Film Review: Frankenstein 科學怪人 (2025) - USA
Reviewed by Andrew Chan (Film Critic Circle of Australia)
I rated it 9/10
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Not a Creature Feature, But a Soul Laid Bare - Let us cast aside, for a moment, the dusty memories of flat-headed bolts and groaning monstrosities. Guillermo del Toro’s long-simmering, passionately realized adaptation of Mary Shelley’s "Frankenstein" arrives not as a simple horror show, but as a profound gothic elegy, a tragedy etched in frost and flickering lamplight. It is a film less concerned with the how of creation, and entirely consumed by the devastating after. Del Toro, working with the reverence of a true acolyte, delivers not just his finest film in years, but perhaps the most emotionally resonant and visually sumptuous interpretation of this timeless tale ever committed to celluloid.
The story, faithfully embracing Shelley’s nested narrative through Captain Walton’s Arctic despair, unfolds as a devastating duet. We witness the arrogance-fueled descent of Victor Frankenstein, played with brilliant, brittle intensity by Oscar Isaac. Isaac’s Victor isn't merely ambitious; he is a man hollowed out by childhood sorrow and paternal neglect, seeking dominion over death as a salve for his own spiritual wounds. His creation is an act of profound hubris, yes, but also a desperate, misplaced cry for meaning.
Yet, the film’s true, beating, wounded heart belongs not to the creator, but to the Created. Jacob Elordi, buried beneath masterful prosthetics that never once obscure the actor beneath, delivers a performance of astonishing vulnerability and power as the Creature. This is no lumbering brute. Elordi’s eyes, wide with the terror of newborn consciousness, convey an innocence shattered by immediate rejection. His journey – from confused foundling whispering "Victor?" like a prayer, to an articulate, rage-filled, yet deeply empathetic outcast – is the film’s devastating backbone. We see the world awaken within him: wonder at nature, the ache for connection, the sting of cruelty, the slow burn of justified fury. His yearning for understanding, his demand for simple companionship, and ultimately, his tragic comprehension of his own monstrousness in the eyes of humanity – Elordi makes it all heartbreakingly real. When he speaks Shelley’s eloquent words, they land with the weight of centuries of loneliness.
Del Toro’s direction is, predictably, a masterclass in gothic atmosphere. This is a world sculpted from shadow and texture. Cinematographer Dan Laustsen paints with a rich, deliberate palette: the sickly, bile-green luminescence of the laboratory, the oppressive, earthy tones of Ingolstadt, the stark, bone-chilling whites of the Arctic wasteland. Del Toro’s love for practical effects and meticulous production design grounds the spectacle. The Creature feels tangibly present, a marvel of makeup and physicality. Every frame is composed with the care of a Dutch Master painting a memento mori – dripping candles, decaying grandeur, the oppressive weight of stone and ice. It is visually overwhelming in the best possible way, demanding the grandeur of the largest screen to absorb its haunting beauty.
Mia Goth provides crucial warmth and moral clarity as Elizabeth, a beacon of compassion amidst the gathering gloom. The supporting cast is uniformly strong, but this is Isaac and Elordi’s show, a devastating pas de deux between creator and condemned.
Is the film long? Yes, nearing two and a half hours. Is its pace deliberate, almost stately at times? Undoubtedly. Some may crave more visceral thrills. But this measured rhythm allows the tragedy to truly breathe, for the philosophical weight of Shelley’s questions about responsibility, abandonment, forgiveness, and the very nature of humanity to sink in. Del Toro understands that the true horror lies not in the Creature’s form, but in the chilling indifference and cruelty of the world that rejects him, and the monstrous ego that birthed him without love.
"Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein" is more than an adaptation; it is a reclamation. It strips away decades of pop culture caricature to reveal the raw, beating, sorrowful heart of Shelley’s original vision. It is a film about the monstrous consequences of playing God without love, and the even more monstrous capacity of so-called civilized man to destroy the innocent. It is visually staggering, emotionally shattering, and anchored by a performance from Jacob Elordi that will linger long after the final, chilling frame. Del Toro hasn’t just made a monster movie; he’s crafted a masterpiece about the monstrous within us all, and the fragile, essential need for connection that defines a soul. A haunting, magnificent achievement. (Neo 2025)