FRANKENSTEIN (2025) Review: Guillermo del Toro’s Gothic Resurrection

Introduction

I remember watching the Universal Monster movies Frankenstein (1931), Dracula (1931), The Mummy (1932), and the rest with my dad when we lived in Los Angeles between 1972 and 1975. He told me stories about seeing many of those films in theaters after fulfilling his duties as an altar boy at Our Lady of Good Counsel, sometimes hiding under the seat in fright but never looking away. Those memories are some of the earliest cinematic experiences I can recall, and they shaped how I came to love monsters not as figures of fear but of sorrow and humanity.

Even as a kid, I never found Frankenstein particularly frightening. It always struck me as tragic. All those classic monsters seemed doomed by flaws, grief, or the cruelty of others rather than by true evil. My favorite adaptation for decades was the 1973 made-for-TV film Frankenstein: The True Story, starring Michael Sarrazin, James Mason, and Jane Seymour. It felt like the most literary and emotionally accurate version of Shelley’s vision—until now.

Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025) finally surpasses it. He has been building this film toward his entire career, a marriage of gothic horror, romance, and tragedy rendered with immense care and empathy. Del Toro adapts Shelley’s novel himself and directs with the visual precision and emotional sensitivity that have defined his best work. The cast—Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi, Mia Goth, and Christoph Waltz bring depth and texture to characters that could easily have slipped into archetype.

Synopsis

Frankenstein unfolds in three parts as Captain Anderson (Lars Mikkelsen) discovers a dying Victor Frankenstein (Isaac) in the Arctic. From there, Victor recounts the tale of his obsession with conquering death. Del Toro’s narrative structure honors Mary Shelley’s original framing device, and the film balances epic scale with intimate emotion. Everything feels deliberate: Frankenstein’s descent into madness, his hunger to unlock the secret of life, and the moral decay that follows his scientific triumph.

Discussion

Visually, the film is a feast. The overall palette is dark and storm-soaked, evoking Robert Eggers’ Nosferatu (2024), but bursts of vivid color, especially crimson and gold, pierce the shadows. Del Toro uses light almost like a pulse, as if the film itself were alive. The production design recalls Crimson Peak (2015) in its grandeur and texture. The sets seem to breathe. They feel inhabited and haunted at the same time.

Frankenstein’s laboratory, built as a full-scale practical set, is an extraordinary piece of filmmaking that is part Lovecraftian nightmare, part steampunk cathedral. The design also nods to James Whale’s 1931 Frankenstein while pushing the imagery into new, unsettling territory. Del Toro’s insistence on practical effects and tangible environments makes every scene immersive and tactile. You can almost smell the ozone and decay.

The performances are uniformly excellent. Oscar Isaac is electrifying as Victor Frankenstein, oscillating between arrogance, wonder, and despair. His performance captures both the brilliance and the blindness of a man who sees himself as creator and destroyer. Jacob Elordi’s portrayal of the Creature is extraordinarily tender, wounded, and terrifying.

Beneath the makeup, Elordi radiates confusion and anguish. He’s monstrous only in the way pain can make a person monstrous. The scenes between Isaac and Elordi are among the best del Toro has ever directed: equal parts philosophical debate and emotional dissection.

Mia Goth continues her evolution as modern horror’s new icon. She commands every scene that she is in with a mixture of fragility and ferocity. In addition, her chemistry with Isaac adds a haunting layer of doomed romance that elevates the story’s emotional stakes. Christoph Waltz brings his trademark precision to his supporting role, providing an intellectual and moral counterpoint to Frankenstein’s mania.

Further Discussion

Special mention must be given to the film’s artistry department. The makeup design on the Creature is astonishing and straight out of a Bernie Wrightson Frankenstein illustration. The combination of prosthetics, animatronics, and subtle digital enhancements creates something both grotesque and heartbreakingly human. There’s also a tactile sense of pain and rebirth to the film’s body horror that recalls Hellraiser (1987) or The Devil’s Backbone (2001), making this unmistakably a del Toro work.

Conclusion

Frankenstein is more than a horror film; it’s a meditation on grief, creation, and the cost of obsession. It reminds us that Shelley’s novel was never just a ghost story; it was a tragedy about love, loneliness, and the limits of human ambition. Del Toro captures that spirit perfectly, crafting a film that is beautiful, chilling, and profoundly moving.

I wish I could have watched it from under my seat like my father once did, but I wouldn’t have been able to look away. Del Toro’s Frankenstein is a masterpiece that deserves to be seen on the biggest screen possible. Get off your slab and down to the lab—this one’s alive.

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