Mary Shelley’s 1818 Gothic novel, “Frankenstein,” has received a renewed wave of interest following the Netflix release of Guillermo Del Toro’s modern adaptation, which reimagines the story’s iconic themes of creation, responsibility and the monstrous “Other” for a contemporary audience.
Del Toro’s film not only honors Shelley’s exploration of human ambition and ethical boundaries but also introduces a fresh lens on the often-overlooked perspectives of its female characters.
Shelley’s original women—Elizabeth Lavenza, Justine Moritz and Caroline Frankenstein—were restrained from their initial narrative potential by the social and cultural norms of the early nineteenth century. During the Romantic period, women were largely expected to be domestic caretakers, moral guides or passive figures in the lives of men.
Their access to education, scientific discourse and creative agency was severely limited. These societal restrictions were reflected in literature, particularly in the Gothic tradition, where women often appeared as symbols of virtue and victimhood rather than independent agents.
In “Frankenstein,” Elizabeth Lavenza—Victor Frankenstein’s fiancée—embodies this ideal. She provides emotional support and moral clarity as Victor spirals deeper into his obsession, yet exerts little influence over the choices that shape the narrative’s tragic end and ultimately, her death.
Importantly, Victor tends to perceive Elizabeth not as a full, independent self but as an echo of his mother—a dynamic underscored in Shelley’s infamous dream sequence where Elizabeth transforms into Victor’s deceased mother. Del Toro emphasizes this psychological conflation by casting Mia Goth in both roles.
Elizabeth’s identity, therefore, becomes a projection of male desire and emotional expectation, a reflection of the restrictive frameworks placed on women in Shelley’s early nineteenth-century context.
However, in Del Toro’s adaptation, Elizabeth is rewritten with greater agency and presence, pushing her beyond the role of passive moral anchor. Reimagined as an independent scientist and entomologist, this Elizabeth is engaged not to Victor but to his brother William—immediately removing her from the domestic destiny the novel imposes. Rather than quietly standing at the edge of ambition, she actively challenges Victor’s pursuits and recognizes the Creature’s humanity long before the men around her.
Her sympathy for the Creature becomes a catalyst within the story, reframing her as not just a victim of male passion but also as a voice of ethical clarity in a narrative dominated by masculine pride.
Del Toro’s choice to remove the “Bride of Frankenstein” further shifts the story’s focus and reshapes Elizabeth’s role. Without the Bride as a potential companion, the Creature’s desire for connection finds a different focus: Elizabeth. The brief discussion in which the Creature asks Victor for a mate is no longer central; instead, the Creature’s longing for companionship and understanding is mediated through Elizabeth’s awareness and compassion.
The absence of Justine Moritz’s similarity redirects attention. Her trial and execution in the novel foreground the potential dangers of social prejudice and the vulnerability of women under patriarchal law. By omitting Justine, the adaptation shifts the moral weight onto Elizabeth, consolidating the narrative’s female ethical perspective in a single, empowered character.
Rather than fragmenting women’s influence across multiple passive roles, the film allows Elizabeth to operate as the sole active agent whose decisions and observations directly impact the trajectory of the plot.
This revision does more than update gender roles; it reshapes the story’s emotional structure. While the father-child tension between Victor and the Creature remains, the film reframes their dynamic by allowing the Creature’s emotional development to be influenced by Elizabeth’s perspective. Her presence functions less as an accessory to male ambition and more as a stabilizing force that redirects the Creature’s connection.
By transforming Elizabeth into a scientist and giving her a greater ethical role, Del Toro’s adaptation moves decisively away from Shelley’s novel. These divergences highlight what the original text leaves underdeveloped rather than simply modernizing for its own sake. In opening space for Elizabeth’s agency, the film offers a reinterpretation where female characters shape the narrative’s direction rather than remain in the margins.
