“FRANKENSTEIN (2025)” Movie Review — More Alive Than Ever

Guillermo Del Toro continues to impress with each new project. Following his stop-motion animated masterpiece Pinocchio (one of the best animated films of the past decade) and his enthralling reinterpretation of the Beauty and the Beast fairytale with The Shape of Water, Del Toro has cemented himself as one of my favorite filmmakers working in Hollywood today.

I’ll admit, I haven’t seen every film in his catalog yet—but the ones I have seen are more than enough to make me appreciate his craftsmanship and dedication as a director. His signature blend of timeless fables with dark fantasy, his use of makeup and practical effects (second to none), and his staggering attention to storytelling detail all combine to create worlds of profound imagination. His work feels both personal and mythic, like something that could only come from a filmmaker who dreams in folklore.

So, when I first heard years ago that Del Toro would be adapting Frankenstein—one of my favorite novels of all time—my excitement was through the roof. The idea of Del Toro tackling Mary Shelley’s gothic masterpiece felt like a match made in cinematic heaven.

Few directors have successfully adapted Frankenstein into a full-fledged, emotionally resonant feature film. The most iconic version remains James Whale’s 1931 classic starring Boris Karloff—brilliant in its own right, though far from faithful to Shelley’s novel. Kenneth Branagh’s version had strong production values and stellar makeup work (particularly on Robert De Niro’s creature), but it didn’t quite land with audiences or critics.

Now, with Del Toro at the helm, I can confidently say—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that his Frankenstein is one of the best films of the year and one of the most exceptional adaptations of the story to date. It’s not perfect; there are a few missteps. But overall, it’s a triumphant, deeply felt retelling of one of literature’s greatest and most philosophical tales.

For the uninitiated, “Frankenstein: Or, The Modern Prometheus” is Mary Shelley’s gothic novel about the brilliant but hubristic scientist Victor Frankenstein, who attempts to defy the natural limits of life and death. By creating life from the remnants of corpses, Victor seeks to become a modern Prometheus—only to recoil in horror at the monstrous being he’s brought into existence. The story that follows is one of creation and rejection, of human arrogance and divine consequence.

Del Toro’s adaptation follows the same broad strokes, though it isn’t 100% faithful—and honestly, that’s to be expected. It’s probably the closest we’ve come to a true-to-the-novel adaptation in quite some time. Some characters are omitted, and certain events are altered, but these changes never detract from the film’s quality or spirit.

What stands out most is the film’s narrative structure. Del Toro employs an episodic, chapter-like storytelling style that alternates perspectives and occasionally cuts between a character recounting events and those events unfolding on screen. It’s a risky approach, but one that pays off thanks to his deft direction and careful pacing. Each chapter feels emotionally grounded, filled with strong character moments—whether it’s Victor’s uneven bond with his creation, his re-connection with his younger brother William, or his tense camaraderie with Christoph Waltz’s character, Harlander.

Beyond the familiar theme of man playing God, Del Toro infuses the story with an unexpected tenderness. The film is as much about redemption, forgiveness, and acceptance as it is about ambition and consequence. Without giving too much away, the tragic arcs of both Victor and the Monster are handled with remarkable empathy.

Oscar Isaac is phenomenal as Victor Frankenstein. His performance captures both the passion and torment of a man consumed by his own intellect. Every time he delivers a monologue—whether it’s his lecture at the Royal College or his reflective narration to the ship’s Captain—you feel the sophistication, conviction, and mania radiating from him. Isaac embodies Victor’s obsession with defying death while grounding it in deeply human pain.

Del Toro also fleshes out Victor’s backstory to powerful effect. We see the roots of his ambition in his strict, often cruel upbringing and the loss of his mother during childbirth. These formative experiences shape his desire to overcome mortality and outdo his father—a desire that ultimately drives him to ruin. His treatment of the Monster, whom he regards as little more than an animal, mirrors the emotional neglect he experienced as a child. Del Toro’s Victor is a tragic figure: a man who sought greatness and found only despair.

Jacob Elordi is equally remarkable as The Monster—a towering, mournful figure whose journey from ignorance to self-awareness is hauntingly beautiful. At first, he’s like a lost child, yearning for guidance and affection. But as he learns language, emotion, and intellect, his resentment toward Victor grows. Elordi’s physicality and quiet intensity make the creature feel both terrifying and heartbreakingly human.

One of the film’s most moving sequences adapts the novel’s famed “De Lacey cabin” chapter, in which The Monster learns about humanity and briefly experiences compassion. Del Toro brings this scene to life with poetic intimacy, showing his deep understanding of Shelley’s themes, even as he reinterprets them. That said, the decision to give The Monster regenerative healing abilities feels unnecessary. While his superhuman strength is canon, his apparent immortality feels more like a narrative convenience than a thematic necessity. It slightly undercuts the poetic tragedy of his existence—but thankfully, it doesn’t derail the story.

Mia Goth is wonderful as Elizabeth, whose character receives meaningful changes that enrich the narrative. In this version, she’s engaged to Victor’s brother William rather than Victor himself, and she’s portrayed as a biologist with compassion for the Monster. Goth’s performance adds emotional texture and warmth, serving as a moral and emotional anchor between Victor and his creation.

Visually, Frankenstein is pure Del Toro—lavish, painterly, and immersive. The costume and set design are exquisite, evoking the grandeur and decay of a 19th-century Gothic world. Every location—from the laboratories to the icy Arctic landscapes—feels lived-in and meticulously crafted.

The Monster’s makeup is extraordinary, easily rivaling the intricate creature work of Pan’s Labyrinth. The prosthetics, stitchwork, and subtle deformities give the creature a horrifying yet tragic presence, emphasizing both his beauty and his monstrosity.

The cinematography is breathtaking, each frame composed like a painting. And Alexandre Desplat’s score—equal parts whimsical and macabre—perfectly complements Del Toro’s vision, guiding the audience through moments of awe, dread, and sorrow with haunting elegance.

Guillermo Del Toro’s Frankenstein may not surpass the perfection of Mary Shelley’s original novel, but it comes closer than any adaptation before it. Despite a few narrative contrivances, it’s a gorgeously crafted, deeply emotional work that captures the essence of Shelley’s story while standing proudly as its own creation.

Del Toro once again proves why he’s one of the most imaginative and emotionally intelligent filmmakers alive—a true artist of myth and monster.

If only it had The Monster fighting gargoyles and demons…though I’m joking, I’d absolutely sign up for a Del Toro-directed I, Frankenstein. But that’s just my imagination talking.

RATING: 4.5/5