Guillermo del Toro’s long-promised version of Frankenstein is not so much an adaptation of Mary Shelley’s gothic horror novel, but a return to what the story has always been about: creation, bodily autonomy, and the consequences of stripping someone of their agency in the name of achieving one’s own goals.
What makes for such an interesting turn in del Toro’s version is that the woman’s liberation, rather than being ancillary to her tragedy, becomes the emotional and moral fulcrum of the story.
Women lacked rights. Women lacked a voice in government. Women mostly were seen as a continuation of a man. At 18, Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein, and as a storyteller del Toro not only remembers that but restores it.
“My creator, I demand a single grace from you. If you are not to award me love, then I will indulge in rage!!”
The Birth of a Creature vs. the Control of a Woman’s Body
While the central point of the Frankenstein story remains the creation of living flesh against its will in the name of genius, ambition or sin, del Toro notes that the Creature is far from the only body Victor attempts to master. The women in the film as a whole are denied agency, voice and bodily autonomy.
In contrast to other film versions, del Toro returns to the horror in Shelley’s original material towards the end.
- Elizabeth is not just a fiancée.
- Justine is more than a servant.
- Caroline Frankenstein is not just a mother.
Each is an example about how society, and Victor himself, sees women as property instead of people. The tragedy of the monster mirrors the tragedy of these women: they are created, molded and silenced by men.
“My maker told his tale. And I will tell you mine.”
Elizabeth Lavenza: A Woman Promised, Claimed, and Silenced
Elizabeth is made into a love interest in most adaptations, although Mary Shelley describes her as a woman who was always spoken for. She is:
- given to Victor when he was young,
- raised to be his companion, and
- expected to marry him against her will.
Del Toro has said he wishes to further explore the imbalance of power and “ownership” in his stories of relationships. In Elizabeth’s case, del Toro uses silence, negative space, and tight framing to dramatize her literal loss of agency — not to cast her as passive under the viewer’s gaze from above.
Her tragedy is not that she died. It is that no one ever asked her what she wanted.
“Believe me, Frankenstein, I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity, but am I not alone, miserably alone?”
The Creature and Elizabeth: Parallel in Powerlessness
The Creature does not get a choice, as he did not ask to exist.
Elizabeth is loved because she was never asked to choose.
So they serve as foils to each other, but also equals in their disempowerment, and del Toro ultimately concludes that the horror of Frankenstein is not that the monster exists, but that he is denied his true self. Both the creature and the bride figure are constructed identities formed from Victor’s fantasy.
This is what makes del Toro’s Frankenstein worth seeing in 2025: it reinterprets the novel not just as a tale of scientific arrogance but also of patriarchal arrogance.
“There was silence again. And then… merciless life.”
Why This Story Matters Now
We are living during a historic moment, during which we are debating about the nature and extent of bodily autonomy with renewed strength. In this context, Del Toro’s Frankenstein aligns with cultural echo not coincidence.
- Who is in control of creation?
- Who gets to decide what a life is worth?
- Who speaks for and who hears?
Shelley’s warnings are no longer metaphorical, and the fantasy is not updated; del Toro is uncovering the roots of the text that, by way of crossing the Atlantic, become grimier.
“Victor, you only listen when I hurt you!”
Conclusion: Restoring the Ghost in the Story
Shelley began writing Frankenstein amid grief and anxiety, and the idea that women were of no importance and lived on the margins was something she could never accept. It was about the violence of being spoken for. Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation understands this: that at the heart of the novel is the nightmare of a world in which bodies can be built, taken, or claimed, and in which women are meant to remain silent.
Del Toro does not so much “re-write” Frankenstein as he does return it to the woman who wrote it — and the woman it has always been about.
“You may be my creator, but from this day forward, I will be your master.”