“I am obscene to you, but to myself I simply am.”
This line from Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025) stayed with me long after the credits rolled. Released on Netflix on Nov 7, del Toro’s adaptation offers a haunting re-envisioning of Mary Shelley’s classic novel- one that feels respectful to the original yet boldly new.
Strengthened by a masterful cast, this film features Oscar Issac as a tormented Victor Frankenstein, horror queen Mia Goth as Elizabeth Lavenza and Jacob Elordi delivering a heartbreaking performance as the Monster.
In Shelley’s novel, both Frankenstein and the Monster blur the lines between victim and villain, causing their fates to be caught in a cycle of both vengeance and consequence. I think del Toro did keep one of the story’s most lasting themes: the destructive nature of Frankenstein’s ego and ambition. However, I think he also expands on it, giving the story modern resonance and depth.
Below are key takeaways that stuck with me, mainly ideas that made me think about del Toro’s adaption in correspondence with Shelly’s original thought on creation and monstrosity.
Lineage of Pain
One major difference between the novel and del Toro’s adaptation is the portrayal of Frankenstein’s upbringing. In the book, Victor is raised in a sheltered, loving household that shields him from the harsher realities of life. In the film, however, his background is presented very differently, revealing a much darker truth. In the book, Frankenstein shares a loving bond with his father; however, in the film, this relationship is deeply unsettling, shaped by abuse and the pressure to achieve greatness in order to carry on a family legacy.
I think shaping Frankenstein’s story around generational trauma was honestly a fitting choice, giving his character a trajectory that was visually compelling but tragically predictable. Straying away from the book in a way seemed right, because as an audience member, I’m not going to assume he was sheltered knowing the pain his father caused him. His drive comes from a deep place; a resistance to being forgotten.
I will say, this shift in Frankenstein’s backstory felt insightful in relation to everyday life. In the book, he’s raised in a sheltered and loving home, while in the movie he grows up in a more abusive environment—yet in both versions, he still treats his creature terribly.This contrast complicates the idea of nature vs. nurture. It suggests that people can come from completely different backgrounds and still end up making the same harmful choices.
It was heartbreaking to watch history repeat itself as Frankenstein lashed out and physically harmed the Monster for not meeting his expectations. Showing those moments from Frankenstein’s own childhood felt crucial because we see that he, too, was once a child who deserved better. That recognition later echoes in the Monster, making their connection more meaningful.
The irony of death
This film leans heavily into the irony surrounding death; a topic that doesn’t typically associate with irony at all. While the story of Frankenstein has always been known as a story about men driven by the ambition to play God, we see in that adaptation that it adds another layer to this: Frankenstein’s attempts to cheat death stems from him not being able to truly face it or really understand it. A direct example of this comes after the loss of his mother, who was the center of his world and his primary source of care. Her death triggers his obsession with controlling the balance between life and death, perhaps even as a way to escape his own grief. It didn’t even seem like a deep-seated coping; it seems devotional. I believe that him mastering death becomes his twisted form of honoring her and scorning his father.
I think Elizabeth Lavenza serves as the perfect counter to Frankenstein. She sees through his ego and understands death for what it truly is, along with the weight that it carries in their world. Her empathy and quiet resistance does highlight the complexity of someone with a pure heart trying to navigate a world that is anything but pure. The film’s primary setting- the Crimean War- underscores this, placing the story in a period marked by devastation and loss.
Lavenza’s deep remorse for the fallen soldiers is a huge part of her deep compassion for the Monster. Their connection, though brief, is beautiful because she recognizes purity within him- a purity born from the creation from the death she mourns.
Humanity and forgiveness
“Say my name. My father gave me that name, and it meant nothing. Now I ask you to give it back to me one last time. The way you said it at the beginning when it meant the world to you.”
Victor Frankenstein
The quote above truly left me in shambles, offering an ending that was both unexpected and strangely peaceful. It felt like finally recognizing the melody of a song you’ve only ever been able to hum the beginning of. I think del Toro gave a resonant conclusion that brought resolution the book never explored. Although a couple of plot points aligned with the book, and the cat and mouse chase between Frankenstein and the Monster reached its conclusion, witnessing closure between the two felt surprising. The story comes full circle as Frankenstein finally acknowledges the Monster as his son.
Frankenstein finally finds peace and closure in his death, using his last moments to encourage the Monster to embrace life and truly live.