Tiff25: ‘frankenstein’ review

By Nadia Dalimonte

Oscar Isaac in Frankenstein

“My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.”
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It is hard to overstate the impact of Mary Shelley’s gothic literary masterpiece, Frankenstein (The Modern Prometheus), which she completed writing at just eighteen years old. Referred to as the birth of science fiction, Frankenstein was written at a time of social change. Thinkers of the Romanticism movement, which peaked in the 19th century when Frankenstein was first published, embraced the emotional depth of humanity. In challenging Enlightenment notions that the universe was controllable, the Romantics underlined the beauty in the unknowable. Such ideals can be found in Victor Frankenstein’s obsessive pursuit of scientific discovery, and in his creature’s intense expression of individuality. Shelley’s timeless tale of creation and abandonment has seen several adaptations, but none as all-embracing of its layers than Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein. 

It felt written in the stars that del Toro, who has always approached monsters with an empathy to understand them, would make Frankenstein’s creature feel truly alive in the modern sense. Echoing themes of fatherhood and belonging, del Toro stitches together an adaptation from deeply personal threads. Beneath the nightmarish imagery, at the heart of Frankenstein is a drama about a misunderstood being in search of a companion. Shelley’s sensibilities can be found in del Toro’s gorgeously crafted vision; he challenges you to confront the unknown, the psychological torment of abandonment, the refusal to appreciate what you have created, all through a lens of compassion and forgiveness. 

As the film’s tagline goes, there are two sides to every story. Frankenstein explores the central characters, Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) and The Creature (Jacob Elordi), as two sides of the same coin, both representing the complexities of humanity. Split between ‘Victor’s Tale’ and ‘The Creature’s Tale,’ the film underlines a mirror dynamic of love and loathing, speaking to a father and son dynamic as the connective tissue between them. Tormented by the loss of his mother Claire (a truly unrecognizable Mia Goth), Victor wishes to conquer nature by reanimating the dead. His all-consuming ambition freaks out the medical science community, but intrigues Henrich Harlander (Christoph Waltz), a rich dealer who finances Victor’s experiments, including that of animating The Creature. It’s not that Victor has created an otherworldly monster, but rather an extension of his monstrous and manic arrogance. Thinking he can play God and govern the will of another being, Victor refuses to acknowledge the humanity of his own creation. He abandons “it” out of horror and disgust, putting The Creature on a painful path of isolation. 

The tenderness of Frankenstein lies in The Creature’s chapter. He embodies conflicting emotions of love and loathing towards his creator, who has given him both life and unspeakable torment. But he cannot live, not truly. The Creature’s aliveness — his initial childlike needs, his development of emotional intelligence, his desire for companionship — is met with rejection. Victor refuses to create a companion that would make the journey more tolerable, and The Creature spirals out of control to exact revenge. It’s easy to identify with The Creature’s vulnerability and yearning to find out what he’s made of, thanks to a magnificent collaboration between del Toro and Elordi. With del Toro’s earnest interpretation of monsters as outsiders, and Elordi’s transcendent performance as a lost soul, the Creature’s tangled emotions come alive.

The DNA of Frankenstein echoes throughout del Toro’s past work, in which he often explored how real monstrosity is not of the physical kind, but of an inhumane soul. Remnants of The Creature and Victor’s relationship can be found from such contrasts between The Pale Man and Captain Vidal in Pan’s Labyrinth, and The Amphibian Man and Colonel Strickland in The Shape of Water. In del Toro’s Frankenstein, it’s not just the fear of the unknown that drives Victor’s cruelty, but the refusal to accept responsibility for what he has brought into the world. Del Toro leans into a compelling father and son dynamic, best conveyed in the film’s closing scenes, when The Creature’s vengeful hunt for Victor reaches some emotional closure. Their conversations aboard an Arctic ship play out as a family drama full of pain and forgiveness. Isolated from the environments that shaped them, all that’s left is the complex humanity of both characters, which Isaac and Elordi devour. 

Isaac’s Victor has a manic rock star energy, as though the laboratory is his stage to create a legacy. One can feel the blind ambition pouring out of his character; even the assembling of The Creature, typically painted in a menacing and fearful light from previous adaptations, is given more exuberance with Alexandre Desplat’s vibrant score. There are glimmers of hopefulness in bringing life into the world that are immediately stamped out by Victor’s cruel disdain for his creation. Isaac creates a humanity-centred portrayal that adds layers to the “mad scientist” persona often attributed to Victor Frankenstein. A testament to Isaac’s charisma, he can make the most propagating speeches feel genuinely groundbreaking, and brings an electric energy through his character’s movement. It’s a stark contrast to the moments of Victor in the Arctic, at the hands of The Creature’s suffering. He’s a withering, disillusioned shell of the egotistical man he once was. Isaac perfectly captures Victor’s haunted, reflective body and soul in those moments.

Jacob Elordi personalizes a classic role in the most vulnerable and tender of ways. Frankenstein’s monster is a character many think they know; for starters, he is often mistakenly referred to as the titular role. In del Toro’s Frankenstein, he is emphasized as the abandoned outsider who yearns to belong. He is the newborn learning the ways of the world. He also embodies horror through acts of violence, as he kills innocent beings in a vengeful hunt for Victor. The Creature’s Gothic tragedy is brought to life by an extraordinary Elordi, whose portrayal is both threatening in stature and gentle in spirit. His vulnerability, voice work, and movement add a tremendous emotional through line to The Creature’s chapter. Among his most impressive moments are when The Creature befriends a blind man (David Bradley) at a cottage in the forest, and learns of human nature by observing the family that lives there. There’s immense comfort and heartbreak from Elordi’s “Friend” line delivery, and on top of the emotionality of this character, the actor creates a sensory experience using his physicality. 

The most widely known image of Frankenstein’s monster, flat-headed and bolt-necked, can be traced to Boris Karloff’s portrayal in 1931’s Frankenstein (followed by 1935’s Bride of Frankenstein and 1939’s Son of Frankenstein). Del Toro’s vision, brought to life by Kate Hawley’s unique costumes and Mike Hill’s creature design, stays truer to the book. The Creature’s stringy hair and mummy-like appearance, in addition to Elordi’s soulful eyes, also evoke comic artist Bernie Wrightson’s gorgeous illustrations for the 1980s novel edition of Frankenstein. Wrightson’s influence can be spotted throughout del Toro’s film, from the layered costuming to the detailed production design by Tamara Deverell (Nightmare Alley). 

As can be expected from any del Toro production, he has a brilliant eye for visuals. He also has a team of frequent collaborators, like composer Alexandre Desplat, who understands his aesthetic. Desplat’s sweeping score breathes life into the film, and sometimes subverts expectations of a scene (such as Victor’s assembly of The Creature). Cinematographer Dan Laustsen (The Shape of Water; Crimson Peak; Nightmare Alley) brings out the realism and emotional focal points in grand set pieces. Victor’s towering laboratory, complete with an elaborate round window, feels handcrafted from top to bottom and all corners. The laboratory is a neat example of how well Laustsen plays with sun light against shadows. Using a lot of practical lighting, he gives the film a modern feeling, underlining the contemporary themes of this story. 

The film also highlights effective colour palettes attributed to each character, such as The Creature’s cool blue tones and Victor’s bright red accents. An especially striking pop of colour is Claire (Goth) in a bright red gown as she descends the stairs of an ominous castle. Goth, who also plays Elizabeth Lavenza (a romantic fixation of Victor and The Creature), is the picture of gothic horror elegance in this film. The gowns accentuate Goth’s ethereal presence throughout, as a character of empathetic curiosity and transparency towards The Creature. While Goth has a fleeting dual presence in the film, she moves like smoke. She has a lingering impression that carries when she’s not on screen, in part because she embodies the film’s heart, treating The Creature with the care that Victor was responsible for.

Not all of the ambitious imagery lands. The film’s Arctic opening sequence has an oddly artificial look. The special effects and fight choreography put the film’s visual language off to a distracting start. The glossy sheen disappears once Victor’s chapter begins, however, the recounting of his story brings up issues of pacing and an overstuffed plot. Not only does Victor’s perspective become slightly reiterative, but his interactions with Harlander (Waltz) are simplistic and dull. Thankfully, the film picks up steam with The Creature’s chapter - this is where the adaptation feels most alive. As Shelley does for the reader, del Toro encourages the viewer to question perspectives, and recognize moral ambiguity as opposed to good versus evil. 

Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein reimagines the novel in a both literal and imaginative sense. It’s straightforward in its themes and characters. It’s indebted to Shelley’s world-building, occasionally to a fault when certain inclusions go under explored. By embracing a multi-layered narrative structure, which humanizes The Creature, del Toro keeps a fire burning for profound questions that the novel proposed, particularly around the responsibility of a creator, and the consequences that stem from such abandonment on an emotional and societal level. Above all, Frankenstein radiates earnestness. Victor and The Creature, personalized through a father and son dynamic, echo the film’s core theme of atonement. With deep respect for the source material and an understanding of its timelessness, del Toro brings his passion project to life by wearing his heart on his signature sleeve.

Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein arrives in select theatres on October 17, followed by a Netflix release on November 7.