Frankenstein (dir. Guillermo del Toro)
There is nobody on the planet more qualified to re-adapt Frankenstein than Guillermo del Toro, whose Oscar-winning The Shape of Water might as well have been a reimagining of The Creature From the Black Lagoon. The man has monsters on the brain in the best of ways, and has always made films which exist in that fun spot between cartoon and reality where the best cinematic beasties thrive. He’s also a master of melodrama, which is par for the Frankenstein course. The only person with a potentially better grasp on what makes Ol’ Franky tick is Shelley herself, and she’s dead.
She also died before movies existed, so there would be a learning curve, but being a genius and all, I’m confident she’d pick it up quickly.
This latest retelling hews closer to the source material than most previous adaptations insofar as the monster is an eloquent, tortured being with intellect and pathos, capable of stringing together monologues that go well beyond “fire bad.” Yet it’s not a fully faithful adaptation in terms of plot. Yes, the Russian Doll structure is similar to the novel, and many scenes we’ve never seen before have finally made their way to the screen, but del Toro manages to put his own spin on the material. Namely, he tones down the “playing God” aspect of the text and replaces it with a “playing Dad” thematic element, mostly to great success. I will admit that I’m a sucker for such things.
Cinema’s most famous mad scientist is here played by Oscar Isaac, and while he’s not necessarily who I’d have chosen for the role, he earns his keep by leaning into the melodrama and going as big as possible in every moment. The early scenes where the monster first comes to life highlight what a joy it is to watch Isaac when he’s having fun (your mileage may vary on the film overall, but I recommend Suburbicon for a great single-scene example of Isaac chewing scenery like no other).
At his side is a somewhat wasted Christoph Waltz, as the man who helps finance the doctor’s experiments. Waltz feels like he was designed in a lab specifically to be in a Frankenstein film, but his role is ultimately extraneous, leaving him little to do. Mia Goth, also designed in a lab to be in this sort of thing, gets more to do, making an excellent mother figure to the creature, and a foil to Isaac’s “tortured Dad” vibes.
The creature is played by a film-stealing Jacob Elordi, an actor whose sheer size automatically draws the eye, and whose ability to make us feel transcends the layers of prosthetic makeup under which he performs (you probably missed On Swift Horses — give it a watch). His take on the creature is fabulously scary, and quite relatable to anyone who has ever had a dad before. As we move away from the misguided manhood of the boomer generation, it becomes clear that a lot of inclinations toward anger are inherited and coddled within the realm of daddy issues. It’s what del Toro is playing with here, and Elordi understands the material. His is one of the best performances of 2025.
While not as iconic as James Whale’s enduring classic, and certainly not as inclined to scare, del Toro’s Frankenstein is easily the best adaptation so far, and I implore anyone who is interested in it to see it on the big screen before it hits Netflix. It’s a frequently gorgeous film, and it deserves better than even the best streaming setup.
Primate (dir. Johannes Roberts)
In the middle of a festival filled with high-minded cinema, and at a time when every horror movie seems to be a “meditation on grief,” it’s a nice departure to come across something like Primate, a film with no higher ambition than delivering a non-stop cavalcade of tension, brutality, and absolutely killer practical effects. As a late night film fest offering I don’t think Philadelphia Film Society could’ve done better than this. It was a nice treat for me and my fellow degenerates.
The plot is simple: a young woman brings a group of friends to her father’s island home for a vacation. Her father has a pet chimp. Said chimp gets rabies, and now everyone has to survive a chimp attack. No frills, no heavy thematics — just pure survival horror done right.
What makes Primate so impressive is how tangible the chimp feels. I can’t tell where the puppetry ends and the CGI begins or where the CGI ends and the monkey costume begins. It’s one of the most seamless monster creations I’ve ever seen. It feels 100% real. Add to that the fact that the chimp himself (his name is Ben) is able to draw empathy during the early stages of his infection, and you’ve got a monster that can carry a movie. Ben wants help, and he is afraid of his violent urges.
And then he starts ripping faces off.
As a chimp who is in the process of learning how to use sign language and digital tools to speak, he’s an animal with a sharp mind, which makes him a resourceful killer, employing trickery and guerilla (ha!) tactics in order to seek his prey.
The pool of victims is large (and a few of them spend a lot of time in a pool), made up almost entirely of young people who make stupid decisions. In other words: perfect slasher material. Yet unlike the cinematic meat markets of yore, most of these doomed youths are rather likable, and the internal tensions of their group, as surface level as they may be, are genuine.
Of all the films I caught at this year’s festival, Primate is the one I am most likely see again in a theatrical setting. This brutal movie absolutely crushes with a crowd, and I want another hit of that horror-hound goodness on opening night.
Also, I’d like to send a shout out to the studio-appointed anti-piracy rep who was a disturbance throughout much of the movie, and who got indignant and combative when multiple members of the audience politely asked her to put her phone away.
