We have watched Guillermo del Toro spend decades reshaping the way we see monsters. He doesn’t simply direct them as he makes sure to give them souls. With ‘Frankenstein,’ which will be released on 7th November later this year on Netflix, the filmmaker made sure that he did not just adapt Mary Shelley’s classic; rather, he chose to circle back to the very origin point of his own imagination, and perhaps, to his own life story.
When Frankenstein screened in Toronto last weekend, it was impossible not to feel the weight of that history. Del Toro, who is now 60-years-old, admitted that he has entered what he calls “the regret decade,” reflecting on himself not only as a son but also as a father. That duality bleeds right into Frankenstein. On screen, Oscar Isaac’s Viktor Frankenstein pulses with rage, ambition, and guilt, while Jacob Elordi’s Creature moves with what del Toro calls “balletic grace,” childlike in wonder yet aching in loneliness. Together, they mirror the push and pull of the art of creation, the pain of abandonment, and the fragile beauty of being alive.
With Frankenstein, del Toro Trades Spectacle for Something Deeper
We have come to expect such spectacle from del Toro, his extraordinary production design, otherworldly prosthetics, and Alexandre Desplat’s haunting score. But with Frankenstein, honestly, it seems like it is something more intimate and truly accepting. He describes it as a “gothic rock concert about loneliness,” and sitting down with it will make us understand what he meant. What, in reality, do Grief, love, and rage mean, and what happens when all of it collides in a single body, because brutality and grace, as he reminds us, can coexist.
The reactions so far have echoed what we have seen before with ‘Nightmare Alley,’ which is admiration mixed with sheer devotion. After all, that is the ideal way to explain del Toro’s way. He doesn’t smooth his edges to fit into the market of filmmaking, as he believes it leans into more contradictions. And maybe that’s why his films are enduring, as they carry both tenderness and terror in equal measure.
As Frankenstein Travels the Festival Circuit, del Toro Reminds Us That Empathy Is Still the Boldest Rebellion
Off-screen, del Toro’s generosity feels just as striking. Every Sunday, he and his fellow filmmakers gather not to talk shop, but to paint, share food, and stay human. In an industry obsessed with deals and numbers, that sense of community is quietly radical.
As Frankenstein moves from Venice to Telluride to Toronto, and soon into selective theaters and Netflix screens worldwide, we sense it will stir more than just awards chatter. It feels like a reminder in an era of cynicism, of wars and climate dread, that empathy might still be the most rebellious act.
Because del Toro’s monsters have always asked us the same question. What if survival, beauty, and love could belong to those the world refuses to see? And with Frankenstein, we may finally see that both monster and miracle live in the same heartbeat.
