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Just how good Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is depends on how much of Mary Shelley’s novel this auteur chooses to bring to life on screen. It’s safe to say he’s rearranged a fair bit. Some changes strengthen the story, drawing out its emotional and thematic cues, while others never quite take shape.
Heinrich Harlander (Christoph Waltz), the mysterious benefactor who bankrolls Victor’s (Oscar Isaac) experiments, is a notable addition. He isn’t in the novel, and his motives feel not all that fleshed out—yes, the pun’s intentional. His inclusion explains how Victor funds his unholy pursuits and builds The Creature (Jacob Elordi) after being blackballed by his peers for daring to defy death. When this financier’s true identity as an arms dealer and seeker of immortality is revealed, the moment ends before it begins. The hint of Orwellian horror lingers but is never explored, leaving an intriguing idea unfinished.
Elsewhere, the roles are reimagined. Rather than Victor falling in love with Elizabeth (Mia Goth), it’s his younger brother William (Felix Kammerer) who becomes her fiancé. The third Frankenstein sibling, mentioned in Shelley’s book, is omitted. His absence mirrors the film’s theme of fading lineage and fragile hope; of the three, William alone holds a chance at redemption or continuation.
The film’s tone leans more on the gothic than Shelley’s philosophical original, but what emerges is still a tragic sonnet of beauty and beast. The yearning to conquer death—Victor’s guiding obsession—burns with poetic intensity. Like Gabriel Agreste in Miraculous, grief defines him by mourning the loss of a loved one. Shelley’s Victor was scarred by watching his mother die of scarlet fever; del Toro’s version shows decades of mourning hardening into madness. The early scenes deftly chart that descent while hinting at long-buried paternal resentment.
Harlander’s role, though underdeveloped, underscores the story’s moral axis—science warped by greed and ambition. He’s less a man than a symbol of industry run amok, somewhere between Mephistopheles and Tony Stark.
Del Toro also reimagines the framing device. Robert Walton’s narration is gone, replaced by Anderson (Lars Mikkelsen), a Danish sailor who rescues Victor from the Arctic ice. He’s a man of reason, patience, and quiet conviction—a counterpoint to Victor’s fevered will. His presence lends balance, though his philosophical exchanges never reach the depth of Shelley’s prose.
That same restraint touches the film’s spiritual core. The burning angel that visits Victor in his dreams recalls Paradise Lost, the text that shaped Shelley’s creature’s sense of self. Here it’s pure del Toro: absolutely stunning, symbolically rich, yet fleeting. The Christian allegory never fully ignites, leaving only a glimmer of divine tragedy amid the snow.
Visually, the film is everything fans could hope for. Del Toro’s worlds are gothic cathedrals of emotion—grand, sorrowful, and tactile. The snow-wrapped castle evokes Crimson Peak; Elizabeth’s quiet affection for the monster echoes The Shape of Water. Even Victor’s laboratory feels like a twisted tribute to Sweeney Todd, littered with half-formed experiments and flickering instruments.
In the end, Frankenstein isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s a reinterpretation—a story of hope rising from despair, of compassion surviving corruption. Nearly everyone strives to move forward, though not all succeed. The finale offers redemption rather than punishment, forgiveness instead of vengeance. Whether we smile or weep by the closing frame depends on how we define humanity.
4 Stars out of 5
Frankenstein Movie Trailer
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