Del Toro’s Frankenstein is a tale melancholic, tragic, and faithful to Mary Shelley’s 1818 work. It’s a story that captures the brilliance of innocence vs. arrogance, life vs. death, and science vs. God gracefully. To simply put my Frankenstein review in a single sentence—without spoilers—I must say: “It’s a tale moving enough to change a man!”
Guillermo del Toro’s movies have always had the magic that made it hard to move one’s eyes from the screen. At least that’s what I found for every film of his I watched—Pan’s Labyrinth, Pinocchio, The Shape of Water, or anything else.
Paired with Mary Wolstonecraft Shelley’s novel, he does justice to another saga that has been retold many times before—but never like in his version.
Now, let me dive deeper and give you a window into the plot of the film. Beware—there might be spoilers ahead!
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Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein on Netflix: Story Changes That Deepen the Tragedy

The last, most faithful adaptation of Frankenstein that I had watched didn’t come from the silver screen; instead, it was a National Theatre adaptation written by Nick Dear and directed by Danny Boyle. This stage version swapped the roles of Victor Frankenstein and The Creature between Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller.
If you’ve watched that drama, you will find some visual resemblances here as well. Fret not—the stories still take separate directions, so you will be able to enjoy this version without fear of spoilers.
But enough with the dilly-dallying—this Netflix adaptation throws illuminating light on Victor’s motivations. If you have asked yourself: Why did Victor create The Creature? Was Victor Frankenstein a villain or a good man?—Here, you get enough screen time and character depth to find your answers.
The movie opens with a team of Danish sailors whose ship is trapped in the grand icy wastes of the Arctic. In their desperation, they rescue Victor, injured and nearly frozen to death. Soon follows a massacre led by The Creature.
From there, we travel into Victor’s past—his grief, his arrogance, his losses that drove him to create The Creature—and then we witness the fate of The Creature, abandoned in the darkness of a world he never asked for.
It’s a deeply moving version of The Creature, whom I empathized with entirely. His coming back to life with a mind so pure and innocent gripped me, and I worried for his future even though I could sense tragedy awaited him.
And as Oscar Isaac’s Victor humiliated him, imprisoned him—I found myself hating this Victor with the same rage that The Creature might have felt.
This Frankenstein isn’t simply a man driven by passion; he is governed by arrogance.
Despite his failures, he believes he commands his fate and that of others. In that hunger, his brother William (played by Felix Kammerer) and Elizabeth (played by Mia Goth)—apart from The Creature himself—become sacrifices to his ambition.
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Del Toro’s Frankenstein Through a Gothic, Romantic Lens
This film is not a mere retelling of Mary Shelley’s novel—it bears del Toro’s unmistakable charm. From vibrant dark color palettes to gothic touches set in the mid-19th century, you will find his signature in every frame. He blends the magical influence of divine powers over Victor’s mind with his scientific hunger to conquer death, quite magnificently. So, don’t mind me if you find this Frankenstein review praising Guillermo for this one a little too much.
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Behind the Gothic Brilliance: Honouring Frankenstein’s Production Team

It is one thing to write of a chimera; quite another to give it flesh and draw breath upon a canvas of light and shadow. The gothic majesty of Frankenstein is not conjured by del Toro’s will alone. It is a testament to the artisans who laboured to birth this world—the true alchemists of this visual poetry.
The production design conjures a world steeped in shadow and sorrow—from flickering gas-lamps and anatomical theatres of Ingolstadt to the terrible, sublime beauty of the Arctic wastes. Every set feels haunted—a physical manifestation of Victor’s internal decay. This is perfectly captured by the cinematography, which paints every frame with Rembrandt-esque gloom—finding beauty in the grotesque and terror in the ephemeral spark of life itself.
And what of The Creature? Del Toro—a known master of practical effects and monstrous empathy—has sculpted a being not of green skin and bolts alone, but of raw, agonizing life. The creature design is a marvel of tragic anatomy—a walking wound that forces the eye to behold its pain.
It is a body built from grief, and its every movement is a study in agony. This visual symphony is bound by a film score that is not mere accompaniment but the very heartbeat of the tragedy. It is a haunting, melancholic refrain that echoes The Creature’s profound isolation.
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Beyond the Monster: Humanity in Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein
Generations have twisted this parable into a simple tale of terror—missing its soul. The core of the story has always been about profound loneliness and the cost of playing God. This Netflix adaptation understands that assignment. It delves into the agonizing question: Who is the true monster?
Oscar Isaac’s Victor Frankenstein is a chilling, definitive portrait of Promethean hubris. He is not a cackling madman, but a figure of chilling intellect whose grief becomes a righteous, arrogant crusade against divine order. Victor seeks to be God—and in doing so, becomes a fiend far more terrible than the “wretch” he births. He is a man who, in his quest to conquer death, sacrifices every piece of his own humanity.
Conversely, Jacob Elordi’s The Creature—ah, what a magnificent tragedy! He is an Adam cast out of paradise before he ever knew its name. Elordi’s performance is a masterpiece of physical anguish and nascent wonder. We witness his innocence (as you aptly named it) being flayed by his creator’s cruelty and the mirrored prejudice of the world. His subsequent rage is not monstrous—it is earned. It is devastatingly, tragically human.
And poor, doomed Elizabeth. Mia Goth infuses her with a vibrant, intelligent life that makes her fate—that inevitable sacrifice to Victor’s ego—all the more gut-wrenching. She is the light consumed by the shadow his ambition casts, and her presence underscores the theme of corrupted innocence that defines this narrative.
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A Haunting Elegy for the Modern Prometheus
To conclude this Frankenstein review, is to attempt to place a final stitch in a wound that will not close. Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel was a warning—a ghost story born of a waking dream. To see that same dream, that same spectre, given such terrible, beautiful, and faithful life in our modern age is a profound vindication of the story’s power.
Do not seek this film for mere frights; you will find them—yes—but they are the shallowest part of this deep, dark ocean. Seek it for the sorrow and for the rage. Seek it to understand what it means to be abandoned by one’s god—and what it costs to become one’s own devil.
Guillermo del Toro has not merely retold a story; he has allowed its soul to be resurrected for a new generation. Go—watch—and let its melancholic beauty haunt you. It is, perhaps, the most moving and terrible elegy for the human condition yet wrought from that timeless ink—and it will, as stated at the outset, change you.
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Spoiler Alert — Frankenstein Movie Ending
In the film’s quiet finale, it is the Creature who finds redemption. After Victor’s death, he helps the stranded Danish sailors free their ship from the Arctic ice — a final act of humanity from the being once called a monster. As the vessel drifts into the mist, the Creature stays behind, disappearing into the frozen wilderness. Del Toro closes his tale not in terror but in tenderness — a reminder that even the forsaken can choose compassion.
(Frankenstein Review — an ending where the monster becomes more human than his maker.)
My Frankenstein Rating
This is not merely a film; it is a haunting, poetic vision. Where other adaptations find only horror, del Toro unearths a profound, macabre beauty. This Frankenstein achieves what so few have attempted: it translates the soul of the novel.
It is a story not just of scientific hubris, but of generational trauma, of the devastating loneliness passed from a cruel father (Victor) to an abandoned son (The Creature). It is this focus that elevates the Netflix Frankenstein from a simple monster movie to a genuine Gothic masterpiece.
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Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)
When does Frankenstein (2025) come out on Netflix?
It hits select theatres on October 17, 2025, then Netflix on November 7. Del Toro insisted on a short theatrical run first — he wanted that echo of gaslight and celluloid before it streams into our living rooms.
Is it true to Mary Shelley’s original novel?
Mostly, yes. The spirit’s there — the arrogance, the grief, the spark of forbidden creation. But del Toro doesn’t chase accuracy; he chases emotion. His Frankenstein feels less like a translation, more like a séance.
Why is everyone calling it one of the best adaptations?
Because it feels human. Oscar Isaac burns slow, Jacob Elordi trembles between rage and innocence, and Mia Goth brings the light just to watch it die. It’s gorgeous, brutal, alive — and that’s rare.
Who’s in it?
Victor Frankenstein is played by Oscar Isaac, The Creature by Jacob Elordi, and Elizabeth by Mia Goth. Felix Kammerer shows up as William, and yes, that’s Christoph Waltz lurking in the cast.
So, is it horror or something else?
Call it gothic tragedy. There’s blood, sure, but the real fear lives in the silence — the kind that sits in your chest after a mistake you can’t undo.
Is it okay for younger viewers?
Probably not. There’s violence, decay, the weight of death — not cheap scares but stuff that gnaws at you later. If you’re old enough to read Shelley, you’re old enough to watch it.
Will it change how I read the book?
Maybe. The novel warns about pride; the movie bleeds empathy. You end up pitying both creator and creation — which might be Shelley’s cruelest trick of all.
How does it compare to older versions?
Whale made it iconic in 1931. Boyle made it theatrical. Del Toro makes it tragic. His 2025 Netflix film feels like a confession whispered through lightning.
Where was Frankenstein (2025) filmed?
Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein (2025) was filmed across several gothic European backdrops. Major locations include Ontario (Studio Bell Sound Stage) for interior sets, Iceland for the Arctic sequences, and Prague for 19th-century city exteriors. Each site mirrors the film’s cold elegance and tragic atmosphere—fitting for a story born of creation and exile.
What role does Jacob Elordi play in Frankenstein (2025)?
Jacob Elordi embodies The Creature in Guillermo del Toro’s Netflix adaptation. His portrayal blends innocence with anguish, showing the monster not as a villain but as a lost soul craving connection. The performance anchors the film’s emotional gravity, turning the mythic figure into something heartbreakingly human.
What happens at the end of Frankenstein (2025)?
In the final act, The Creature helps the stranded sailors free their ship from the Arctic ice, completing the cycle of mercy Victor never learned. As the vessel drifts away, he remains behind—alone but redeemed. It’s a quiet conclusion that defines del Toro’s vision: only monsters play god! Ironically, this quote has two implications. For sailors, a monster became god, and for the creature, his god was the monster!
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