I loved The Shape of Water. I’ve seen it probably a dozen times. Just want to get that out of the way.
I really try to see every version of Frankenstein that comes my way. There are films inspired by our dear Mary’s work that have snippets of goodness, sometimes huge gobs of goodness. Some are so awful as to be wonderful. Some are faithful to the novel, some go their own way (sometimes wonderfully).
I got to see Del Toro’s Frankenstein in an actual theater. True, it was a little cold (and I wore shorts, perhaps not wisely, so shame on me).
I waited to write this until everybody’s had a chance to see the film, but figured it might make sense to post this before the Oscars.
I would probably never watch this film again. I didn’t enjoy it.
I’m a bit biased — usually, when anybody makes Victor Frankenstein an obvious villain, I think they miss the point of the original novel. I love Peter Cushing as an actor, but I’m not a fan of his Frankenstein films.
Victor Frankenstein is a dope, pure and simple. He’s driven to his discoveries by a combination of ambition, ability, and an almost absurd degree of what you could call innocence — he does not have any inkling whatsoever of the repercussions of his actions — that’s why I call it innocence — his evil is the evil of children pulling the legs off of ants — if they remember doing it years later, they’ll feel guilty, because presumably, they’d have developed a bit of empathy in the intervening years.
Victor Frankenstein’s dad in Del Toro’s film is just awful. That’s not how he’s portrayed in the novel. You can judge a tree by the fruits it produces, to go biblical on my dear reader.
But that’s not even my biggest problem with the film. I mentioned Del Toro’s The Shape of Water at the start. The Gillman gets the girl. Totally earned — I bought that completely.
Elizabeth choosing the Monster? We’ve been there, and done that, and lest we forget, in the original novel, he murders Elizabeth with his own hands — Victor doesn’t do it. Mel Brooks gets a pass (and what zipperneck wouldn’t long for some Madeline Kahn?).
I get it — every auteur gets to make his own version of something. This is Del Toro’s version of one of his most beloved inspirations. He’s clearly read the novel, he’s seen the films. But some part of me thinks he kind of didn’t get the point that Mary was striving for (or perhaps just chose not to let it hinder “his version” of it).
It was a pretty movie. The actors were fine. It in no way tarnished The Shape of Water, which was in some ways a superior template for this film. It made me appreciate Branaugh’s version even more (flawed as that is).
James Whale delivered the iconic Frankenstein template for me, and you can’t call it faithful at all. Boris Karloff lives with me like a grandparent whose memory guides my steps. There’s room for many interpretations of Mary Shelley’s original novel. And for some people, this might be the only version you’ll ever watch and you’ll love it.
Mary created a wonderful character in her monster. Making him a kind of soap opera dream lover, as this film attempted, did no justice to any aspect of Mary’s creation. Having him move a ship around like a Marvel superhero didn’t help, either.
There, I said it.