Guillermo del Toro’s “Frankenstein”: The Journey of Creation

Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of Frankenstein stands as a testament to his lifelong devotion to cinema that is both hand-crafted and moving. With a cast led by Oscar Isaac, Mia Goth, and Jacob Elordi, del Toro’s interpretation revisits Mary Shelley’s classic novel as a deeply human story about pain, creation, abandonment, parenthood, and the perpetual search for identity and belonging.

From the moment del Toro began dreaming of Frankenstein decades ago, the project was marked by ambition. “When I was 11 and I dreamt of making this movie, I was an incipient Super 8 filmmaker,” he recalls. Even at that age, he recognized that Shelley’s novel was not the same as the classic film adaptation he saw as a child.

“Part of it is knowing when to not do it,” del Toro points out. “Sometimes you need to wait until you have the experience, the pull, or even the pain to tell this story truthfully.” When reflecting on why now was the right time to make Frankenstein, he explains, “I’m super happy it happened when I’m 60 at this point in my career.”

“All the sets are real,” del Toro says, emphasizing his commitment to practical, hand-built spaces. That presents practical and budgetary challenges from the get go. His production team was acutely aware that a film of this scale was going to be “irrationally difficult logistically.

Undeterred, he stuck to his mission of making handmade cinema – made by humans for humans.

Guillermo del Toro. Photo by Jordan Strauss

Del Toro’s philosophy as a filmmaker is to always aim higher than what seems possible. “Your ambition must always exceed your budget,” he laughs. “If you only dream within your budget, you’re not truly pushing creative boundaries.” He is clear that this is not about irresponsibility, but about pushing the art form forward. “We chose to work within a certain budget to maintain creative freedom. More money means less freedom.” Even so, Frankenstein came in at around $600k under its mammoth $120 million budget.

Del Toro has learned the importance of determining what a film truly needs during the course of his more than three decades long career. “With age, you learn to listen to the movie — you understand what is necessary and what is not,” he muses. “The best thing that can happen is to see people fall into a universe, a grid, as if it’s real.” His aim is to create a world that is a “vibe.” A place audiences fall into and want to stay. The true measure of a film’s success is to remember visiting a place that never existed.

Del Toro’s discipline was informed by his early years in Mexico, where he was forced to be both resourceful and responsible. “As a producer and director, I learned to stay on budget ,” he says. He refers to his producing style as “meatballs and gravy,” a way of distinguishing between what is essential and what is optional. You need a certain number of meatballs on the plate or it’s not a meal.

“You want moments that make people ask, ‘How did they do that?’” These are the moments of awe that he believes define great cinema.

At the core of del Toro’s work is a commitment to truth. “People go to the movies to experience truth — someone sharing a piece of their reality,” he ponders.

Del Toro draws a comparison of filmmaking to music: “When I hear Johnny Cash sing ‘Hurt,’ it becomes his song, not Trent Reznor’s. He makes it personal and true.” In the same way, del Toro waited years until he could approach Shelley’s story. “Mary Shelley’s pain as a teenager was so profound that I needed to wait until I could approach this story from a place of genuine emotion and truth. I needed to make this film my own, not just adapt someone else’s novel.”

Del Toro’s entry into filmmaking was shaped by a formative childhood experience. “I was born in 1964. In 1969, my father won the National Lottery, which changed our lives,” he recounts. His father owned car dealerships in Mexico, and sometimes clients would pay for cars with unusual items. One day, his father brought home Super 8 film equipment he’d received as payment for a car and offered it to Guillermo. “From an early age, I loved movies and monsters. I remember being fascinated with them from the crib,” del Toro recalls. “I began shooting stop-motion animation with it.”

Making his very first film was a revelation. “The thrill of making my first film was one of the greatest I’ve experienced as a filmmaker. Before that, I thought movies just happened and someone was there to capture them,” he explains. That first experience was transformational: “That moment was like my origin story. From then on, filmmaking became my life.”

Working with Super 8, del Toro became producer, writer, director, and star all at once. “You learn responsibility — for the production, the crew (which is usually just you and your family), and the process. It’s a very intimate way to learn filmmaking.” He spent his summers working odd jobs to save up for filmmaking equipment — microphones, cameras, stop-motion gear — and dedicated himself to studying the craft.

One of his very early Super 8 films was a stop motion film about a potato that mutated into a killer. “It was next to the microwave, mutated into an assassin, and killed everyone in the house before being squashed by a car. That was my origin story as a filmmaker,” he recalls, with a sense of amusement and nostalgia.

by Staff Writer

From our in-house editorial team.