If any noun could define humanity, perhaps insanity is the most accurate. Love, hate, happiness, pain, and loss — life is incomplete without one or the other, and death is just the way to free individuals from eternal suffering. To live is to have courage, to face what hope brings and takes away from you, as one day, we will achieve serenity and finally see the universe for what it is: entirely meaningless yet perfectly sublime.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus tells the story of a scientist, Victor Frankenstein, determined to recreate life through death by unconventional scientific experiment (the re-attachment of separate human limbs). However, disappointed by the outcome of his creation — “Frankenstein’s monster,” Victor and the rest of society reject and abandon the creature, leading the monster down a path of terror and revenge. 

We all know how the story goes. Over the past century, it has been adapted in numerous forms of media, the most well-known being the long history of film adaptations. As each version tells its own tale of Frankenstein and they are all incomparable (as the saying goes), what fascinates me in Guillermo Del Toro’s latest adaptation is the exploration of existentialism, loneliness, and the art of forgiveness. 

Existentialism is a philosophy that sees the existence of life prior to its meaning; we, as individuals, have no set paths or predetermined purpose to follow. It emphasises the uniqueness and isolation of one’s life experience. Absurdity is to search for an answer in an answerless world, with the focus on three essential themes: freedom of choice, individual responsibility, and authenticity. Because the universe does not bear any meaning, it is up to the individual to determine their own values and beliefs. Yet our actions and existence in the world are ultimately meaningless due to the overabundance of freedom. 

Is this long introduction to existentialism just my nature to yap? Probably! (Sorry boss) But this is also the basis for understanding Jacob Elordi’s Creature, who has embarked on the journey to discover his sense of self and identity. Rejection and abandonment are feelings we all face at some point; the perpetuated feeling of hopelessness in Oscar Isaac’s Victor, contrasted with Mia Goth’s Elizabeth’s empathy, unveils to him the indefiniteness of life, for it is also this balance between pain and love that often motivates us in reality. “I will bleed. Ache. Suffer. You see, it will never end.” 

Driven by this contrasting force, the Creature begins to see life in a new light. As he learns more about humanity, we can see an aura emerge from his curiosity and excitement for life, despite his past suffering. His journey is not an easy one after all, for it is a constant battle between loving and losing. He then embarks on a path to find Victor, initially in the hope of companionship, and later, revenge. Although this search does not yet provide him with a definite purpose, it does portray him as an existentialist. He is beginning to understand the nothingness nature of our universe — it is then up to him to decide his destiny.

“What hope I had, what rage, it is all nothing” — it is the lack of definite purpose for Elordi’s character towards the end of the film that makes it truly existentialist, because often it is the process and experiences that give meaning to one’s life. For the Creature, his path leads him to find the ability to forgive and hope, which I argue should be the defining characteristic of humanity. This also makes Del Toro’s adaptation different from the rest. While the novel ends with Victor trapped in the cycle of ambition and egotism, the film offers him a chance at redemption through a heartfelt conversation with the Creature. Victor admits to his mistakes and humbly asks for the Creature’s forgiveness, and this is not only crucial for his development but also necessary for the Creature’s growth, as it is the final key to freeing him from the mental prison of eternal wrath. 

What made it crucial is not merely hearing Victor’s apologies as a cry, but an invitation for the Creature to let go of what has deeply hurt him. While injustice is undeniable, we are often left to pick ourselves up and forgive, to free ourselves from this anger, as it only leads us on the path of self-destruction. Forgiveness was never a gift to others but only to ourselves. By allowing the Creature to finally forgive at the end of the film, he gains a new life, an authenticity that enables him to make his own decisions, away from the cycle of pain and trauma. 

Perhaps it is not the explicit dialogue saying Victor is the “monss-tah” that frustrates the audience, but that no one ever told the Creature he is a human, more human than most of us. While initially free from this sinister world, it was a man’s greed and selfishness that chained him together before ripping him apart once again. Although lacking biological authenticity, he gains a spiritual one through the process of appreciating the delicate balance of life. 

The conventional horror trope might refer to him as a living-dead; I suggest that we should interpret the mention of death here through the lens of tarology, which symbolises transformation and the end of a cycle, often encouraging one to let go of the past for a life of new beginnings and personal growth rather than literal death. As the film ends on an ambiguous yet optimistic note, the Creature is left to appreciate his new life and take it head-on with courage. While this hope could bring him joy and misery at any time, it is the most humanistic and genuine experience one could have. 

In the age of chaos and distress, may we all be free from imprisonment. To embrace an ultimate nothingness that the universe is defined by. To find ourselves and our purpose despite this nothingness. To be able to let go.  

“And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on” — Lord Byron