Imagine stepping into a world where the line between creation and monstrosity blurs, where every stitch of artistry brings a legend to life. Guillermo del Toro’s ‘Frankenstein’ isn’t just a film—it’s a testament to the power of collaboration and the magic of moviemaking. But here’s where it gets controversial: in a world obsessed with CGI, del Toro dared to go old-school, crafting a $120 million epic for Netflix that feels as handmade as it is monumental. And this is the part most people miss: the true monster isn’t the creature on screen—it’s the relentless passion of the creators behind it.
When Tamara Deverell, the production designer, first laid eyes on the nearly completed set of Victor Frankenstein’s lab, she couldn’t contain her awe. Perched atop an ancient Scottish stone tower, the massive laboratory was a masterpiece of design, complete with a towering round window that bathed the space in light. Inside, a workshop bristled with intricate, ornate machinery, and at its center lay a malformed body on an operating table. ‘It’s alive!’ Deverell exclaimed, echoing the very essence of the story she was helping to bring to life.
Moviemaking itself is a Frankenstein art, a patchwork of elements—costumes, sets, lighting, music—stitched together to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Del Toro’s adaptation of Mary Shelley’s 19th-century gothic novel is no exception. It’s a feast for the senses, cobbled together with the meticulous craftsmanship of old Hollywood. ‘I wanted a handmade movie of an epic scale,’ del Toro explains. ‘Everything, from the sets to the costumes, is handcrafted by humans.’
But bringing ‘Frankenstein’ to life required more than just vision—it demanded synchronicity. Costume designer Kate Hawley could create the most lavish dresses, but they had to harmonize with cinematographer Dan Lausten’s lighting. Creature designer Mike Hill couldn’t shape Frankenstein’s monster without considering actor Jacob Elordi’s presence. ‘It’s one big group of monster makers,’ Hill notes. ‘We’re all Victor Frankensteins on this set.’
And here’s where it gets even more intriguing: del Toro’s monster isn’t the bolt-necked, stitched-together creature of 1931 fame. Instead, it’s a newborn, a flesh-and-blood first draft, stripped of mechanical elements. ‘I didn’t want a Cyberpunk look,’ Hill explains. ‘This is Guillermo del Toro’s version of Mary Shelley’s book, and I wanted to streamline him.’ The goal? To keep the soul intact, even in close-ups. ‘If you’re distracted by gore, you lose the character,’ Hill adds.
The creature’s evolution is a character arc in itself, from its tattered hooded cloak to its journey through mud, snow, wolves, and dynamite. Hawley’s team dedicated themselves to clothing and wrapping the monster, ensuring its appearance told a story. Even the regal blue dress worn by Mia Goth took four months to perfect, a testament to the alchemy of filmmaking. ‘Everything’s an experiment,’ Hawley admits.
But here’s the real question: Can a film this ambitious truly honor both the creator and the created? Del Toro thinks so. His Victor Frankenstein (played by Oscar Isaac) is a frenzied artist, while the monster (Elordi) is a character del Toro has felt a profound kinship with since childhood. The result is a film that exalts both, blending their stories into a seamless whole.
Behind the camera, Dan Lausten’s cinematography adds depth and character. ‘We’re not afraid of the darkness,’ he says, proudly lighting scenes with candles and embracing contrast. His collaboration with del Toro is instinctual, a shorthand that elevates every shot. ‘Sometimes I think he’s trying to burn the set down,’ Lausten jokes, referring to the smoke and steam that often fill their gothic spaces.
The sets themselves are characters, from the giant whaling ship lodged in Arctic ice to the sprawling laboratory. Deverell and del Toro’s research trips through Scotland inspired every detail, from Victorian ironwork to the circle motif that ties the film together. ‘Guillermo wanted it big,’ Deverell recalls. ‘He was designing it in his head for Oscar, who moves so beautifully.’
Finally, there’s Alexandre Desplat’s score, the third in his triptych with del Toro after ‘The Shape of Water’ and ‘Pinocchio.’ His music gives voice to the unspoken yearnings of the creature, Victor, and the puppet. ‘I need to bring out their unspoken emotions,’ Desplat says. For the scene where Victor assembles the creature, he chose a waltz, capturing the creative trance of an artist at work.
So, here’s the question for you: In a world dominated by digital effects, does del Toro’s handmade approach to ‘Frankenstein’ feel like a breath of fresh air—or a relic of the past? Is the monster on screen more alive because of the human touch behind it? Let us know in the comments—this is one debate that’s just begging to be stitched together.
