Mary Shelley's Frankenstein was a sort of famous novel made into a really not great Kenneth Branagh movie with a ton of potential. Pri gives an overview of the titular author's symbologic biograhpical details like Robert Langdon at the Louvre doing whatever his job was before we talk about cut Kenneth Branagh, sh*tloads of potatoes from South America, and slipping, slapping, and slopping in amniotic fluid.

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For more on the life of Mary Shelley, read this.