Movie Review – ‘Frankenstein’ breathes new life into the monster movie

It’s hard to believe that a 200-year-old novel is still making waves in Hollywood, but here we are — Frankenstein is back on the big screen (for a limited engagement before heading to Netflix) in what might be the most beautiful telling of Mary Shelley’s story yet. First published in 1818, Shelley’s tale introduced the world to Victor Frankenstein and his ill-fated creation — the being who turns on his maker after being abandoned. Since then, Frankenstein has become one of the most adapted novels in history, often just behind another famous monster story, Dracula.

In this new imagining, Academy Award–winning director Guillermo del Toro takes on both writing and directing duties — a fitting move for the man behind two of the most visually striking films of the 2000s: Pan’s Labyrinth and The Shape of Water. In fact, it only seems natural that the filmmaker who breathed life into a wooden boy in his 2022 adaptation of Pinocchio would now turn his lens to a different kind of creation. Unlike most previous versions, del Toro’s Frankenstein feels far less like a horror movie — del Toro and actress Mia Goth even describe it as a “family drama.” As he told Deadline, “It’s about the very Catholic notion of fathers and sons, and the pain that we transmit from one generation to the next.” In another interview, he added, “For me, it’s about the human spirit — about forgiveness, understanding, and the importance of listening to each other.” While that may not fully make sense until you’ve seen the film, it’s a surprisingly fitting description for this deeply human take on Shelley’s classic.

Told in three parts, the film opens with “The Prelude,” where an injured Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) is rescued by a ship’s crew trapped deep in the Arctic ice. Unlucky for them — and Victor — his creation is close behind, determined to find his maker. Impervious to bullets and strong enough to overturn the ship itself, the monster is unstoppable, undying, and singularly focused on confronting his creator. As the crew struggles to defend themselves, Victor recounts his story to the ship’s captain, leading into the film’s second act, “Victor’s Tale.” Here, we finally learn who Victor is — where he came from and what drove him to defy nature.

Raised by his devoted mother (Mia Goth) on a lavish estate funded by her dowry, Victor grows up largely ignored by his father, a proud physician more concerned with reputation than family. The doctor’s harsh lessons on the human body come with frequent beatings — never to Victor’s hands, of course, since they would one day be needed for surgical precision. When his mother dies giving birth to his younger brother William, Victor is left haunted by grief, especially as his father openly favors the new child. “Whereas William is the breeze,” Victor recalls, “I am the storm cloud.” del Toro’s color symbolism throughout is stunning — his mother’s funeral bathed in white for purity, his father’s in black for rot and decay, while blue and red tones ripple throughout the film, as well.

Years later, now a doctor himself, Victor becomes consumed by his obsession with reanimating life — a passion others condemn as “unholy” and an “abomination.” But for Victor, the loss of his mother made death intolerable; to conquer it feels divine. Enter Heinrich Harlander (Christoph Waltz), the uncle of William’s fiancée, Elizabeth — also played by Mia Goth, a casting choice that brilliantly underscores Victor’s deep-seated mother fixation. Harlander eagerly offers to fund Victor’s research, though his true motives remain unclear. Meanwhile, Victor becomes infatuated with Elizabeth, and his longing, grief, and ambition intertwine into something dangerous. When he finally succeeds in creating life, the results are not what he imagined — the creature, limited in speech and thought, is a far cry from his vision of perfection. Enraged and unraveling, Victor, more like his father than he realizes, decides to “fix” his mistake, leading the story into its haunting final chapter.

In “The Creature’s Tale,” the perspective shifts, and we finally see the world through the monster’s eyes — how he escapes Victor, learns language, and begins to grasp his own existence. Far from the mindless brute Victor paints him to be, this creature is introspective, curious, and profoundly lonely. His journey recalls Edward Scissorhands in tone — watching him quietly observe a family from afar, acting as their unseen protector, and forming a tender bond with the family’s blind patriarch is deeply affecting. Their connection is one of the film’s most powerful moments — a reminder of the human need for empathy and belonging. Through this friendship, the creature discovers forgiveness, a lesson that may (or may not) ultimately save Victor’s life. The film’s final lines send chills down the spine — tragic, poetic, and strangely hopeful.

Del Toro’s screenplay is nothing short of lyrical, steeped in a Shakespearean sense of tragedy and beauty, particularly through Elizabeth’s dialogue. Eternal life, often portrayed as a gift, is reframed here as a curse. “We don’t recognize how lonely that could become,” she says, a line that resonates long after the credits roll. For del Toro, immortality is not triumph but torment — the creature cannot die, and living alone in endless isolation becomes its own kind of death. As aptly stated during the film and in the movie’s tagline, “Only monsters play God.”

First brought to screen in the 1910 silent short and immortalized by Boris Karloff in James Whale’s 1931 classic, Frankenstein has taken many forms — but none quite like del Toro’s. Gone is the green-skinned giant with bolts in his neck; in his place stands something far more human, fragile, and heartbreaking. Jacob Elordi disappears beneath ten hours of prosthetics and makeup each day, first appearing as a shrouded mass of bandages before gradually transforming into a being that feels unmistakably alive. Elordi wasn’t del Toro’s first choice (that was Andrew Garfield), but his performance is unforgettable — both terrifying and tender. Oscar Isaac, meanwhile, delivers perhaps his richest work to date. Despite already anchoring franchises like Star Wars and Spider-Man, this might be his defining performance. And Goth, pulling double duty as both Victor’s mother and his obsession, is magnetic — the emotional and moral anchor of the entire film.

Like the recent One Battle After Another, Frankenstein is that rare film that earns every minute of its two-plus-hour runtime. While it opens in theaters for a limited three-week run before landing on Netflix, it’s a movie that deserves to be seen on the biggest screen possible. Sure, modern TVs are bigger and sharper than ever, but nothing compares to the experience of sitting in a dark theater, surrounded by strangers, watching a story this grand unfold. Already generating Oscar buzz for its lead performances and del Toro’s masterful direction, Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is a visual and emotional triumph. It’s score, costumes, and set design also deserving of the gold statue. Yes, the monster will rise again — with Maggie Gyllenhaal’s The Bride and Sebastian Stan’s upcoming Frankenstein in Romania both due next year — but it’s hard to imagine anyone surpassing the artistry and soul that del Toro brings to this timeless tale.