In seeking life, I created death...

Europe, 1855. A young proud man from the family of a prim aristocratic surgeon seeks to push the boundaries of the possible and experiments with a macabre new type of galvanism in order to conquer death itself. The stodgy men of science mock his “fairground tricks” of dubious ethical coloring, but a cunning financier from Austria takes notice of the unknown Victor Frankenstein. An arms dealer offers nearly limitless financial resources in exchange for a small favor (to be requested later). He also has a surprisingly spirited nihilist niece who (alas) marries Victor’s brother...

So when the brooding genius finally makes his greatest discovery, Victorian artificial intelligence may turn out to be the least of his problems.

It seems everyone knows the story of Frankenstein—even those who have never heard of Mary Shelley. The classic Universal Studios monster with the face of Boris Karloff, Hammer films with Christopher Lee, countless Halloween costumes... this is a story told hundreds of times (just recall Mel Brooks’ black-and-white comedic musical with Gene Wilder, where both creator and creation unexpectedly share a love for beautiful women). Guillermo del Toro’s version doesn’t stray far from the original myth of the “modern Prometheus,” but it adds several important nuances, deconstructing the very foundation.

The new film by the great storyteller is, once again, about how monsters are often more human than people. The somewhat eccentric narrator and perfectionist artist del Toro loves gothic-spirited stories that often resemble one another. At times, “Frankenstein” doesn’t differ much from the Oscar-winning “The Shape of Water,” despite the different genre and setting—but I wouldn’t call that a flaw; quite the opposite.

“Frankenstein” (2025) is valuable at least for its approach to the main character. Victor is driven by understandable motives, and in his desire to “challenge the gods and conquer death itself,” he performs a true miracle. But how blind, limited, and irresponsible he is toward his creation is best expressed by Elizabeth (a magnificent Mia Goth) in one of the key scenes:

Only monsters play God, Baron.

The real monster of this story is not the Creature, but Frankenstein himself—who until the very end cannot answer why he breathed life into something that was no longer alive in the first place. He challenges the Creator, yet at the same time condemns his creation to the suffering inherent to every thinking soul. A quote from a completely different work comes to mind: “Why was I created?” — “To pass me the butter, you silly tin can.” — “Oh my God...” Rick Sanchez is as far from Victor Frankenstein as generative AI is from Stone Age tools, but the essence is roughly the same.

As for the film, it pushes its characters almost to absurdity, where you realize the only normal people in the story are a patchwork homunculus stitched from чужих тел and a girl audacious enough to have her own opinion (unthinkable defiance—those suffragettes have truly lost all shame).

The other characters (Victor, William, Herr Harlander...) are either narrative functions (“suffered and died”), driven by their own interests, unable to see beyond their noses, or all three at once. In any case, no one asks the key question: “You can—but why?..”

The plot cannot be called entirely unpredictable or elegant. Despite an interesting setup with seemingly non-linear storytelling and a not entirely reliable narrator, the story is quite straightforward, almost didactic in tone. Some plot lines feel unfinished—for example, Christoph Waltz’s character arc (I expected it to continue) or the Creature’s story in the second half, where the pacing slows significantly. Other choices—like the fact that nearly everything bad that happens to Frankenstein and his loved ones is entirely his fault—feel, if not predictable, at least logical.

But the script has one undeniable strength: dialogue worthy of aphorisms. Every line sounds as if written by Tarantino after reading Byron. In real life, people don’t speak like this, of course, but in the context of a gothic tale about tormented cadavers, the finely crafted, grandiose phrases work perfectly.

Victor, you only listen when I hurt you!

The makeup and special effects are quite good (except for the fire scenes: as the guys from Corridor Digital rightly noted, excellent stunt work and miniatures are undermined by weak CGI and sloppy compositing). The design of Frankenstein’s Monster may seem a bit controversial, but I see in it—resembling both classical art academy sketches and anatomical models—a way to emphasize his purity and innocence as a character incapable, after his “creation,” even of expressing his feelings. He is stitched from parts of not the freshest bodies, and that is the only thing that could be called ugly about him.

The music deserves special mention. Beautiful, refined, melodic, melancholic... “Could it be Alexandre Desplat?” I thought—and I wasn’t mistaken. He has his own unique, unmistakable style.

Is it worth your time? Of course—it’s Guillermo del Toro. That means every frame invites close inspection, every object and piece of set design chosen with care and meaning. Even if the story itself has been told many times and its original elements aren’t as striking as they might seem. It’s simply another kind yet dark fairy tale about timeless truths, with an ending you will likely appreciate.

Perhaps now, we can both be human.

Rating: 7.9/10. A dark gothic fairy tale with a strong moral core, an interesting take on a classic, an inverted intrigue, and very spectacular scenes (albeit shot mostly with wide-angle lenses). As a standalone film—not quite a masterpiece. As a Netflix film where they gave a genius money and said, “Do whatever you want (just not Lovecraft’s Mountains of Madness, no one will watch that), we believe in you!”—excellent. Watch it on a long evening without high expectations as a moderately bloody fantasy about forbidden science—you’ll definitely enjoy it.