Guillermo del Toro’s lifelong fascination with monsters finally finds its perfect match in Frankenstein, his breathtaking new adaptation of Mary Shelley’s timeless novel. Released today on Netflix after a limited theatrical run, the film is a hauntingly beautiful reimagining that feels equal parts epic, intimate, and heartbreakingly human.
At two and a half hours long, the film definitely takes its time—but that length feels like a creative choice rather than indulgence. Told through two distinct perspectives, Frankenstein allows both creator and creation to tell their sides of the story. That dual approach makes the narrative richer and far more empathetic than many previous adaptations.
Oscar Isaac plays Victor Frankenstein, a brilliant but deeply flawed scientist who dares to play God by giving life to the dead. His experiment succeeds—but rather than awe, it breeds horror, guilt, and obsession. His creation (played with aching vulnerability by Jacob Elordi) becomes the soul of the story. In Elordi’s hands, the Creature isn’t just a monster; he’s a mirror, reflecting humanity’s capacity for cruelty and compassion.
One of the film’s strongest choices is how much empathy it gives the Creature. Del Toro leans into the emotional weight of his existence—abandoned, misunderstood, yet still capable of love and forgiveness. You feel his pain, but also his hope.
Del Toro’s signature style is everywhere: rich color palettes, meticulous production design, and symbolism layered in every frame. Each main character is coded by color—Victor in red, the Creature in pale blue, and Elizabeth (played by Mia Goth) in green—illustrating the tension between destruction, innocence, and life. Alexandre Desplat’s score is sweeping and lyrical, amplifying the film’s emotional core rather than relying on traditional horror cues.
Visually, Frankenstein is stunning. Dan Laustsen’s cinematography turns every frame into art—from the cold, desolate Arctic landscapes to the candlelit intimacy of Victor’s lab. Del Toro also weaves in humor in surprising ways, especially through Victor’s interactions with his benefactor, Heinrich Harlander (Christoph Waltz). Those moments of levity don’t undercut the story’s gravity—they make it more human.
Still, the movie isn’t without flaws. The pacing drags a bit in the first act before finding its rhythm once the Creature’s perspective takes over. And while del Toro adds emotional depth to Elizabeth, her character occasionally feels underwritten compared to the men around her. But those are small critiques in an otherwise masterful adaptation.
What stands out most is del Toro’s compassion—for both Victor and his creation. He doesn’t just retell Shelley’s story; he reframes it. Instead of pure horror, he gives us a meditation on creation, loss, and forgiveness. In del Toro’s world, the true monster isn’t the Creature—it’s the arrogance of man, the fear of difference, and the pain of rejection.
Elordi delivers one of the best performances of his career, completely transforming into a being stitched together by tragedy yet defined by emotion. Isaac’s Victor is obsessive and self-righteous, while Goth brings quiet strength and melancholy to Elizabeth. Together, they anchor a film that’s as much about humanity as it is about horror.
While I would’ve loved to experience more of this film on the big screen, Netflix’s limited theatrical release doesn’t take away from its brilliance. It’s visually and emotionally cinematic in every sense, even when viewed from home.
If you can handle the gore (and there’s plenty), Frankenstein is a must-watch—a masterful exploration of what it means to create, to destroy, and to be seen.