This is my first film review — not an attempt to become a critic, but simply a way to keep track of what I watch and the impressions each film leaves on me.
I recently watched Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein on Netflix, and it left a lasting impression. I have to admit, I didn’t know the original story particularly well — my reference point had always been Mel Brooks’s 1974 Young Frankenstein, a film I adore for very different reasons. Del Toro’s version, however, draws us back to the novel’s true essence: tragic, poetic, and profoundly human.
His Frankenstein is not just a horror tale; it’s a meditation on loneliness, rejection, and the desperate need to be seen and loved. The creature is no longer a monster but a mirror — reflecting both the brilliance and the cruelty of its creator. Del Toro handles this duality with extraordinary tenderness and precision.
Visually, the film is breathtaking. Every frame feels meticulously composed, drenched in shadow and light, echoing the gothic atmosphere of Mary Shelley’s imagination. The performances are restrained yet deeply emotional, and the score amplifies the film’s haunting melancholy without ever overpowering it.
Watching it made me realize how little I actually knew about Frankenstein. Del Toro’s interpretation made me want to return to Shelley’s novel — not out of curiosity, but out of respect for a story that, more than two centuries later, still speaks so powerfully about what it means to be human.