DUBAI: Guillermo del Toro’s long-awaited “Frankenstein” is, above all else, a hauntingly beautiful film. Maybe too beautiful for its own good.
Every frame looks like an exquisite painting, rendered in exacting detail. The precision of del Toro’s scene compositions — the baroque architecture, the green laboratory glass, the deep hues that wrap each scene — reminds you that this is a director incapable of doing anything by halves.
This meticulousness is also the film’s undoing. Because the very beauty of del Toro’s “Frankenstein” removes the raw horror that author Mary Shelley’s iconic original demands.
The film’s first half, told from Victor Frankenstein’s (a magnetic Oscar Isaac) perspective, is as immaculate and calculated as the doctor himself. The camera glides through mansions and laboratories with reverence. The textures are breathtaking. Yet the existential chill that should accompany the story feels largely absent.
Ironically, it’s only when we shift to the viewpoint of the Creature (Jacob Elordi) that the film begins to pulse with some humanity. The camera presents Elordi’s hulking yet heartbreakingly gentle figure with compassion and empathy, and it’s a story you want to drink in completely.

Oscar Isaac as Victor Frankenstein. (Courtesy of Netflix)
Isaac plays Victor as a man consumed by his own myth, with an intensity typical of an actor who rarely misses the mark. But it’s Elordi who steals the film. His Creature is affecting in the purest sense — you feel for him as you would for a lost puppy.
Del Toro takes considerable liberties with Shelley’s 1818 novel. Shelley, just 18 when she wrote it, used her story to critique patriarchal hubris and meditate on the sanctity of creation versus the ambition of man. Del Toro strips the original's meaning away by altering Victor’s backstory to give it a more tragic tinge and, in the process, explain away his monstrous tendencies.
All is not lost, however. Mia Goth’s eerie and gorgeous Elizabeth Harlander, Victor’s brother William’s fiancée, injects some of that lost authorial voice.
As a feat of design and atmosphere, “Frankenstein” is formidable. Its scale alone testifies to del Toro’s mastery of worldbuilding. But you end up finishing the film — tragically on the small screen (through Netflix), not in a theater — moved more by its dramatic visual flourishes than by its story.










