A Mexican director took a British book set in Switzerland and stitched it up into pure Hollywood. The newest version of Frankenstein, like last year’s Nosferatu, is a strong and old-school iteration of a story that most people likely know, even if they’ve never sat down to read the book or watch one of the earlier films. For director Guillermo del Toro, it’s the movie he has been dreaming about making since childhood. He said as much in a 2011 interview from a second home in Los Angeles where he stores his comic books, Fangoria-ready props, and movie memorabilia, including a life sized version of Boris Karloff from the 1931 version of Frankenstein.

The film stars Oscar Isaac as the doctor looking to conquer death, Jacob Elordi as the Creature, and del Toro’s unrestrained adoration for big gothic sets, eye-popping production design, and a scene or two of mangled body parts crafted to make you go “ewww!” Anyone who watches new movies and grumbles about why they can’t make anything that feels like a classic anymore? This one ought to shut them up.

Guillermo del Toro came on the international film scene in 1992 with Cronos, which was produced in Mexico and became an underground sensation due to its rich mythology involving a 16th century alchemist who creates a scarab-shaped doohickey that bestows eternal life, leading to a great many grisly but visually compelling complications. (Hold on to that summary for a moment.) The success of the project brought del Toro to Hollywood, where he notoriously locked horns with producer Harvey Weinstein on the film Mimic. With Weinstein now in prison and a director’s cut of the picture now in circulation, I guess you can say del Toro eventually won that battle.

The director regrouped at the time by reworking an older screenplay into The Devil’s Backbone, a Spanish-Mexican coproduction set during the Spanish Civil War that was essentially a drama from a young boy’s point of view, with a gothic haze. This success brought him back to Hollywood for the cheerily received comic book movie sequel Blade II, then an adaptation of the indie comic Hellboy, which relished in hand-crafted special effects, elaborate tactile creature design, a zest for secret lairs and laboratories, and a grand sympathy for mutants and freaks.

With Hellboy, del Toro became, alongside future collaborator Peter Jackson of New Zealand, one of the true nerd kings of cinema. These were dorky outsiders with encyclopedic knowledge of horror and fantasy fiction who clearly hung out at the comic book shop and not the gym. (I say this with nothing but love and admiration.)

His next move, however, was a career turn that has solidified him as a name-brand auteur. Pan’s Labyrinth, another Mexican-Spanish co-production, imagined a rich fairy-tale setting to explore the brutality of Francoist Spain, unleashing a series of mesmerizing images and original fantasy designs that, in a Hollywood context, would only be for a kiddie picture or a supernatural slasher—not something that had some intellectual heft to it. The film was nominated for the best foreign language Oscar and lost to Germany’s The Lives of Others (a great film, but maybe a short-sighted pick), though it did win for art direction, makeup, and cinematography.

Del Toro was now an “elite” filmmaker, eventually winning the best picture and best director prizes for The Shape of Water in 2018, and the best animation prize for Pinocchio in 2023, with several other well-received movies, television shows, novels, and comic book creations sprinkled throughout. He also proudly carried the flag for a classicist’s approach to “chiller”-style moviemaking that recognizes there is more magic in deploying practical special effects than just using a computer. A recent interview summed this up nicely when he said he would “rather die” than use generative AI on one of his projects. (At a fan event in Los Angeles he spoke even more bluntly.)

When you take all this and envision a dedicated alchemist going mad in an effort to bring forth life from the inanimate, yes, you can see how all roads have been leading to Frankenstein. When it was announced that this was to be del Toro’s second film (after Pinocchio) in his ongoing deal with Netflix, the pairing was so perfect, it almost seemed too easy. I am happy to report that, without upending the text too radically, he makes the film all his own.

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A man looks at himself in a trifold mirror, touching his chin. A candelabra burns beside him.

Isaac in Frankenstein.Ken Woroner via Netflix.

Like the Creature itself, the collective unconsciousness’s understanding of Frankenstein is a collage sewn together from various sources. This would even include readers in the early 19th century, who may have read the anonymously published book Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus from 1818, or the 1831 revision under Mary Shelley’s name. In between, there had already been one stage adaptation, so it was clear early on that this story had (large, shambling) legs.

The book’s legendary origin, revealed in the 1831 edition, sprung from swapping ghost stories on a rainy night near Lake Geneva between 18-year-old Shelley; her future husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley; and Lord Byron. (This little scene plays out in a prologue to the 1935 film Bride of Frankenstein, if you feel like you’ve somehow witnessed this.) Mary’s tale of a reanimated corpse eventually developed into the story we now know.

Or did it? If you happen to be someone who always meant to read Frankenstein but didn’t until a week ago (and I may be talking about myself here), you’ll find that, yes, all those juicy themes about hubris, scientific ethics, the inherent darkness of mortal existence, divine cruelty, and social prejudice leap off of every other page. But most of the images that automatically pop in your head when I say Frankenstein—the green-gray creature with bolts in its neck, lightning searing through lab equipment, a humpback henchman, the ecstatic exclamation “it’s alive!”—come from the 1931 James Whale film, or, even more so, the cultural snowballing that the story underwent with its countless sequels, remakes, and parodies.

In addition to more notable retellings—like the Peter Cushing-led The Curse of Frankenstein from Hammer Film Productions; the stylishly underground Flesh For Frankenstein (also known as Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein); and, of course, Mel Brooks’ iconic parody Young Frankenstein—there have been decades of Creature cameos in Mickey Mouse cartoons, in breakfast cereal commercials, and derivative titles like Frankenweenie (a Tim Burton-directed animated film about a resurrected dog), Frankenhooker (you can look that one up for yourself), and a 1970s blaxploitation picture called Blackenstein. (It’s no Blacula.) People still use the term “Frankenfood” to suggest an unnatural manipulation of organic material, so it’s fair to say that if ever there was a universal shorthand term, Mary Shelley’s old ghost tale ranks high on the list, even if very few of the particulars from her book are part of what everyone thinks is the story.

For example, she deliberately never gives even a hint of how the cobbled-together body parts are reanimated to form the Creature. The narrating Dr. Frankenstein, now deeply regretful of his actions, does not want to breathe a word of it, lest someone might pick up his baton. (As far as wiggling oneself out of a writerly corner, one must salute the teenage Shelley when she came up with that one.) Nor are there any moments in which Dr. Frankenstein shouts down naysayers to his unorthodox philosophies in a medical theater—which is the memorable opening scene in Mel Brooks’ parody.

A figure wearing a dark, tattered hood and a heavy fur cloak stares intensely to the side. Most of their face is obscured by a cloth mask, leaving only eyes and pale, scarred skin.

Jacob Elordi as the Creature in Frankenstein.Ken Woroner via Netflix.

This “you don’t know the real story” angle was the hook of the 1994 film Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein directed by and starring Kenneth Branagh as the doctor and Robert De Niro as the Creation (as he was called in this version), and it was by far the most faithful adaptation. (As a movie, it doesn’t quite come together, but it has its moments.) Its existence is of great aid to del Toro, who is free from the burden of sticking too close to the original text and, like the doctor yanking the best limbs from a charnel house, can find inspiration from the entire Frankenstein corpus—and his own imagination.

Del Toro sets his film in the late 1850s and introduces a new motivation for Victor Frankenstein’s quest to defy death. In addition to mourning the loss of his mother (an aspect from the book amplified in the Branagh version), this Frankenstein introduces a sinister father-son rivalry, with Charles Dance (best known as the stern head of House Lannister in Game of Thrones) as a brilliant and cruel physician grooming his son to greatness in the same field. Outdoing dear ol’ dad, in addition to laughing in the face of God, is what really sets Oscar Isaac’s Victor Frankenstein on his path.

Aiding him is a new character, Harlander, played by Christoph Waltz, an arms dealer making a killing off the Crimean War who financially backs Victor’s scientific experiments. (We’ll soon learn he has an ulterior motive.) Harlander’s niece, Elizabeth, is a spin on the adopted sister of the Frankenstein family who, in the book, later weds Victor but is killed by the Creature. Here, she is engaged to Victor’s younger brother, and is primarily deployed by del Toro for philosophical jousting, goading the determined scientist into increasingly boastful positions, and driving him wild with desire. (It does not hurt that del Toro’s costume designer dresses her in peacock blues or radiant reds in cavernous candlelit homes and, later, Dr. Frankenstein’s stone tower. It’s even more intriguing when you realize that the actress playing Elizabeth, Mia Goth, also plays Dr. Frankenstein’s late mother in flashbacks.)

Though the location is a little vague, the gang leave Edinburgh to return to the Continent, taking advantage of the body parts of fallen soldiers at the front. In time, the Creature is brought to life, and, like Groot in Guardians of the Galaxy, can only say one word: Victor.

A person stands atop a jagged iceberg, dressed in a uniform and holding a rifle. Behind him is a large ship, with other people in uniform standing on the deck and pointing their rifles into the distance.

A scene from Frankenstein. Netflix

The Creature’s inability to advance intellectually (or perhaps the burden of being the only thing on his mind) soon irritates the doctor. When the Creature and Elizabeth bond, it drives him even more crazy—to the point that he tries to kill the Creature before he’s ever harmed a soul. This sets off a series of calamities for the Creature, including a realization that he is unable to die. (Another Marvel superhero, Wolverine, cursed with his insurmountable healing factor, comes to mind.) In time, there is a showdown at the North Pole, which features action and adventure, but also some genuine, heartfelt drama. Oscar Isaac is incapable of being anything but terrific on film, but Elordi, still a relative newcomer, is remarkable as the doomed giant subjected to a cruel fate at the whim of a short-sighted creator.

At 150 minutes, del Toro allows his film to stretch out, not just to set his camera on cool shots of undead flesh and 19th century scientific gizmos, but to sink his teeth into the contours of the story. Yes, Dr. Frankenstein is the bad guy, but Isaac’s natural charisma and the thorough backstory keep him relatable. Naturally, the director of Hellboy and The Shape of Water aligns our sympathies with the Creature from his first appearance—but does he have to kill quite so many sailors during his North Pole rampage? Life has dealt him a bad hand, but that’s a tough way to make your case. These contradictions, and others, are part of what makes this old story feel new—and more than the sum of its parts.