as his “triumphant” return to horror. In reality, it’s more like watching an old boxer climb back into the ring only to collapse trying to lace his gloves.
The Plot That Wasn’t
At its core (and I use the word “core” the way a rotten apple still technically has one), the movie is about Ric, a crippled former boxer played by Donald O’Brien, who gets framed for attacking a psychic woman named Georgia. While in a coma, Georgia somehow establishes a telepathic link with Ric, and through the magic of budget-conscious pseudoscience, she essentially turns him into a hulking monster who exacts revenge on the real culprits.
It sounds halfway interesting in the same way a drunk guy at a bar telling you he’s got a great idea for a movie sounds interesting—for about 45 seconds. Then the reality sets in: Return from Death is less “Frankenstein 2000” and more “Frankenstein Direct-to-VHS Bargain Bin.”
The pacing is glacial, the dialogue feels like it was translated into English by a malfunctioning Ouija board, and the horror is as threatening as a kitten in a Dracula cape.
Monster Problems
Donald O’Brien, bless him, had the misfortune of suffering a real-life accident that left him with a limp. D’Amato, never one to miss an opportunity for exploitation, thought, “Hey, that looks like a monster gait!” So instead of a terrifying reanimated behemoth, we get an Irish actor shuffling around like he’s late for bingo. Every scene with Ric is less horror and more sad reminder of worker’s comp.
And the makeup effects? Imagine papier-mâché left out in the rain, then sprayed with cooking oil. That’s about the level of artistry on display. This is supposed to be the terrifying new “Frankenstein 2000,” but he looks more like a guy who lost a fight with a can of Elmer’s Glue.
Psychic Connection, Zero Chemistry
Cinzia Monreale, who once gave an unforgettable performance in The Beyond, is utterly wasted here as Georgia. She spends most of the movie lying in bed, twitching like she’s having a dream about being in a better film. The supposed psychic connection between her and Ric is the narrative glue, but it holds about as well as a dollar-store Band-Aid in a rainstorm.
At one point, she seems to be psychically “guiding” Ric, but all it looks like is a woman grimacing at ceiling tiles while a man with a limp smacks extras in slow motion. The idea of two souls linking across science and mysticism could have been intriguing. Instead, it plays like a really bad long-distance relationship where neither party has decent cell reception.
Nazis, Vienna, and Other Random Stuff
In typical D’Amato fashion, the movie can’t decide what it wants to be. Is it a revenge thriller? A supernatural horror? A modern-day Frankenstein riff? At one point there are hints of mafia subplots. Then we’re in Vienna, except not really—just establishing shots of Vienna slapped onto scenes clearly filmed in some abandoned Roman warehouse.
And then there’s Dr. Frankenstein. Yes, there’s a character literally named Dr. Frankenstein. Played with all the charisma of wet laundry by Martin Dansky, he shows up, says science-y things, and vanishes again. He’s less mad scientist and more bored substitute teacher.
The Gore (Or Lack Thereof)
This being a Joe D’Amato film, you’d at least expect some outrageous gore. After all, this is the man who gave us the gut-churning Beyond the Darkness. Instead, Return from Death offers limp violence, clumsy prosthetics, and more cutaways than a made-for-TV movie. There are a few stabbings, some blood smears, and a couple of “monster attacks” that look like Ric tripped and fell on somebody.
For a film advertised as a Frankenstein update for the 1990s, it’s astonishing how toothless it is. The only thing truly mutilated here is the audience’s patience.
Direction? What Direction?
D’Amato reportedly rewatched James Whale’s 1931 Frankenstein for inspiration. If so, he must have nodded off halfway through, because Return from Death has none of the atmosphere, none of the Gothic dread, and none of the artistry. Instead, it feels like a film directed via shrug. Scenes meander, camera angles are uninspired, and the editing is so clunky it makes you wonder if the reels were shuffled out of order.
The soundtrack by Piero Montanari tries valiantly to inject mood, but the cheap electronic cues end up sounding like rejected tracks from a Sega Genesis game. At times it’s so mismatched that you half expect Sonic the Hedgehog to sprint past the lumbering Ric.
The Performances
Donald O’Brien gives it his best, but the role demands he spend half the film looking confused and the other half drooling while staggering. Cinzia Monreale looks embarrassed, and who can blame her? Maurice Poli as Hoffner might as well have phoned it in from a payphone.
The supporting cast fares no better. Most of them are credited under Anglicized pseudonyms, as if ashamed of their involvement. Watching them deliver dialogue is like witnessing a hostage tape—dead eyes, monotone delivery, the faint hope someone will yell “cut” and let them go home.
A Festival Favorite (Sort Of)
Return from Death had its grand unveiling at the 1993 Fantafestival in Rome. Reports suggest the audience responded with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for dental surgery. It was the cinematic equivalent of leaving church early and realizing you locked your keys in the car.
It barely screened elsewhere, and when it did, reactions ranged from “What the hell was that?” to “Does anyone have a lighter? I need to set this tape on fire.”
Legacy of Limp Horror
For D’Amato, this was his final horror outing, and maybe that’s for the best. If Return from Death proved anything, it’s that sometimes the monster isn’t the limping ex-boxer or the demonic psychic link. Sometimes the monster is a director dragging a beloved genre into the gutter one clumsy shot at a time.
Fans of Italian horror deserved better. Frankenstein deserved better. Donald O’Brien deserved better. Hell, even the VHS bargain bin deserved better.
Final Verdict
Return from Death (Frankenstein 2000) is a film so uninspired it makes you nostalgic for the competence of Plan 9 from Outer Space. At least Ed Wood’s disaster had enthusiasm. This? This is just a limp shuffle toward irrelevance.
If you’re looking for scares, avoid this one. If you’re looking for unintentional comedy, there are easier ways to find it—like watching your neighbor try to set up IKEA furniture drunk.
One star for Cinzia Monreale’s cheekbones. Zero stars for everything else.
