In Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein, Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) begins in mourning, and the mourning never ends. His mother dies. His father recedes into silence. The silence spreads—into rooms, into rituals, into the very design of his obsessions. Victor studies anatomy to restore what was taken, driven by a hunger that masquerades as brilliance. Guillermo Del Toro refuses to elevate him. Frankenstein is a man who builds to reclaim, to possess, to resurrect what will never return. His laboratory is a sanctuary of grief—stained glass, scorched by failed experiments, surgical tables, and grief altars abound: body parts suspended in jars labeled with origin and betrayal. Mia Goth plays both Elizabeth and Claire, mother and lover— collapsing memory and desire into a single face. Victor seeks love through replication and embraces through reconstruction.
The Arctic opening is both a frame and a courtroom seeking a verdict. Victor is found frostbitten and delirious, held in place by the wreckage of his pursuit. The Creature (Jacob Elordi) arrives. Del Toro refuses to deal the monster card. The Creature is here to witness. No revenge tropes in this creature, just his creator. Their final exchange is quiet, deliberate, and devastating. Victor confesses. The Creature listens. When Victor dies, the journals burn. The ship moves forward. Del Toro uses the ice to preserve consequence and the fire to release the future. The contrast is both aesthetic and ethical. The film begins with stasis and ends with motion. Forgiveness becomes propulsion.
Christoph Waltz bankrolls the experiment, directing resources toward outcomes that serve accumulation and legacy. The laboratory expands with each new graft and voltage surge, growing heavier with consequence. Elizabeth offers the Creature tenderness, and Victor answers with fire. The gesture marks his threshold—his refusal to surrender authorship, his need to reclaim control. The Creature reflects everything Victor has buried: grief, ambition, memory. The destruction is precise. It affirms Victor’s final authority over the one thing he cannot claim—recognition.
The Creature’s journey is a philosophical coming-of-age. He finds shelter with a blind man who teaches him to read by tracing letters. Speech comes through prayer. Rage follows when the man is killed, and the family blames him. Jacob Elordi performs with restraint, and Del Toro trusts the silence. A hand hovering over a mouse. A glance that lingers. A scream that fractures glass. The Creature pursues recognition. His gestures carry memory, grace, and the desire to be seen.. The film refuses to flatten him into a monster. He is a moral agent, shaped by rejection and still capable of grace.
Grade A-. Streaming on Netflix
Leave a Reply