Watching Books: Frankenstein (2025)

There are countless adaptations of Frankenstein, yet very few that seem to understand what Mary Shelley was actually doing. Too often the novel is flattened into a simple horror tale or a monster story, stripped of the philosophical unease and emotional complexity that make it extraordinary. This is why Guillermo del Toro’s new film feels almost revelatory. It is not just respectful of Shelley’s vision. It feels like the work of someone who has carried this book inside him for a very long time.

From the very beginning you can sense how deeply del Toro loves the story. The way he frames the creation sequence, the way he gives space to the Monster’s grief, the way he allows silence to speak where most films rely on spectacle. His affection for Shelley’s world permeates everything. It is visible in the tenderness he offers to the Creature and in the unflinching scrutiny with which he treats Victor. The whole film plays like a dialogue between filmmaker and author, separated by two centuries but united in imagination.

One of the clearest signs of this understanding is the casting of Mia Goth in a double role. She plays Caroline Frankenstein, Victor’s mother, and she also plays the woman who eventually becomes the Monster’s source of longing. In Shelley’s novel, the Creature begs Victor to create a mate because he craves affection, companionship and the warmth he has only glimpsed from afar. By giving both roles to the same actress, del Toro creates a visual and emotional thread between the love Victor receives and the love he denies his own creation. It is a subtle but powerful way of showing that the Monster inherits Victor’s contradictions. He is born from Victor’s hands and from Victor’s emotional legacy too.

This mirroring also enriches our understanding of Victor himself. Jacob Elordi plays him with a mix of brilliance and brittleness. Beneath his ambition lies a young man shaped by loss, perfectionism and a kind of romantic idealism that curdles into obsession. Watching him argue with the Monster is like watching someone argue with a distorted version of his own soul. Elordi’s performance anchors that tension beautifully.

As for Mia Goth, she brings something sharp and luminous to both characters she inhabits. As Caroline she feels angelic, distant, almost mythic in Victor’s memory. As the later character she is grounded, vibrant and alive. The choice to cast her twice suggests that Victor’s creation searches for love in the shadow of the same maternal figure Victor adored and lost. It also reflects the Creature’s yearning not just for companionship but for recognition. He wants someone who will see him as more than the sum of Victor’s mistakes.

Visually, the film is astonishing. Del Toro builds a world that looks almost hand illustrated. The lighting has the quality of candlelit manuscripts. The sets feel textured and fragile, as if they might collapse into mist at any moment. Every image feels carefully sculpted, which gives the story a mythic, almost sacred aura. Shelley’s novel has always existed somewhere between dream and nightmare, and the film captures that space with astonishing fidelity.

The performances enhance this atmosphere. Elordi’s Victor spirals in a way that feels both operatic and intimate. The Monster, portrayed with remarkable emotional clarity, is allowed to be tragic, articulate and wounded rather than monstrous. Mia Goth’s dual presence stitches the themes together with quiet precision. Together they create a version of Frankenstein where character and theme move in perfect step.

Watching the film in cinemas is an experience worth seeking out. The scale of the imagery, the weight of the music and the emotional sweep of the performances feel almost overwhelming on a large screen. The story expands to fill the room. Even so, if you missed it during its theatrical run, you can now watch it on Netflix where its beauty remains intact and its intimacy arguably becomes even more striking.

For readers who know the novel well, this adaptation feels like a long awaited moment. It is faithful without being stiff, imaginative without distorting the source, and rich with emotional intelligence. Most importantly, it treats Shelley’s themes with genuine respect. Del Toro understands that Frankenstein is not fundamentally a story about a monster, but about responsibility, creation, longing and the uncomfortable closeness between love and destruction.

This film is not simply an adaptation. It is an act of reading. And it reads Shelley with extraordinary care.