Re-imagining Frankenstein is old hat at this point even as Sean Graney, who directors a unique version which runs through November 1^st at the Museum of Contemporary Art, renders production of the Mary Shelley classic sans forth wall.

Instead of doggedly adhering to the novel’s narrative, Graney has chosen to create a staged version of Shelley’s story that incorporates unwitting theater goers into the proceedings. With a hand gesture any actor can tell ticket holders to shove over and get out of their way. Bench seats are cleared and crowd members crane their heads around as the mass of people move alongside actors from one end of the theater to another in attempts to actually see what’s happening.

It’s an exercise in crowd wrangling, but the environment lends itself to theater goers watching each other for cues as well. Every so often a screen with the 1931 film version of Frankenstein draws an attendee’s attention. Sporadically throughout the play, it’s easy to notice an unprompted, single person look up at the film only to have fifteen others standing in the same area follow suit.

These tangential distractions, which should be assumed intended, can’t disallow the play from functioning. Even as cast members move in and out of groups of theater-goers to reach a specific part of the set, the audience remains enrapt.

Salvaging the narrative from its origins as a novel, though, is made impossible by Graney and his small company of players. The show begins with scenes detailing Victor (John Byrnes) brining his monster to life. However, in Shelley’s novel, the act of creation occurs only after a lengthy introduction to Victor Frankenstein, his family and his education. Even with the narrative elements of Frankenstein being ripped asunder and re-assembled to fit the production’s needs, basic concepts of the novel remain intact.

The omnipresent discussion of responsibility for other’s actions is repeatedly invoked. Victor, who gave the monster life, is charged with helping the cobbled together man find happiness. Even the wretched deserve a shot at pleasure says the daemon over and over again. His eloquent pleading prompts the doctor to assemble a woman for the daemon to wed. As all of this is going on, though, anyone familiar with the original narrative should wonder, where’s Henry Clerval?

While there are snatches of dialogue between the Victor and his betrothed that sound as if it’s all being read for the first time, the monster’s interactions with his intended aren’t just comical, but delivered with more than a dash of vigor and conviction.

Proffered along with discussing everything from origin stories to marriage these two abominations break into song a few times. Neither possesses an unpleasant voice, but there probably isn’t a cast CD on the horizon. While Graney’s version of Frankenstein attempts to be all things theater and visual entertainment, these songs, even if each is tied to the narrative, are distractions from the suspension of disbelief that any good production summons from its viewers.

Geared towards a younger crowd, there won’t be too many elderly types in the audience at this revamped Frankenstein. Any number of reasons could be offered up, but by the end of the show theater goers might feel as if they’ve done as much work as the actors.