Guillermo del Toro is a filmmaker after my own heart.
And while that kind of personal statement is hardly a compelling basis for a review, it’s nevertheless the truest and most important assessment I could possibly give, reinforced by my viewing of his latest triumph, Frankenstein.
Like 2022’s Pinocchio, it finds the writer-director – who has done brilliantly in both adapting known properties to the screen and creating his own new tales – taking on one of the most well-established and frequently adapted classics of western literature. And like that film, he does so with an incredible new permutation that’s both faithful to the novel and fully reinvigorated by his unique perspective and style.
The difference is that Frankenstein is a story, maybe the story, that he was born to direct. Del Toro is a man who loves monsters, not only as subject matter, but intimately as characters: the sympathetic, the misunderstood, the forlorn, scarred, discarded, and hated. It’s historically Mary Shelley’s Frankenenstein and its adaptations which have served as the textbook literary and cinematic example of this kind of empathy for the monster, and in turn informed so much of del Toro’s aesthetic and worldview, finding and celebrating the beauty in horror. It only makes perfect sense that he would tackle this tale.
The film is largely faithful to the novel, even more than I expected. And while I’m usually kind of slavish to the book when it comes to classic literature, in this case every liberty that del Toro took was absolutely the right decision. The film flows beautifully, excises some of what isn’t necessary, and finishes with an ending that’s still largely faithful but so much more elegant, hopeful, and satisfying.
By splitting the tale into two halves from the perspectives of both Victor (Oscar Isaac) and his creation (Jacob Elordi), we are provided first with the framework and execution of the experiment that brought the creature to life, and then with the realization of the pain, confusion, and search for identity that life actually entailed.
In the process, the film becomes more centered specifically on the characters of the creator his creation, removing or deemphazising some parts of the novel and its familiar adaptations: Victor’s education and delving into science of life (when we catch up to him as a young man, he’s already capable of animating cadavers), his marriage to Elizabeth, and his creation of the creature’s Bride. In removing some of these peripheral details from the novel, this adaptation is more focused and propulsive while remaining completely true to its spirit. But it’s in the denouement in which the film displays its true heart, and elevates beyond its source material with one final interaction.
Another area where the expands meaningfully in in the characterization of Elizabeth (Mia Goth), whose role is redefined from a love interest to a primary character representing the compassion that stands in contrast to Victor’s coldness.
Guillermo brings all his tricks and tools to the table, delivering a sumptuous and striking film that delivers on everything you expect from the master: incredible art design, sets, and costuming, nuanced performances, and a tremendous amount of care. He doesn’t shy away from showing graphic or violent images, but the film is never exploitative nor takes cheapshots for mere shock value – and there’s some creative genius here, even in the grotesque, that’s unlike anything you’ve seen before.
For those who are familiar with the novel, there are some indulgences in this telling where del Toro innately understands what the audience wants and gives it to them – small mercies that make it something to hold a little closer to your heart.
A/V Out
