Picture this: You've just settled in for Guillermo del Toro's take on the timeless tale of Frankenstein, expecting the chills and thrills of Mary Shelley's groundbreaking story, only to hit the ending and feel a wave of frustration wash over you. Fans are fuming about the finale, but hold onto your neck bolts—because there's a compelling reason why that anger might be misplaced, and it ties into the very heart of what makes this adaptation so clever. Let's dive into the details and unravel why del Toro's choices are sparking debate, and why they might just make perfect sense.
To start, this piece includes spoilers for 'Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein,' so if you haven't seen it yet, tread carefully. Del Toro's cinematic version of Mary Shelley's classic novel shifts the timeline forward in a surprising way from the original book's events. Shelley's iconic work sprang from a fun, spooky storytelling challenge in 1816 among Shelley, her spouse Percy, their buddy Lord Byron, and another friend, John Polidori. It hit the shelves in 1818 and is widely hailed as the pioneer of modern science fiction, blending horror with ethical questions about creation and humanity.
But here's where it gets controversial... Del Toro sets most of his film in the 1850s, a few years after Mary's passing. Just to give you some context, Percy Shelley passed away in 1822, Byron in 1824, and Polidori in 1821. The director probably moved the story to this era simply to incorporate a touching scene where the Monster—portrayed by the striking Jacob Elordi—learns to read by exploring Percy's complete writings. Including Mary reading her own book might have felt a tad too meta or sentimental, so del Toro opted for this alternative. Of course, this temporal leap means the film unfolds in a universe where 'Frankenstein' already exists as a published work. You might wonder why Dr. Victor Frankenstein (played by Oscar Isaac) doesn't think twice about his reckless experiments, given that 'The Modern Prometheus'—the book's subtitle—was out there for anyone to buy and ponder.
The movie wraps up with an on-screen excerpt from Lord Byron, and this is the part most people miss, as it has critics wrinkling their noses in disapproval. Why quote Byron—Mary's husband's pal—instead of Shelley herself? After all, 'Frankenstein' is her creation, not his. But when you compare Byron to the characters in the story, the choice clicks into place like a well-oiled laboratory device.
For beginners jumping into literary analysis, it's helpful to understand that Mary Shelley might have drawn inspiration for the arrogant and self-centered Dr. Frankenstein from the brooding, irritating Byron himself. Del Toro appears to be drawing a parallel between Dr. Frankenstein and Lord Byron, as if to say, 'Hey, look at this real-life poet who embodies similar flaws.'
Some viewers are genuinely upset about skipping a quote from Mary Shelley, to the point where they've taken to online forums—like Reddit—to 'fix' the film with homemade edits and digital tweaks, swapping in Shelley's words for Byron's. Byron is a legendary figure among poetry enthusiasts, often remembered for his dramatic, self-indulgent persona. The term 'Byronic' typically describes a 'sad-boy' archetype—think a guy who wallows in his own pity, using his melancholy to charm and manipulate, especially with the opposite sex. And yes, del Toro's Monster fits this mold to a tee. He's tall, dashingly handsome (thanks to the 6'5" charisma of Jacob Elordi, known from hits like 'Saltburn' and 'Euphoria'), brimming with innocent wonder, drawn to animals and verse, but quick to lash out if provoked. He's emotional enough to shed tears, the kind of creature who could easily blend into a Portland bookstore crowd, sipping a latte in a cozy sweater while perusing philosophy tomes. In a way, the Monster could be seen as a Byronic figure.
But here's the twist that might flip your perspective: a stronger match might be linking Byron directly to Victor Frankenstein. 'Byronic' also implies immaturity and vanity, traits Victor embodies fully. Del Toro portrays him as emotionally distant, shaped by a traumatic childhood with unresolved issues toward his father, leaving him driven by raw ambition, icy resolve, and a shaky moral compass. Even when Victor falls for Elizabeth (Mia Goth), he can't connect with her tenderly—his approach is more like a scientific puzzle than a heartfelt romance.
Del Toro might have imagined Mary Shelley observing Lord Byron and recognizing echoes of him in Victor: a man whose outward sensitivity feels performative, like a mask hiding deeper flaws. That's why the Byron quote lands at the end of 'Frankenstein'—as a nod to the historical muse behind the story's moral warning. For those new to this, think of it as the film subtly saying that real people, like Byron, can inspire fictional monsters, reminding us of the dangers of unchecked ego and ambition.
Now, let's unpack the quote itself: "The heart will break and yet brokenly live on." This poignant line resonates with both Frankenstein and his creation. It originates from Byron's epic poem 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt,' released in parts between 1812 and 1818. The poem follows Harold, a wealthy young man who abandons his luxurious life for a soul-searching journey across Europe. Along the way, he's captivated by the continent's stunning landscapes, appalled by the devastation of wars, and haunted by nostalgia for bygone glories. If you're into that dark, romantic vibe—perhaps aspiring to be a 'Goth sad-boy'—this poem is a must-read cornerstone of the Byronic hero archetype.
It's safe to assume Mary Shelley was familiar with 'Pilgrimage' before that legendary horror-writing night. The poem was a massive success, popularizing the idea of the brooding, self-absorbed yet beautifully flawed hero. Del Toro's film embraces this by adopting Shelley's viewpoint, making the audience see through her eyes. He skipped quoting Mary not to overshadow her or claim Byron mattered more, but to immerse us in her world. She mingled with the era's top poets, including the insufferable ones, and crafted an enduring masterpiece. Including Byron's influence in the film honors her satirical lens, showing how she might have used him as a model to critique vanity and isolation.
To expand a bit for clarity, imagine Byron's influence as a springboard: just like how a poet's words can inspire a novel, Shelley's story satirizes the very traits she observed in her circle. For example, Victor's relentless pursuit of glory without regard for consequences mirrors the 'Byronic' hero's self-focused drama, a theme that warns about the perils of playing god—something still relevant today in discussions about AI or genetic engineering.
But is this interpretation airtight? Some might argue that sidelining Mary Shelley in the quote feels like historical erasure, prioritizing a male figure in a story dominated by female genius. Does del Toro's choice undermine her legacy, or does it enhance it by highlighting her influences? What do you think—should adaptations stick strictly to the source, or is artistic liberty fair game, especially when it pays homage to the creator's inspirations? Share your thoughts in the comments: Do you agree that the Byron quote adds depth, or does it spark more frustration? Let's debate if del Toro got it right or if this is a missed opportunity to spotlight Shelley more prominently. Your opinions could reveal how we view adaptations in the age of remakes and reboots!
