Frankenstein

At once an unusually faithful adaptation of Shelley’s book and a boldly personal take, del Toro’s Frankenstein adds characters (Christoph Waltz’s benefactor Harlander), switches up dynamics (Elizabeth, also played by Goth, is not appalled by the Creature, but embraces and educates it) and explores its own themes (Catholicism, generational abuse). Here, Frankenstein is as much artist as scientist, his crafting of the creature not dissimilar to how del Toro sculpts his own cherished models or fashions such memorable monsters in his movies. Obsession can be good or bad, creative or destructive, and in a film that is ultimately about forgiveness, the writer-director finds it in his heart to absolve not just the creature but his monstrous creator.

Guillermo Del Toro’s “Frankenstein” is a breathtaking coup, an exhilarating riposte to the conventional wisdom about dream projects. The writer-director makes something almost new, and definitely rich and strange, out of a story we all thought we knew well. The 21st-century movie does so by keeping close to its 19th-century source, grounding it in the Victorian era with inspired visuals and deeply explored philosophical and spiritual implications. Physically mistreated but intellectually profound, Jacob Elordi’s creature conveys intelligence, sensitivity, and rage, while Oscar Isaac’s Victor Frankenstein is a manic, obsessive scientist driven by his vision of eternal life. Del Toro’s film is a visual nightmare one can swoon in, filled with rich symbolism and an insistent score, resulting in a triumph of storytelling that both honors and reinvents the classic tale.