Written by Varisa Sarisook
As a fan of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Guillermo del Toro’s films, the director’s long-awaited adaptation was my most anticipated film of 2025 and one of my favourite watches so far this year.
Frankenstein is a visual feast: vivid costumes combining Victorian silhouettes and anatomical inspiration complement a world of imposing architecture and sprawling natural landscapes. The design of the Creature itself, which renders Jacob Elordi almost unrecognisable, leans into the organic, forgoing the bolts and staples associated with the pop culture figure in favour of scars aligned with bones and muscles.
The cast perfectly carries the bold emotions of the story. Oscar Isaac delivers a passionate and arrogant Victor Frankenstein in contrast to Mia Goth, who brings a quiet intensity and resilience to Elizabeth Harlander as Victor’s foil. Between them, Elordi’s vulnerability as the Creature shines from his first steps into sentience to the film’s uncertain, hopeful ending.
The conversation around this film often centres on its diversions from the source material. While an adaptation deserves to be viewed on its own merit, neither could I avoid comparing the film to the story. In particular, when these changes altered the themes of the original. Where Shelley blames Victor’s rejection of his Creature squarely on his pride and lack of responsibility, del Toro makes him more violent and has him perpetuate his father’s abuse.
Even knowing the story, I found myself hopeful watching Victor meet his creation for the first time. Not with the revulsion of his novel counterpart, but with an embrace, and to bring him into the sun. However, he soon becomes frustrated with the newborn’s progress in learning speech, and punishes him in the way he was. At the same time, Elizabeth has a more active role and a closer connection to the Creature. As Victor’s future sister-in-law (instead of adopted sister and fiancée), she replaces the family that the Creature destroys as revenge for being denied his own, and provides the understanding his maker withholds, and empathy over their marginalisation.
The film’s reinterpretation of these characters, along with the fewer victims at the Creature’s hands, makes del Toro’s Frankenstein more — and his Creature less — guilty. Although not incompatible with the novel’s exploration of innocent nature versus corrupt nurture in patriarchal Victorian society, the film focuses more on generational trauma and abuse than on Shelley’s systemic examination of hierarchy and the human condition.
While some critique the film for its melodramatic direction and lack of subtlety, I appreciate its emotionality and unapologetic defence of the Creature, just as I appreciate the complexity of Shelley’s prose. Frankenstein (2025) not only demands that we accept the Creature’s right as a person to respect and equality, but forces us to feel for his right as a child to his father’s love and acceptance, flawed as they both are.
