HOLLYWOOD - It was a warm October afternoon in Hollywood, in the Egyptian Theatre, with the art deco ceiling casting shadows and popcorn scent in the air. Guillermo del Toro’s long-anticipated take on Frankenstein came to life. The instant the first lightning bolt flashed on screen was obvious. This was not just another “monster movie.” This was a cinematic resurrection. It was a love letter to Mary Shelley’s masterpiece and all the Gothic cinema that came in its wake.
Reviewed by Allan R. Ellenberger for The Hollywoodland Revue
Oct. 30. (HLR) - Del Toro has long wanted to make Frankenstein. He’s even stated that he fell in love with Frankenstein at seven years old, spellbound by Boris Karloff’s anguished creature. The dedication to that love affair can be seen in every frame of this 82nd Venice International Film Festival film, which opened August 30, 2025, had a limited release October 17, and streams on Netflix worldwide November 7. And boy does it deserve love! Critics have rolled out the red carpet, and for good reason: Frankenstein is del Toro in top form, sumptuous, lyrical, and full of terror.
A Familiar Tale, Resurrected
The film sticks close to the emotional heart of Shelley’s novel, while nodding to the beats of the Karloff version. Victor Frankenstein (Oscar Isaac) is a man of science driven by hubris and the lust for immortality. He fashions a being from the dead, only for it to become his greatest sin and shame. His Creature (Jacob Elordi) is made from body parts ripped from graves, stitched together in unnatural union of flesh and spirit.
Del Toro tells the story in distinct chapters, as if conducting a dark symphony. The prologue unfurls in Arctic expanses of icy blues; the laboratory crackles with white noise, blood, and the smell of brimstone; in the most moving sequence of the film, the Creature seeks refuge in the home of a blind man, echoing the tenderest moment of the Karloff version. But here the meeting between man and monster holds different weight, and a modern sensitivity. It’s less of a parody, more of a prayer.
Beauty and Bloodshed
One word to describe the film: gorgeous. Dan Laustsen’s cinematography is painterly, the screen awash in light, shadows alive with movement, thunderclouds roll like paint on canvas, and candlelight dances over stitched skin. But this Frankenstein is not for the faint of heart. It is brutal, in the word’s original sense of the word. Del Toro spares no expense when it comes to depicting the visceral costs of creation. Every spasm, every scream feels real. The violence and gore is not there for exploitation but as the price of Victor’s labors and the inevitable punishment of the Creature’s existence.
Watching in the refurbished ornateness of the Egyptian felt almost like a rite of passage. Thunder booming from the theatre’s speakers vibrated through the vintage walls; it almost felt as if Boris Karloff’s spirit itself might lumber down Hollywood Boulevard to take a curtain call.
The Performances: The Humanity of Monstrosity
There are many impressive performances in Frankenstein, but Jacob Elordi’s turn as the Creature is truly something special. He towers on screen and yet his tremulous bearing grounds the film’s tragedy. The monster is heartbreaking because under the layers of latex and prosthetics lies a bruised vulnerability; a generation of hurt in those downcast eyes. It could have been a role that fell into mere mimicry of Karloff, but Elordi brings an aching soulfulness to the part, making it all his own.
Oscar Isaac is a morally gray Victor Frankenstein, genius stained by guilt and arrogance soured by despair. Mia Goth and Christoph Waltz round out the cast in perfect harmony with del Toro’s macabre vision.
Frankenstein is already making Oscar buzz. Industry insiders are citing this not only for Elordi’s performance but as well for the film’s ornate production design, Laustsen’s cinematography, and of course del Toro’s direction. Venice gave the film a ten-minute-plus standing ovation, and Hollywood has not stopped talking since.
The Monster’s Heart
Under the throbbing spectacularity, Frankenstein is a film about loneliness and the pain of being unseen, unloved, and unmade. The real monster of the tale isn’t the Creature, but the callousness and lack of compassion that bore him. The film’s emotional punches, particularly in its final act, land like knives.
The deft balance of Frankenstein is what gives it its power: horror and heartbreak, visceral gore and painterly beauty. Del Toro, a poet of monsters and mayhem, understands that tragedy and tenderness are two sides of the same coin. His Creature, like his film, is stitched together with contradictions: raw and brutal, but also graceful; terrifying, but undeniably human.
Final Thoughts
Frankenstein is a colossal achievement of gothic cinema: a garish opera bloated with heart and artistry. Watching in Hollywood, a stone’s throw from the original stomping grounds of del Toro’s inspiration almost 100 years ago felt appropriate.
Yes it is gory. Yes, it is violent. But beneath the bloodletting and the spectacle is a beating artist’s heart and the result is something that not only lives, but breathes, bleeds, and dreams.
From left, Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi, Mia Goth, Christoph Waltz and writer-director Guillermo del Toro, photographed in the Los Angeles Times Studios at RBC House at the Toronto International Film Festival. (Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Verdict: ★★★★½
A majestic, soul-shattering new take on one of cinema’s greatest monsters—anchored by Jacob Elordi’s revelatory performance and a lifelong cinephile’s undying love of the creatures that made him.
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