“La mayoría de nosotros nos volvemos padres pero nos seguimos comportando como el hijo de alguien” (Most of us become parents, but we continue to behave like someone’s child–Guillermo del Toro, 2025).
Guillermo del Toro’s long-awaited adaptation of Frankenstein is an emotionally charged and sensational reimagining of Mary Shelley’s enduring novel. It combines del Toro’s familiar fascination with monsters and people, his use of color, and the core themes of the novel itself, which pertain to unchecked ambition, the duty of a creator, and the moral consequences of one’s actions. This review will discuss how the film was never intended to be a play-by-play of the 1818 novel, but rather a vessel to explore the complex relationships between a creator and their creation, the inheritance of trauma and revenge, as well as the process of healing.
After the traumatizing death of his mother, Victor Frankenstein, played by Oscar Isaac, becomes an overzealous, ambitious, mad doctor who reanimates a corpse built from the limbs and flesh of freshly dead men and soldiers from the Crimean War. His intentions are not noble, nor are they only rooted in scientific hubris. Victor Frankenstein obsessively built his creation from a place of emotional stuntedness; a man playing God while still seeking the emotional validation of his father and colleagues, who will never give that to him. Frankenstein is completely incapable of caring for his creation, played by Jacob Elordi. His excitement in the creature withers and leads to anger, abuse, and finally abandonment. It’s much like a child losing interest in a toy they begged for. Because the creature is not inanimate, he suffers as a result of his creator’s selfishness and violence. And so the creature is alone. He wanders curiously through this new world with the memory of Victor’s anger, his own confusion, and the craving for connection.
Guillermo del Toro created a new interpretation to tackle the complicated relationship between a parent and child, especially when the parent is unhealed from traumas that they then pass down. Frankenstein is a commentary on how people who have a constant need for validation and recognition will go to extreme lengths to prove they are worthy of it, disregarding who they hurt in the process. The film’s visual language mirrors this idea, with del Toro’s use of warm and cool tones of red, green, and blue to reflect the emotional beauty of life and death. The creature’s tapestry-like body, illustrated with cool, pale lighting and coloring to evoke an air of gloom and sorrow, is a metaphor for the pain it was born from.
Some of the most touching moments in the film came from Elordi’s graceful, childlike, and innocent portrayal of the creature himself. Every movement was intentional yet cautious at the same time. He explored the world and its people with such purity and curiosity that the violent moments seemed all the more intense. It further shows the tragic irony the story is famous for; the “monster” is more understanding of the world and its people than his creator. Whereas Frankenstein himself was already so jaded that he walked through the world with childish rage and entitlement, that shows how unhealed he is as a son and his irresponsibility as a father. The dichotomy between the two lives frames the creature’s want for connection as ubiquitous as Frankenstein’s inability to provide that.
Whether we talk about a parent, artist, or scientist, this new Frankenstein interpretation asks us to question what it means to create responsibly. It shows that creation without love leads to generational pain and loss. Humanity isn’t only shaped by the inevitability of death and the decay of the body, but rather by the ability to love deeply. Guillermo del Toro uses his voice and artistry to revive Shelley’s story as a reminder that whatever we create must be made with our soul and humanity intact.