Frankenstein receives a limited theatrical release on October 17 followed by a Netflix release on November 7.
Generational trauma narratives have long captivated storytellers—those chronicles of anguish passed from parent to child, perpetuating through bloodlines like an inescapable curse. As Mrs. Potts wisely observed, it’s a tale as old as time itself. From Kronos devouring his offspring only to face retribution from Zeus and his siblings—who would subsequently inflict their own dysfunction upon countless progeny—to Michael Corleone’s tragic descent into the very criminal underworld his father hoped he’d transcend, these cycles of inherited pain resonate across mythology and cinema alike.
It’s also fertile ground for compelling storytelling. Which brings us to Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein.
Familiar Bones, Fresh Flesh
Most audiences know Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein intimately, and del Toro—who’s pursued this adaptation for at least two decades—doesn’t deviate from the source material in ways that would disturb anyone except the most dedicated purists. Certain characters vanish while others emerge, but the story’s skeleton remains intact: man creates monster, man rejects monster, monster becomes enraged. Yet these bones aren’t merely preserved—they’re seemingly selected from Dr. Frankenstein’s choicest specimens, his finest anatomical picks. This iteration of Frankenstein stands as a beautiful, haunting creation through which timeless themes feel remarkably fresh and vital.
Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) operates as the film’s monster for much of its runtime—cue everyone’s favorite “who’s the real monster?” observation—but he’s a monster forged by another monster: his rigid, abusive father Leopold (Charles Dance, who at this career stage seems destined to perpetually embody variations of the same miserable bastard). Naturally, this generational anguish continues manifesting—though perhaps not as hideously as expected—when Victor animates his Creature, portrayed by a scarred yet undeniably movie-star-handsome Jacob Elordi.
Elordi’s Marvel
Elordi delivers a revelation here, completely contradicting his turns as antagonists or unsympathetic figures in Euphoria, Priscilla, and Saltburn. While the Creature in del Toro’s vision will absolutely devastate you if necessary—and indeed devastates both humans and animals in spectacular fashion—the filmmaker writes him and Elordi performs him in the finest Karloffian tradition: a sympathetic, melancholy soul desperately seeking companionship.
That Elordi appears to channel the physical work of del Toro regular and creature performer extraordinaire Doug Jones only amplifies how distinct this Creature feels from previous incarnations. He pivots his body, twists his torso, leans forward and back, cocks his head at peculiar angles—constantly reminding viewers that the Creature’s form comprises multiple bodies still adjusting to their collective existence. The Creature exhibits Marvel-esque superhuman abilities, which proves delightfully entertaining, but it’s Elordi’s emotional vulnerability that truly captivates.
Isaac’s Complicated Victor
Isaac’s Victor, conversely, risks becoming excessively unlikable at moments. When his Creature first awakens, genuine affection passes between creator and creation. But the newborn’s apparent inability to progress beyond repeating “Vict-or” frustrates the genius, frankly dickish doctor. Just as Leopold did before him, Victor punishes rather than nurtures his child. The cycle perpetuates, with the Creature never receiving even the slightest opportunity for normalcy, his appearance notwithstanding.
The consequence is that Isaac’s Victor nearly transforms into the film’s outright villain—perhaps not revolutionary within Frankenstein mythology, but occasionally working against the narrative during the character’s darkest passages. (Colin Clive, who played the mad doctor opposite Boris Karloff’s monster, maintained sympathy even at peak Looney Tunes intensity, mind you.)
Supporting Players
Then there’s Mia Goth, who infuses the Elizabeth Harlander character with an otherworldliness that’s become somewhat trademark for the MaXXXine and Suspiria actress. Named Elizabeth Lavenza in Shelley’s novel, where she’s adopted into the Frankenstein household before marrying Victor, this version finds her engaged to Victor’s brother William (All Quiet on the Western Front’s Felix Kammerer).
William typically doesn’t survive to adulthood in Frankenstein adaptations, falling victim to the Creature’s savage revenge. Del Toro tweaks and twists these plot elements, positioning William as obstacle to Victor’s traditional love interest while giving Elizabeth an uncle via Christoph Waltz’s Heinrich Harlander. Though Waltz typically enhances any project, his character—a benefactor financing Victor’s experiments—ultimately contributes little beyond extending the runtime slightly past necessity.
Gothic Romance Over Horror
Frankenstein overflows with blood, gore, dismembered limbs, torn jaws, and crushed skulls, yet it’s not fundamentally a horror film. Like the director’s 2015 Gothic romance Crimson Peak, this feels expansive, engulfing viewers in a world where a melancholy wife’s crimson gown contrasts against a foreboding castle’s stark backdrop. City streets run red with slaughterhouse blood; a frozen battlefield features a horse encased in ice, frozen mid-gallop with its rider mounted. Yet simultaneously, creation’s beauty proves infectious—as when Elordi’s Creature first experiences sunlight. As Vict-or tells him: “Sun is life.”
Geek Credentials on Display
Del Toro wears his genre devotion proudly. The Creature’s design draws clear inspiration from comics legend Bernie Wrightson’s illustrated Frankenstein, while an early Victor experiment involving half a corpse reanimating delivers a gasp-worthy yet somehow humorous scene that feels plucked from The Return of the Living Dead. This combination of influences fused and animated by a genius feels especially appropriate given the plot and Mary Shelley’s work enduring 100-plus years of adaptations.
Throughout, del Toro’s reverence for source material radiates as he crafts his unique vision while respecting the Shelley novel he clearly lives and breathes.
A Two-Part Structure
Anyone familiar with Shelley’s book knows happy endings don’t await Victor or the Creature. But for del Toro, the dysfunctional Frankenstein family deserves redemption after years of suffering and self-inflicted torment. That he structures his narrative in two parts—one from Victor’s perspective, the other from the Creature’s—only reinforces this as ultimately a story about atonement and forgiveness.
Can the Creature forgive Victor’s parental failures? Can Victor shatter the abuse cycle? Well, you know what they say: all you need is love.
Verdict
Some of us have waited twenty years for Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein—in fact, I could’ve sworn I spotted GDT’s actual drawings in Victor’s papers at one point!?—and it absolutely delivers. The filmmaker deploys all his considerable skills in this Mary Shelley interpretation, pursuing tragedy, romance, and redemption over straightforward horror. Which isn’t claiming insufficient gore or unsettling moments exist—those are the trimmings, blood-red though they may be.
No, del Toro’s genuinely interested in—to paraphrase the Creature—why violence so often feels inevitable. And what it takes to stop it.
After two decades of anticipation, del Toro has crafted a Frankenstein that honors both its literary origins and his distinctive visual poetry. This is monster-making as meditation on inherited trauma, a Gothic romance wrapped in spectacular gore, and ultimately a surprisingly hopeful examination of whether love can break centuries-old cycles of pain. It’s the Frankenstein adaptation we didn’t know we needed but del Toro always knew he wanted to create—and it’s been worth every year of waiting.
