Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025) is (in my opinion) an astonishing work of art. It completely blew me away. It’s a gorgeous, visually breathtaking film. As someone who counts Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein among their favorite  classical novels (and most reread — I’ve probably read it a dozen times), I walked into the film with a deep attachment to the original text. And yet, I didn’t find myself bothered by del Toro’s deviations from the source material. In fact, his creative liberties felt totally intentional, especially since del Toro loves the original book and all previous renditions. He’s a filmmaker who not only understands the story but, in adapting it, has crafted something both familiar and wholly new.

Jacob Elordi’s performance as The Creature was a standout surprise. I admittedly expected to see traces of his Euphoria character, Nate Jacobs (it’s hard not to), but what Elordi delivers here is a tragic and haunting portrayal. There is a delicacy in the way he embodies The Creature: a being stitched together from death, but desperately reaching toward life, that allows him to escape the shadow of his past roles (yay). His physicality, vocal restraint, and emotional vulnerability made the character feel human in a way Shelley always intended, but few adaptations achieve.

And then, there is Oscar Isaac. Specifically, Oscar Isaac in a bathtub. A tasteful scene, yes, but I’ll be honest, I whisper-screamed for him to stand up. del Toro, ever in tune with his audience, knows exactly what the girls, gays, and theys want. 

Stylistically, the film is unmistakably del Toro. The opening sequence had an almost uncanny resemblance to The Polar Express or The Adventures of Tintin, with a slightly heightened, storybook animation-like quality. It felt surreal, and I was very much into it. The set design was another triumph; elaborate, textured, and steeped in a gothic romantic sensibility. Every frame looked handcrafted. This may be my favorite production design in a film in years.

Christoph Waltz’s accent, on the other hand, was… bold. It shifted so frequently that I couldn’t place it for longer than seven words at a time, but honestly, it added to the charm. 

One of the highlights of del Toro’s filmmaking is his commitment to practical effects. In a landscape where CGI often overwhelms, he remains devoted to tactile craftsmanship. And it isn’t just nostalgia, it genuinely looks better. Practicality lends authenticity, and this story thrives because of it.

There are a couple of notable things that the movie modifies from Shelley’s novel — which I think are notable to mention — but they contribute meaningfully to the film’s reinterpretation:

1. Victor’s mother doesn’t die of scarlet fever here, but during childbirth, serving as the catalyst for Victor’s obsession with creating life. 
2. Heinrich is a completely new character that was added to the film, fueling Victor’s ambition and ego.
3. Elizabeth’s character is reimagined, with Mia Goth playing both Victor’s mother and Elizabeth, introducing a Freudian thread that adds emotional and psychological complexity.
4. Most importantly, the Creature is not the monster — Victor is.

This shift is profound and, for me, more compelling than the original depiction. Shelley’s novel is, at its core, about abandonment, creation without responsibility, and the monstrosity of ego. Del Toro simply makes that thematic undercurrent explicit. The Creature is no longer just rejected — he is humanized. He longs not for vengeance, but for companionship. For someone to share eternity with.

Elizabeth’s portrayal is also richer here; she is gentle, introspective, and quietly nihilistic. Her relationship with the Creature is tender and a bit unexpected, I might add. I was ready for her character to be just like in the book. 

Victor’s violent unraveling feels inevitable, culminating in a moment where even William, his younger brother, condemns him, calling him a monster. And honestly? He is.

This adaptation does what great adaptations should: it reinterprets and reframes a story to make it its own.

So yes, I’ll say it: I prefer this rendition. Sue me. It’s beautiful.