Frankenstein

The first thing that registers in Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is his unparalleled command of atmosphere. The castle where the experiments take place is operatic and dream-like, with a grotesque Medusa head glaring down on the laboratory and Victor’s (Oscar Isaac) hubris as both warning and threat. Equally striking is the shipboard sequence, where Victor recounts his tale to the Captain (Lars Mikkelsen) amid storm, ice and looming catastrophe. Moments like these have a heft and clarity that make them feel lifted straight from the page. Having previously described his adaptation as Miltonian, Del Toro introduces changes that largely work in his favour. Elizabeth Lavenza (Mia Goth) is more than the tragic fiancée the novel often reduces her to. Goth plays her with poise and steely sadness, her presence matched by a wardrobe of elaborate taffeta gowns and headpieces in rich tones that resist the expected palette of black, burgundy and velvet. The decision to expand her uncle into Victor’s dubious patron (Christoph Waltz) is perhaps the director’s most inspired choice, adding a sense of society and consequence to the mad scientist’s otherwise isolated obsession.

Early in the film, Victor parades one of his experiments before a jury of peers: a torso that twitches, pulsates and obeys his commands. The uproar is instant, the effect both riveting and repellent – a glimpse of the disquiet at the core of Shelley’s tale. Yet when his ultimate creation finally emerges – played by the still unmistakable Jacob Elordi – the tension dissipates. Elordi brings vulnerability through physicality: the awkward lurch of imitation, the tentative sensitivity of fresh awareness. But these moments are more tender than uncanny, and whatever fear he might inspire soon drains away. The design slips into professional-grade Halloween, briefly startling but lacking the eerie otherness Shelley gave her monster.

Del Toro devotes the second act to the creature’s account, a bold levelling of master and creation, graced by the magical score of long-time collaborator Alexandre Desplat. But for all its conviction and beauty, Frankenstein could have pushed deeper where it matters most: the strangeness that makes Shelley’s story endure does not fully come to fruition. Del Toro’s monster is weighed down by over-humanisation, and that uneasy confrontation with the limits of human ambition struggles to find its heartbeat.

Christina Yang

Frankenstein does not have a release date yet.

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