Death is the ultimate opponent. The idea of immortality—the symbol we cling to for comfort—represents our desire to defeat this inevitable adversary. With Frankenstein (2025), Guillermo del Toro delivers yet another cinematic adaptation of Mary Shelley’s classic. Since the silent era, more than 60 films and TV adaptations have explored the story of Dr. Victor Frankenstein and his creation. The 1931 Universal Pictures version, with Boris Karloff as the monster, remains the most iconic and is likely the reason the original novel’s ideas have been blurred in popular culture.

Just as Dr. Frankenstein becomes obsessed with creating life, del Toro has long been fascinated by Shelley’s story. Frankenstein is not merely a film—it is arguably his most personal project, a story that has captivated him since childhood and took over a decade to bring to the screen. The director approaches the source material with care, portraying Victor Frankenstein as consumed by the desire to play God and his creation as an innocent yet tragic being. Between poetry and melancholy, del Toro offers a heartfelt love letter to a monster that has moved him for years.

The film opens with sailors desperately trying to free their ship, which is trapped in the Arctic, when a sudden noise draws them to a man lying dying on the ice—introducing us to Dr. Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac). Through a lengthy flashback, Victor recounts his story to the ship’s captain, revealing how he ended up in such a desolate place. Del Toro structures the film first from the creator’s perspective, then from the creation’s, allowing us to experience the same story through two distinct lenses. The director unveils the origin of the “monster,” played here by Jacob Elordi, while also exposing the moral collapse of his creator.

Frankenstein reaches its full power through its meticulous staging and technical precision. Visually, the film is both enchanting and magical. Del Toro’s narrative is grounded in existential drama, confronting the audience with profound moral dilemmas. The horror stems from the inescapable tragedy that hangs over every character. Remarkably, a director known for his vivid visual style allows the true terror to emerge emotionally rather than visually. The suffering of a rejected being, the father-son dynamic, the ethical dilemma of this modern Prometheus who has stolen fire from the gods, and the monster as a social construct—all converge at the heart of del Toro’s vision.

In Frankenstein, del Toro does not seek to reinvent the legend but to offer a deeper perspective. He crafts an epic tale of unbridled ambition, the madness of playing God, and the fragility of a being born solitary and rejected. By juxtaposing human greatness and human frailty within a single character, he reveals a profound truth: in the end, it is the creature who teaches us what it truly means to be human—through its pain, suffering, and yearning for connection.