Guillermo del Toro’s 'Frankenstein' in Glitter and Confusion

When it comes to literary classics, film adaptations are always a risky endeavour. Some succeed, handling the source material with care and respect, updating and revitalising it for a broad, modern audience. Others, however, prioritise the director over the story, fundamentally altering the original work and leaving viewers asking, “What have I just watched?” Guillermo del Toro’s new Frankenstein clearly falls into this second category.

Spoilers ahead.

Starting with the positives, the performances are strong. Jacob Elordi is surprisingly convincing as the creature, effectively balancing rage and heartbreak. Mia Goth, portraying Elizabeth Lavenza, is effortlessly charming yet unsettling — what a friend of mine aptly described as “a sickly Victorian child in the best possible way.” Oscar Isaac brings much-needed energy to Victor, a character who in Shelley’s novel is passive and indecisive.

Some of the plot changes work. Notably, Victor’s abandonment of his creation is handled differently. In the book, he rejects the creature because he is horrified by its grotesque appearance — a reasoning that seems somewhat unrealistic considering he assembled it himself from cadaver parts over the course of several months. In the film, Victor abandons the creature because it refuses to cooperate, which not only makes the story more coherent, but also accentuates the human dissatisfaction that often follows the achievement of a long-sought goal. The film’s pacing is also commendable. Despite its nearly three hours in length, it maintains a tight rhythm and keeps the audience engaged, making for an enjoyable viewing experience.

Yet, none of these elements redeem what is ultimately a shallow and heartless work. The most glaring issue is the set design. Shelley’s original story is intimate, largely set in Switzerland, with lakes and Alpine vistas creating a gloomy, fog-laden backdrop where man confronts his own insignificance. Del Toro replaces this subtle, naturalistic setting with grandiose, almost theme-park-style visuals, excessive and sometimes poorly executed CGI, and a laboratory filled with enormous, colourful contraptions that feel more alien than 19th-century. Rather than supporting the narrative, these distractions pull attention away from the moral and psychological drama.

Other plot alterations are equally troubling. Victor becomes an unambiguous villain, completely isolated from society, without a wife or care for his brother. Meanwhile, the creature emerges utterly pure and benevolent — so much so that, in the film, even Mia Goth’s character falls in love with him. In the original novel, it is precisely this creature who kills Victor’s younger brother and wife to draw attention from his creator. These murders are not only high points of suspense, but also morally significant: even a newborn, an innocent being, can be driven to terrible acts if desperate and constantly rejected by society. The film, however, shifts the blame entirely to Victor, not only framing the crimes entirely on him, but also afflicting him with blindness to his creature’s actual beauty. In this way, the story’s heartbreaking meditation on isolation, neglect, and moral responsibility is lost. Instead, the tale’s profound exploration of loneliness is reduced to a banal message: humans are the real monsters. Is there anything new?

The finale continues this trend. A sudden, saccharine reconciliation between creator and creature undermines the tension and moral ambiguity that drive the original narrative. The film replaces Shelley’s nuanced exploration of human ambition, guilt, and the consequences of creation with a sentimentally packaged reflection on forgiveness and the value of life.

In conclusion, I did not find this reimagining to be particularly successful. It is disappointing, especially because I have always been drawn to retellings and the way they can shed new light on classic stories. Unfortunately, this adaptation, rather than enriching the original story, opts for sensationalism, creating a version that feels superficial and emotionally hollow — an approach that we really do not need in this day and age. 

Illustration by Zoe Small