When Frankenstein Forgets the Science

On an October evening when the sun was still up past 4pm, I caught sight of a bus poster for Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein, scheduled for release just after Halloween. My eyes were glued to the side of that bus as it pulled away, and anticipation was being built in my head for a science fiction film that modernized the themes of the original gothic science fiction tale.

Yet, in the latest film adaptation of Mary Shelley’s classic, del Toro presents a visually and emotionally opulent rendition that reframes Shelley’s narrative as an exploration of parental trauma and neglect. In the process, however, he skims over Frankenstein’s role as the go-to metaphor for scientific anxiety. At a time where biotechnology, AI, and genetic design are sparking ethical and public concern, the film neglects a chance to consider the role of science, instead capping the themes of the story at familial emotional appeal.

When I finally found the time to sit down and watch the film, I expected a contemporary engagement with Frankenstein as a science myth. I was surprised to find something else entirely. Shelley’s Frankenstein was the cultural shorthand for public fear of unchecked science, and I was anticipating an adaptation for 2025 that speaks to the ethics of the latest science out of Silicon Valley and beyond, contentious technologies such as artificial intelligence and embryo selection for certain traits. Del Toro avoids these themes at large, instead creating his typical dreamy world for the viewer that is centered on a gothic family tragedy.

The themes of scientific philosophy and ethics behind the original science fiction novel are displaced by the psychology of a father-son melodrama. Victor Frankenstein’s ambition is framed less as scientific hubris than as emotional compensation for paternal rejection. Science becomes a vehicle for trauma, not an object of scrutiny. The film repeatedly spoon-feeds viewers the cliche of “the creator is the real monster” rather than letting us wrestle with ethical ambiguity in any meaningful way. In contrast with Shelley, the creature’s moral complexity is flattened into a one-dimensional symbol of purity and victimhood that leaves little to grapple with or really sink one’s teeth into.

The academic trial scene, where Victor is persecuted for the morality of reanimating dead flesh, gestures toward institutional critique but stops short of meaningful critique. Beyond vague taboos about ‘playing God,’ the film avoids drawing parallels to modern scientific governance, which was a missed opportunity to move the story beyond father–son psychology.

In classic del Toro style, both the set and costume design were gorgeous, including very intentional use of black, white and red color schemes. The creature’s design is a thoughtful reimagining of an over-familiar icon, abandoning green skin and neck bolts in favour of something more fragile and mournful. The production design leans heavily into natural philosophy and body horror, with no shortage of cadavers, dissections, blood, and religious symbolism, creating a world that feels equally secular and sacred. Yet this aesthetic richness ultimately substitutes for ethical depth. Beauty and empathy dominate, while the science itself remains largely uninterrogated.

The film’s moral imagination only becomes more lackluster in its portrayal of women and empathy. Mia Goth’s character embodies a familiar “empathetic muse” archetype rather than a participant in scientific or ethical debate. Her interest in science extends as far as a childlike curiosity for entomology, as if the more serious endeavours should be left to the men. Empathy becomes feminised and detached from science altogether. In a story so often invoked in debates about scientific responsibility, this choice subtly reinforces the idea that ethical reflection belongs outside the scientific sphere and outside those who practice it.

At a time of public anxiety around AI, biotech, and genetic engineering, this adaptation had a golden opportunity to renew Frankenstein’s relevance. Instead, it softens the myth, offering emotional closure rather than ethical unease. The result is a beautiful film that leaves the most urgent questions about responsibility, progress, and trust in science largely untouched.

Written by Nicole Downar, January 16, 2026.