Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein stars Oscar Isaac (Baron Victor Frankenstein) and Jacob Elordi (‘the creature’) and retells the basics of Mary Shelley’s story – man creates monster, man rejects monster, monster goes off on one – with high-camp sumptuousness. Del Toro’s spin is to include a redemptive arc, plus he throws in some invented characters. ‘The creature’, meanwhile, is portrayed with great sympathy, as a soulful, mistreated innocent. In other words, there’s no Boris Karloff lumbering around in that blazer a size too small with a bolt through the neck.
It opens with a Danish expedition-ship stuck in the Arctic ice and the crew rescuing an injured Victor. They are soon attacked by ‘the creature’ who has superhuman strength and wounds that spontaneously heal. Victor explains to the captain that he is the creature’s maker. We flash back to Victor’s childhood with his cruel father, an eminent physician (Charles Dance). After the death of his beloved mother Victor resolves not only to exceed his father professionally but also to wrench life from death. It’s all very Oedipal.
Victor is a man possessed. He becomes an arrogantly brilliant surgeon but is expelled from the medical establishment after he demonstrates his first attempt at animating a corpse. (A terrific scene that could be from a horror movie.) However, an arms dealer (an invented character played by Christoph Waltz) offers Victor unlimited funds to continue his work for reasons that will eventually become clear. Victor is housed in a lonesome tower atop a hill that is just asking to be struck by lightning one stormy night. (Spoiler alert: that happens.) The film is often gory – no more so than when Victor collects all the necessary body parts for his new being. You will not feel shortchanged on the severed limbs front.
On to ‘the creature’ – ‘it’s alive!’ – who is not lumbering, nor attired in a sports blazer too small. He is tall but slender, ethereal, with delicate, ghostly skin crisscrossed by scars that are more like marbling. He’s rather beautiful and as it’s Elordi, kind of hot. (I would.) He horrifies Victor, who mistreats him. Like father like son, this is saying, not with much subtlety. Also, sexual jealousy raises its head. He’s in love with his brother’s fiancée (Mia Goth), who is not disgusted by the monster. She bonds with him, treats him tenderly. (She would for sure.) Goth is compelling but her character is substantially underwritten.
The film is split in two. In the second half the monster relates his story. In this way we are able to witness his growth in consciousness as he begins to understand the world around him and his own place in it. He is vilified by everyone he encounters and framed for any acts of violence (repetitively, which slows the action down) when all he wants is kindness. He constantly seeks out his creator, like a badly abused dog who still loves his master. We’re asked to consider who is truly the monster here. ‘Victor, you are the monster!’ his brother tells him, in case we haven’t worked that out for ourselves.
The performances are good, particularly Elordi, whose hotness does add a new dimension to the story, but otherwise, is there anything fresh here? Haven’t we always been asked to pity the monster? Hasn’t the father/son dynamic always been integral? Things often slip into cliché and sentimentality. Still, it’s aways gorgeous to look at – the Victorian scenes are immaculate – and though it does drag, it’s on Netflix so that’s not a problem. Hello, fast-forward button.
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