Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is inspired by Mary Shelley’s seminal 1818 novel of the same name. “I’ve lived with Mary Shelley’s creation all my life,” says del Toro. “For me, it’s the Bible. But I wanted to make it my own, to sing it back in a different key with a different emotion.”
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus
“Mary Shelley’s masterpiece is rife with questions that burn brightly in my soul: existential, tender, savage, doomed questions that only burn in a young mind and only adults and institutions believe they can answer,” del Toro explains. “For me, only monsters hold the secrets I long for.”
The sprawling epic follows Victor, a brilliant, ego-driven scientist (Oscar Isaac), as he embarks on a quest to bring new life into this world. The Creature (Jacob Elordi) is the result; his very existence provokes questions about what it means to be a human, a creator, a creature — a father and a son — to crave love and seek understanding. Both Victor and the Creature aim to answer those mysteries and search for meaning in a world that can seem quite mad.
“The book has a lot of anxiety — the anxiety that you get when you’re an adolescent, and you don’t understand why everybody lies about the world,” del Toro says. He aimed to capture that anxiety by translating “the rhythms of Mary Shelley” for the screen. “When English is your second language, you are trained very acutely to the melody and the rhythms of a language,” he continues. “It has a particular rhythm, the dialogue in the book. I tried to make the dialogue be like that without sounding archaic.”
In fact, del Toro was passionate about maintaining the modernism of Frankenstein in all aspects of the movie, which is set in 19th-century Europe. “When [Shelley] wrote Frankenstein, it was not a period piece. It was a modern book, so I didn’t want you to see a pastel-colored period piece,” he explains. Instead, the director favored swaggering fashions for Victor and styles that are “luscious and full of color.”
Del Toro hopes his Frankenstein stays with viewers as long as the Creature has resided in his own heart. “May monsters inhabit your dreams and give you as much solace as they have given me, for we are all creatures lost and found,” he says.
Del Toro has been working on a Frankenstein film for more than a decade. “My favourite novel in the world is Frankenstein. I’m going to misquote it horribly, but the monster says, ‘I have such love in me, more than you can imagine. But, if I cannot provoke it, I will provoke fear.’ ” It’s an idea that inspired del Toro’s career-spanning love for the monsters inside and outside all of us. Now he’s finally returning to the source.
Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is inspired by personal trauma, spiritual inquiry, and a lifelong reverence for Mary Shelley’s novel.
Its significance lies in its intimate reimagining of creation, regret, and forgiveness through a father-son lens.
Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of Frankenstein is not merely a retelling of Mary Shelley’s 1818 gothic classic—it’s a deeply personal and spiritual excavation. Del Toro has long called Frankenstein his “favorite novel in the world,” a story that has haunted and inspired him since childhood. For decades, he envisioned adapting it, but only recently felt emotionally ready. The catalyst? A profound conversation with his father, Federico del Toro, who was kidnapped in 1998. That traumatic event—and the silence that followed—shaped del Toro’s understanding of pain, regret, and ultimately, forgiveness.
This emotional reckoning became the third pillar of his film’s thematic structure. Del Toro describes Frankenstein as a story about “pain, regret, and forgiveness,” with the latter only emerging after reconciling with his father’s experience. “A grudge takes two prisoners,” he said. “Forgiveness liberates two people”. This insight transformed the film into a meditation not just on monstrous creation, but on the human need to forgive and be forgiven.
Del Toro’s Frankenstein also reclaims the dual narrative of creator and creature. He originally considered making two films—one from Victor Frankenstein’s perspective, the other from the creature’s—but ultimately merged them into a single, operatic tale. This duality allows the film to explore the emotional and moral consequences of creation from both sides. Oscar Isaac plays Victor Frankenstein, while Jacob Elordi embodies the creature, each reflecting the other’s longing, rage, and isolation.
Stylistically, del Toro’s version is both epic and intimate. He envisioned it as a “Catholic retelling” of Shelley’s novel, steeped in spiritual symbolism and familial tension. The father-son dynamic—between Victor and his creation, and mirrored in del Toro’s own life—becomes the emotional core. The film doesn’t just ask what it means to create life; it asks what it means to be responsible for it, to abandon it, and to seek redemption.
The significance of this adaptation lies in its refusal to treat Frankenstein as mere horror. Instead, del Toro elevates it to a mythic parable about broken relationships, inherited pain, and the possibility of healing. In a cinematic landscape saturated with spectacle, his Frankenstein offers something rare: a monster story that is also a spiritual reckoning. It speaks to anyone who has felt abandoned, misunderstood, or trapped in grief—and to those who seek release through compassion.
By weaving personal history into Shelley’s timeless narrative, del Toro transforms Frankenstein into a vessel for emotional truth. It’s not just a film—it’s a ritual of reconciliation, a gothic hymn to the wounded and the forgiven.
Mary Shelley was a pioneering English novelist who wrote Frankenstein at just 18 years old
Inspired by personal loss, intellectual upbringing, and a legendary storytelling challenge during a stormy summer in Switzerland.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley was born on 30 August 1797 in London to two radical thinkers: William Godwin, a political philosopher, and Mary Wollstonecraft, a trailblazing advocate for women’s rights. Tragically, her mother died shortly after childbirth, leaving Mary to be raised by her father in a household frequented by poets, philosophers, and reformers. Though she received little formal education, Mary absorbed the intellectual atmosphere around her, reading widely and writing from a young age.
Her life took a dramatic turn in 1814 when she began a relationship with Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of her father’s admirers and a married Romantic poet. They eloped to Europe with Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, enduring scandal, poverty, and the loss of their first child. In 1816, the trio joined Lord Byron and physician John Polidori at Lake Geneva. That summer, marked by relentless storms and philosophical debate, became the crucible for Frankenstein.
One evening, Byron proposed a ghost story contest. Mary, then 18, struggled to find inspiration until a conversation about galvanism and the reanimation of corpses sparked a vivid waking dream. She later described it: “I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together.” This vision became the seed of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, published anonymously in 1818.
The novel fused Gothic horror with Enlightenment anxieties, exploring themes of creation, isolation, and moral responsibility. It was groundbreaking—not only as a work of fiction but as one of the earliest examples of science fiction. Mary’s own experiences of grief, exile, and intellectual struggle deeply informed the emotional landscape of the book.
After Percy Shelley’s death in 1822, Mary returned to England and supported herself through writing and editing. She championed her late husband’s work while continuing her own literary career. Despite personal tragedies—including the deaths of three of her four children—she remained a resilient and prolific figure until her death in 1851 at age 53.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein endures as a foundational text in literature and culture, not just for its chilling narrative but for its philosophical depth. It asks timeless questions: What does it mean to create life? What are the consequences of unchecked ambition? And how do we reckon with the monsters we make?
Guillermo del Toro is a visionary Mexican filmmaker, author, and artist known for blending fairy tale aesthetics with gothic horror and emotional depth.
Born in Guadalajara in 1964, he has become one of the most influential voices in modern cinema.
Del Toro’s creative journey began in childhood, nurtured by a Catholic grandmother and a fascination with monsters. He saw them not as threats but as metaphors for power, pain, and misunderstood beauty. This perspective shaped his signature style: dark fantasy infused with poetic visuals, Catholic symbolism, and themes of imperfection and redemption.
He studied filmmaking at the University of Guadalajara and learned special effects makeup from Dick Smith, the legendary artist behind The Exorcist. In the 1980s, del Toro worked as a makeup artist and co-founded Necropia, a special-effects company. His debut feature, Cronos (1993), won nine Ariel Awards and the Critics’ Week prize at Cannes, launching his international career.
Del Toro’s filmography spans Spanish-language masterpieces like The Devil’s Backbone (2001) and Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), as well as Hollywood hits including Blade II (2002), Hellboy (2004), Pacific Rim (2013), and Crimson Peak (2015). His 2017 film The Shape of Water won four Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director.
Beyond directing, del Toro is a prolific producer and writer. He co-authored The Strain trilogy, created the animated Tales of Arcadia franchise, and curated the Netflix horror anthology Cabinet of Curiosities. His work often explores underworld motifs, amber lighting, insectile imagery, and the emotional lives of outsiders.
Del Toro is part of “The Three Amigos of Mexican Cinema” alongside Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro G. Iñárritu. He’s received numerous accolades, including BAFTAs, Golden Globes, and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In 2018, Time named him one of the 100 most influential people in the world.
His latest projects, including Frankenstein, reflect a deepening of his spiritual and emotional themes—exploring pain, regret, and forgiveness through mythic storytelling. Del Toro continues to champion stop-motion animation, genre storytelling, and the emotional power of monsters.
