Spoilers ahead for “Frankenstein” (2025).

For many years, Guillermo del Toro has been one of my favorite directors. I watched “Pan’s Labyrinth” (2006) at much too young of an age and was scarred by the monstrous Pale Man with eyes in his hands before I could comprehend that he was an allegory for the cruelties of the church. Even so, I followed his directorial efforts wherever I could. I loved the moody gothic of “Crimson Peak” (2015), the monster romance in “The Shape of Water” (2017) and, when looking back in his older works, was fascinated by the horrifying, senseless tragedy in “The Devil’s Backbone” (2001). When he announced his adaptation of “Frankenstein,” I squealed loud enough to wake up my roommate—the Shelley novel is near and dear to my heart.

As the story goes, Mary Shelley wrote “Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus” during an 1816 competition between herself, her husband Percy Shelley, John Polidori and Lord Byron to write the best horror story. Byron wrote a Canto for one of his Hymns, Polidori wrote “The Vampyre,” which standardized the canon for the titular creature up to today and Mary Shelley wrote “Frankenstein.” The novel was first published anonymously in 1818 before being re-published under her own name in 1831. Shelley’s story is full of the inevitable tensions of the Romantic movement, from the terror and sublime felt upon beholding and trying to control nature, to the interplay with the canon of English works and, most poignantly, the ineffability of childrearing. Her Creature is both cruel and aggrieved; her Frankenstein is misguided and self-defeating. The narrative, above all else, centers them. Guillermo del Toro saw this font of inspiration and wrote a telenovela, full of double-cast characters, messy family relationships and a surprisingly happy ending following a deathside apology. And I love it.

The clearest reason why I love it is that the film is so visually stunning I wanted to cry with each frame. Cinematographer Dan Lausten, a frequent collaborator of Del Toro’s since “Crimson Peak,” represented the awe and horror of Shelley’s novel deftly. Dramatic lighting rife with chiaroscuros and a truly moody and sickly color palette set the scene for the terrors inflicted within the film by Dr. Frankenstein. Similarly, costume designer Kate Hawley created outstanding designs for both The Creature (Jacob Elordi), with his stringy hair and rotting stitches, and Elizabeth (Mia Goth), who wears stunning dresses which allude to, among other things, bandages, X-rays and cells. The Creature’s design is a major source of appeal, as it transforms the conventionally handsome Jacob Elordi into a gaunt monster of himself, looking closer to an embalmed animal than an actual human being.

But, above all else, I am particularly drawn to this adaptation of “Frankenstein,” which still diverges significantly from Shelley’s text through the aging-up of William Frankenstein’s (Felix Kammerer) character and through the increased presence of Elizabeth within the narrative, through its sheer melodrama. The cycle of violence, a frequent thematic collaborator of Del Toro’s, makes its appearance through the elder Frankenstein’s abuse of his son and how, in turn, Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) enforces this with his treatment of The Creature. There are misattributed murders, Oedipal allusions and a battle between brothers for the love of the father. In the film’s climax, Elizabeth—the only remaining person sympathetic to The Creature’s plight and the only source of tenderness and understanding for most of his life—dies in the Creature’s arms after Frankenstein attempts to shoot him, taking the bullet for the immortal creature. Del Toro’s “Frankenstein” luxuriates in its emotional extremes, pushing the realms of scientific, narrative and emotional believability to its utmost extreme. Most, I will assume, will not love this, decrying the loss of nuance in comparison to Shelley’s text. Fortunately, I am not one who finds melodrama and complexity anathema to each other and find that the deviations to Shelley’s work further its tale about cruel fathers and their failed sons rather than detract from it. 9/10.