“Only monsters play God.” This is the tagline of Guillermo del Toro’s new adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The film, which stars Oscar Isaac as the titular egotistical scientist and Jacob Elordi as the creature he creates, was released to limited theaters on Oct. 17 and will hit Netflix on Nov. 7. The tagline signals what the movie delivers: a return to the central themes of Mary Shelley’s masterpiece and a rejection of the green, block-headed zombie we’ve come to associate with Frankenstein.
The film is delightfully gothic, with elaborate costumes and scenery clearly chosen for vibes rather than verisimilitude. Isaac’s Victor Frankenstein, for example, looks more like an emo rock star than a gentleman from the 1850s; the film changes the time period from the 1700s of the novel to the 1800s. There are gigantic stone towers, vast vaulted chambers, wide staircases for women to walk down wearing flowing white nightgowns while holding candelabras, and lots and lots of lightning.
But the centerpiece of the movie is Elordi’s creature. While the film is divided into “Victor’s Tale” and “The Creature’s Tale,” it is clear that both parts of the narrative belong to the creature. The nameless being that Frankenstein creates is, to modern audiences, better known as “Frankenstein’s monster” or sometimes, erroneously, “Frankenstein.” But del Toro is careful to dub him “the creature” because the question of monsters, and what makes one, is thematically central to the film. In this way, the film pays homage to its source material because, as readers of the novel know, this question of what makes a monster a monster is also at the heart of the original story.
Frankenstein, written in 1816, when Mary Shelley was just 18 years old, poses two central questions that remain frighteningly relevant over 200 years later. First, if humans develop the ability to create life out of nothing in a lab, should they? Or, to put it another way, should we play God?
But, in a sense, this is not a particularly interesting question. Should humans play God? No, of course not. We’ve all seen Jurassic Park. We know how that ends. But knowing that we shouldn’t, probably means we will not stop ourselves from trying. Right now, for example, researchers are trying to create sentient AI, scientists are developing artificial wombs, and entrepreneurs are pushing for genetically modified embryos. So, the more interesting question in Shelley’s novel, del Toro’s film, and real life is: What responsibilities do we have toward the not-exactly-human beings we create once we’ve created them?
The genius of the story is that Frankenstein’s quest to create a human being in a lab is a spectacular success. Shelley’s creature is not a zombie man by any stretch of the imagination; he is a deeply feeling being who yearns for human connection and love. It’s easy to know what to do with a zombie — kill it — but what do we do with a human being who isn’t really human?
The novel’s tragedy is that while not inherently a monster, the creature eventually becomes one by being treated as such, first by Frankenstein and then by the world. This, of course, poses the question: If Frankenstein’s treatment pushed the creature to monstrosity, which one of them is truly the monster?
This is the question del Toro’s film leans into most. Isaac’s Frankenstein is first elated to discover that his sewn-together human form is alive. But he quickly leaves him chained in the basement, not sure what to do with him now that he’s made him. “I never considered what would come after creation,” he explains. Eventually, he begins to abuse and dehumanize him.
Naturally, it is a woman who tries to set him straight. In one of many surface-level changes the movie makes from the book, Elizabeth, the female lead (played by Mia Goth), is not Victor’s fiancée but his brother’s. She takes one look at the creature and sees his humanity, as we do, via Elordi’s soulful performance. In the end, she thematically embodies the bride, the creature so desperately yearns for but ultimately cannot have. As the creature becomes more and more human, Frankenstein descends into madness and depravity.
If anything, the film goes further than the novel in trying to impress upon us the creature’s humanity. Shelley’s novel is definitively a tragedy, but del Toro’s film is not. And, while the ending may feel a little too pat, and raises a few narrative questions, its message is clear: You are only a monster if you decide to be. “While you are alive,” a remorseful Frankenstein tells his creation, “what recourse do you have but to live?” Live, we assume, the very best human life you can.
In the end, del Toro’s film seems to say, it isn’t so much that only monsters play God, but that when men play God, they become monsters.
Faith Moore is the host of Storytime for Grownups, a podcast that helps people learn to love classic literature. She is also the author of the novel Christmas Karol, available on Amazon.