The lonely, the abandoned, and the beautifully grotesque — Shelley’s immortal fable finds a worthy kindred spirit in del Toro’s most melancholic film yet.
There are books that thrill you. Books that haunt you. And then there’s Frankenstein — a jolt of lightning in the heart of literary history, still rattling the bones of popular culture more than two centuries later.
Written by 18-year-old Mary Shelley during a storm-lashed Gothic writing challenge in the summer of 1816, it remains a remarkable feat of imagination — a tale of creation, obsession, and the darkest side of the human condition that became the blueprint for modern horror, science fiction, and our understanding of the monstrous.
Guillermo del Toro (Pan’s Labyrinth, The Shape of Water, Crimson Peak) — whose work has long reverberated with Shelleyan themes of loss, loneliness, and monstrous beauty — boldly steps into the storm with his adaptation of Shelley’s classic. And, true to form, this version takes its time, immersing you in a depth that many other adaptations tend to overlook.
Del Toro largely stays faithful to Shelley’s tale, focusing on Victor Frankenstein’s tragic ambition and the Creature’s search for identity and belonging. The film unfolds, as I just said, at a deliberate pace, allowing the weight of loneliness, regret, and moral conflict to really soak in, steering the story away from simple horror spectacle and toward something far more textured and mournful.
Visually, the film pulls the viewer into a richly gothic world, drenched in muted tones and rain-soaked landscapes. Del Toro’s direction gives each frame a painterly feel, nodding to both the Romantic era and the classic horror films Shelley’s novel helped shape.
The cast delivers across the board. Oscar Isaac’s Victor is a man torn between ambition and self-destruction, his vulnerability adding so much nuance to his obsession, while Jacob Elordi’s Creature is both a physical and emotional powerhouse; his pain etched throughout. Mia Goth shines as Elizabeth, finding the Creature’s humanity where others see only horror, bringing a grounded tenderness that offers a soft counterpoint to the film’s relentless tragedy. Supporting players Felix Kammerer, David Bradley, and Christoph Waltz are equally superb, fully immersed in del Toro’s sombre take on the classic tale..
At the same time, this adaptation transcends the confines of a gothic spectacle or simple retelling. It’s a profound meditation on creation, responsibility, and the dangers of unchecked ambition. Del Toro stays true to the core of Shelley’s themes, which still hold immense weight today, revealing how the true monstrosity lies not just in the act of creation, but in the flawed desires and reckless decisions that fuel it.
The Creature’s mournful search for belonging also echoes Shelley’s warning that “nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” It’s this aching truth at the heart of the film that makes it resonate today, where unsettling changes — whether in the shape of “very well-tailored suits,” as del Toro insinuated at the Venice Film Festival, or the encroachment of AI — remind us of our own fragility in the face of progress.
In the end, del Toro’s Frankenstein isn’t just a tale of ambition, but of the recklessness that comes with it. “But now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.” Victor’s dream, which started out with noble intentions, ends up costing far more than he ever expected — and del Toro provides a crucial reminder that unchecked ambition, when fueled by hubris, can reshape the world in ways we never fully understand until it’s too late.
VERDICT:
Frankenstein opens in select cinemas from 17 October, before streaming globally on Netflix from 7 November.
