Frankenstein (2025), directed by Guillermo del Toro, brings to life a fascinatingly sublime allegory. Imagine the makings of a monster, born from the conflagrated madness of man with the sole ambition to let not life be as it should. Birthing fascination from pain, adventuring the horrid of life and death. Explore with me the hearted tones of death, incorrigibility, and awakening.
This post is about the movie Frankenstein. Starring Oscar Issac, Jacob Elordi, and Mia Goth.
Tale of Man & Creature
A Reflection On The Depths of Death and Awakening
What is it that makes a monster? At the sole petition of madness, unearthing is the one who conceives not life. Birthed at the expense of ridicule and legacy, enticed by the desire that rages unto death. A place in this world it seems you do not have. To the one who has yet to make for a tale of your own, I ask of you:
While you are alive, what recourse do you have but to live?
Contains mature themes and depictions that may be unsuitable for some viewers. Engage with discernment — viewer discretion advised.
Destiny Calling
“How often man believes he’s met an angel or a devil, only to find it is all an illusion. The game of chess we play, we play only against ourselves”
~ Victor Frankenstein
What kills and kills many more, to only end by way of what you deliver? It is a manner of devil that persists the ages, a creature of your making, emerging over your years. Some of how you saw it is fact, some, is not, but it is all true. They say every boy needs his mother to know he is loved, and his father to know who he must become. Though what is to be of the boy who has lost the part of his very self that makes known that he is loved? For the anger therein to his father brings the disdained recourse of who he is, to become who he will be. Visions of such darkness tether the forces of life and death, to make real in your waking hours, what began as dream.
The course of this life is born from rudiments of understanding. Your humble little purview brought forth the unholy, abominable, and obscene. Life and death is in the hands of man, but God gives life and takes it. What is made of one who deems disobedience, fear, and dogma? Is it not a scarring that regenerates beyond anyone’s imagination? Animating to which, a search for truth and transcendence, to the kindred spirits who fail to see why modesty is considered a virtue. Why whisper the disposition that inspirits your mind and heart? Ideas are not worth while by themselves — death is the consequence of ideas pursued by fools. A bargain you yourself have struck.
Something More Marvelous
“And for the very first time, I became more interested in life and somewhat less interested in death”
~ Victor Frankenstein
What is there for you to confess? The pious is of those who set forth to good things, the impious set forth to their own. Some find interest in the smaller of sorts, perhaps rhythms of God that unveil something more pure; marvelous. In many ways this is the very thing that all seek — to be more interested in life and less of death. The dance very much worth brisking, and the subtlety of subterfuge worth speaking. Inching so close to the belief in the marvelous, though to believe in something is not to make it true. Such beautiful creatures we are — remote, entirely bewitching but so odd, with a fascinating abundance of choice. Choice is the seat of the soul, a gift that God has granted us.
Thinkings can be so very much abrasive, laying siege to cutting ambitions that may well may bring such vulgar demise. It is a simple word, a dangerous ask, bringing to life what should have never had been. Warmth, cold, light, darkness, one never often considers what comes after creation. If you were to reach the edge of the earth, what horizon would you then venture? What is it that voids man of meaning? Certainly there is something for you to say, however jumbled or confused. Nevertheless clear is the mind that knows no longer what it has wanted. Speechless to what has been given life.
Restrained By Sin
“Of all the human anatomy, that is the organ furthest from your understanding. Only monsters play God, barron”
~ Lady Elizabeth Harlander
You fathom so little how you come to do what you did, a dimension that escapes you, and you think not of it. Of all the parts that make a man, which one holds the soul? An answer, that is of the quietude that brings one to wonder at night. Or a disquiet platitude, souring your day for no rhyme or reason. You simply cannot see that, here and now, is everything. If you could fathom to believe, then maybe you could understand — in the eyes are pain, and what is pain if not evidence of intelligence?
Clarity forgoes the man who has so far seeded the dark, dissuaded from what living should be. And in seeking life one may create death.
Full Of Wisdom
“I found what I am. What I am made from. I am the child of a charnel house. A wreckage, assembled from the refuse and the discarded dead. A monster.”
“I know what you are. A good man. And…you are my friend.”
~ The Creature & Blind Man
To call upon a name and to understand that you are alone — though such a place can be where you discover all that you have never seen. To begin to know what you have never known. You are flesh and blood just as all else, to which the unseeing eye may yet be full of wisdom. The possession of sound can be of feelings and ideas, words of good that you can learn too. The earnest resolve to be a part of something other than yourself; to be asked of you what you can do for others rather than yourself. To receive but a small kindness, if such at all. For a brief moment, it may be that you, in this life, can be at peace. However seemingly it seems the world is there to hunt and kill you for being who you are.
Are you to be feared? Welcomed? Turned away? You are so afraid of everything — you have nothing to be afraid of. Your countenance is not judged, and something remains in your voice, to the likes of your goodwill and kindness. Delightful it is to share, and great is companionship — to make a home and to make a friend.
To read the first story is to know the how of all things. To read many stories is to know the heart of our becoming. Man has questions for God; God has given an answer for man. The pathway to wisdom is that path taken toward Him, and then to be known unto oneself. Amounting to the true measure of wisdom: go to that which calls upon you, to know more of your making. Are you of the refuse and wreckage of the likes of discarded men, or far from it—the opposite: good?
A Single Grace
“Forgive me, and if you have it in your heart, forgive yourself into existence. If death is not to be, consider this, my son. While you are, what recourse do you have but to live?”
~ Victor Frankenstein
How is it we are poised to demand grace from our Creator, yet struggle to give grace to one another? For as it is worth, you are at the point of no more lies — in it, a delusion where death begets death, obscenity perpetuates itself, and in your being you simply are. Indulge in rage and find it to be infinite, with every ounce of madness and destruction. You are the monster. A place in this world, for you there never was. Good was your creator, but the day brings forth an evil that is to be your master.
What is it you are hunting? What is it that really haunts you? Broken and discarded, the murmur of your blood pumps through to your incessant heart. Is it in the seeing of not mercy that you feel as though your path is your only one? There is no more for you to give or take. It is all yours—to bleed, ache, suffer, to the likes of which it may never end. Let not regret consume you. Regard what has been of your life; closure for what it was. Forgive one another. Rest now, and in all such things, you are human.
To The Believer
The craving of creation lies at the heart of our being, bound to us by nature. With thinkings that stretch between life and death, where living itself is placed in danger. Unctions and thoughts, longings and hopes, to accomplish the likeness in which you cater.
What is the life of the soul when its only goal is to behest a creation left unsavored. Reluctant to stand before your making, for to you it is grotesque labor. Now it rests on you, wholly and true, to see what is truly better. For it lives, and to live it must give—to grant life to its now-given nature.
Credit: Script and select images used in this post are from Frankenstein (© Netflix). Included for reflective commentary and thematic analysis.
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