Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2025)

13. Frankenstein

 

Like many a young monster kid, Guillermo del Toro had his life changed by James Whale's 1931 version of “Frankenstein.” He has described Boris Karloff's performance as his equavelent to witnessing a saint. Like many a monster kid who has managed to transfer into a successful film making career, del Toro also dreamed about making his own version of the often told tale. Since at least 2007, he's been talking up his epic “Miltonian tragedy” take on Mary Shelley's iconic story. (Which he has also called “his favorite novel of all time.”) Bernie Wrightson's beloved illustrated edition of the book was cited as an inspiration for what the creature might look like with del Toro's regular monster man, Doug Jones, being cast in the part. As with del Toro's adaptations of “At the Mountains of Madness” or “The Hobbit,” it also looked like his “Frankenstein” was destined to remain unfilmed.

That all changed when Guillermo got his Academy Awards for “The Shape of Water” and Netflix stepped up with the offer to fund his dreamiest dream projects. After making his equally long-discussed “Pinocchio” movie, del Toro's “Frankenstein” was on the docket next. As another life-long “Frankenstein” obsessive who also considers the Whale's film his favorite movie of all time, the idea of what del Toro might do with the material tickled my brain. What would an adaptation of the greatest monster story from our greatest modern lover of monsters look like? The director himself has talked about the pressure of adapting such a beloved, frequently filmed story. About whether he could live up to his ambition of making the greatest “Frankenstein” of all time. Well, now the film is done and available for all to see. Reactions have been divided. What do I, as simply another classic horror nerd on the internet, have to say? 

Unlike many past cinematic “Frankensteins,” del Toro's film follows the general outline of Shelley's novel relatively closely. A Danish ship captain attempts to lead his crew on a perilous journey through the frozen Northern corners of the globe. Their journey is interrupted by two figures on the ice. The first is the eccentric Victor Frankenstein, nearly consumed by the cold. The second is an inhuman creation with monstrous strength who pursues the doctor endlessly. Within the bowels of the ship, Victor relates his tale. Of his quest to conquer death by assembling a man from pieces of the dead and reanimating it. Of how he succeeded in his goals but created a monster in the process. Finally, how he and his creation devoted themselves to destroying each other. The Creature tells his version of events too, of how he was brought into this world, how he learned to read and interact, and learned about cruelty and being feared. 

Of all the many films to feature the name “Frankenstein,” only a few have earnestly attempted to adapt Shelley's words. The general concept of the novel has spread through pop culture so far and so wide that the “Frankenstein” legacy is both almost insurmountable seeming and also potentially worthless. Everybody thinks they know what “Frankenstein” is about, even if they actually don't, to the point that there's little novelty to doing it again. At the same time, every meaningful reinvention or run-through of the material must contend with those preconceived notions about the story. For whatever my opinion is worth, I believe del Toro does a decent job of synthesizing Shelley's book with his own ideas and the more iconic elements of what “Frankenstein” is that have emerged over the decades. The narrative is a rough approximation of the book while the director also incorporates lightning animating the monster, a stone tower reaching to the sky, and a Dr. Pretorius-like mentor to Victor into the story. Visuals like the creature crouching among a mill's massive turning gears or being shot very specifically in the eye seem like deliberate homages to the Universal and Hammer versions. 

Of course, the reason why “Frankenstein” has proven so endlessly adaptable for so long is that the themes of the tale are extremely mutable. Purists argue that “Frankenstein” is a reflection of Mary Shelley's specific thoughts and feelings as a young woman and mother to a dead child. At the same time, “Frankenstein's” ideas about creating and being created are as universal as they come. Every adapter zeroes in on the element that speaks the most to them. To del Toro, “Frankenstein” is a story about fathers and sons. Victor's foundational trauma is the death of his mother and being raised by a cruel, perfectionist father. Like many boys before and since, he is doomed to inherit the tendencies of his asshole dad when rearing his own offspring. Just like his dad whipped him with a switch when he was anything less than ideal, Victor smacks the creature around when it disappoints him.  Father and son grimly mirror each other in their quest for mutually assured destruction, on the path towards a resolution of sorts. 

This, to me, is as valid an interpretation of the text as any other. Not the least of which becomes these earthly themes have cosmic ramifications too. Del Toro's lapsed Catholicism often informs his work and its presence is unmissable in his “Frankenstein.” Victor prays to a grand statue of an archangel, which becomes a foreboding symbol throughout. The creature is raised into a crucifix pose as it is brought to life. Adam and Eve are mentioned and a purloined fruit is presented as a symbol of plucked innocence. As Colin Clive observed nearly a century ago, bringing a body to life makes Dr. Frankenstein a lot like God himself. As a hundred dissertations about the references to “Paradise Lost” within the novel have discussed, the Monster is rejected by his creator like Lucifer was rejected by his. He did not request his Maker to mould his clay nor solicit to be promoted from darkness. Neither did any of us. If Victor is God and we are all the Monsters, that means we are all the abandoned children of a father that brought us into this world without ever asking our opinion about it. This is how del Toro grafts his themes of Daddy Issues to Shelley's grander ideas about making and being made. It is an interesting take.
 

Classically, Victor Frankenstein is classified as a Byronic hero, a proud and brooding protagonist whose passions are so great that they inevitably seal his own fate. Frankenstein's quest to create life ensures the end of his own. Del Toro visualizes the irony of Victor and his Creation's link. As he stitched together a man from different body parts, the doctor slowly looses more and more of his own pieces throughout the narrative. This is also a rather heavy-handed visual metaphor for Frankenstein's dwindling humanity. The creature, meanwhile, is given a Wolverine-style healing factor that sees him recovering from any wound, no matter how fatal. In other words, the monster can take any and all abuse Victor dishes out but Victor is inevitably going to break. 

Adaptations of “Frankenstein” have often zeroed in on the homoerotic undercurrents of a story about man trying to remove the feminine from the procreative process. Of two males becoming obsessed with each other. Del Toro's rendition sees Victor actually attempting to rear his offspring, who acts like a giant ripped toddler in a swaddled diaper. He keeps him chained up in the bowels of the phallic castle before ejecting him from the stone womb into the cruel world via an orgasmic explosion. As the two become fixated on punishing one another and destroying each others' bodies, the rivalry takes on a sadomasochistic energy. In its earliest form, the creature is introduced in a kneeling posture. By the end, he refuses to be submissive and punishes his master instead, the power transition being fulfilled. Is “Frankenstein” not a weird incestuous gay BDSM fable? Is Victor Frankenstein not literature's first Dom Daddy? Maybe not but I don't think del Toro is ignorant of some of the images he invokes here. 

How much of that was intended by del Toro is debatable. However, other reoccurring themes of his are certainly present in his “Frankenstein.” Christoph Waltz appears as Harlander, the Dr. Pretorius-like figure that appears to fund Victor's unorthodox experiments. He is an arms manufacturer, a war profiteer, who sees Frankenstein's work as a way to heal his own ailing, syphilitic body. (Another image of flesh falling apart.) The monster is partially stitched together from bodies dug out of a war zone while other parts come from prisoners about to go to the gallows. In other words, this Frankenstein monster is rather literally an offspring of the military industrial complex. Whether than embed with free will by a God above, he is the result of the rich exploiting the poor and the senseless destruction of life on the battlefield. This ties into war as a wasteful, only destructive exercise as depicted in del Toro's “Pan's Labyrinth” and “The Devil's Backbone.” 

This idea also points to how the creature is destined to be an outsider, assembled from pieces of underclassmen who have already been discarded and destroyed. That leads to a characterization of the offspring as more victimized than victimizer. The observation that Frankenstein's creation is not born a monster but rather made one by a cruel and unaccepting world is the most surface level reading of Shelley's material as possible. Del Toro's telling is so laser-focused on this idea that it almost totally takes the monster out of Frankenstein's monster all together. The creature's bond with a blind man and his subsequent rejection by the other people in the cabin are maintained. Almost every other interaction the creature has with the outside world is excised. The creature's quest to take away everything his creator loves is almost entirely neutered, as Victor's bond with his family is very different here. Frankenstein's monster should be misunderstood. However, del Toro is so determined to make the creature an innocent that is a victim of others' cruelty – mostly his dad's – that it takes a lot of the blood out of the story. 

This represents the film's biggest weakness. Del Toro talks often of his love for the gothic romance as a literary genre. If “Crimson Peak” already bordered on a parody of the style, his “Frankenstein” is an even deeper embracing of baroque melodrama. The climax of Shelley's novel, of Victor's creation being with him on his wedding night, is greatly altered for this telling. The exact machinations of how that plays out border on the improbable and then ends with someone looking at the doctor and literally telling him he's the real monster. This proceeds an ending which is unsightly in its sappiness. To tell you the truth, I've always felt that Shelley's book had an abrupt and somewhat unsatisfying ending. Victor dies, the Creature ruminates on the nature of this relationship, and then he walks out onto the ice. Del Toro attempts to come up with a more fulfilling conclusion than this but layers on the weepy emotions instead. It takes a movie otherwise tailor-made to appeal to me out on a disappointing note. 

And what of Elizabeth, traditionally Victor's bride-to-be? Del Toro's reshuffling makes her the intended of Victor's younger brother, her relationship with the doctor more flirtatious and unrequited. In a move all too aware of its Freudian implications, Mia Goth is cast in both this role and as Victor's not-long-for-this-world mother. Much as Victor's mom is a perfect beacon of love and acceptance, whose death leads her son down a path of heartlessness, Elizabeth is a symbol of pure accepting love. She immediately sees the creation as the innocent he is. Bringing the promise of Goth's dual role to fruition, Elizabeth emerges as both a motherly figure and a romantic one to the monster. (Also robbing the movie of a purer example of a Bride of Frankenstein character, which is mildly disappointing.) A lot of very angry people have already pointed out how this treatment under-serves both Elizabeth's role in the story and the Monster's own sexism, in favor of a cuddlier reading. Accusations of sexism have been tossed around but I rather see it simply as making the story a lot flatter, less nuanced and complex than it could have been.
 

This “Frankenstein” is, undeniably, a handsome production. The costumes are gorgeous. Goth, in particular, gets to sweep through her scenes in a succession of colorful, intricately designed gowns. The production design is gorgeous. The elaborately carved caskets that Victor's parents are put to rest in are unforgettable. The sets, especially that towering lab with its vein-like tunnels and ventricular chambers, are impressive. Some have criticized the cinematography as murky or too digital. I think it looks pretty damn good, especially the use of light cutting through dark rooms. The make-up effects are subtle, the creature looking seamless in his undead assemblage but also like something that could actually exist. The performances are strong all around. Oscar Isaac is the right level of blustering ego and bruised desperation as the doctor. Jacob Elordi is extraordinary as the gentle golem of flesh and blood, the actor totally absorbed in the role of an outsider possessed of an animal rage. Christoph Waltz does exactly what you pay him for as the scheming but poetic Harlander. This is a lovingly assembled and acted film.

Ultimately, I have my qualms about this “Frankenstein.” I wish del Toro was willing to make his monster as much of a terror as he is a misunderstood victim. I was looking forward to seeing the director's take on the more alchemic origins for the creature presented in Shelley's writing, something that is reduced to a passing mention here. As grand as the ambitions are, the film ends up feeling rather cloistered instead, trapped so much within the interior worlds of its protagonists and their spurned feelings. One can't help but wonder if this would've been a stronger film if its director had made it twenty years ago, when his work was meaner. However, I also think there's a lot of good work on display here and plenty of interesting ideas. There's going to be many more “Frankenstein” movies made after this one. Another big budget studio take is scheduled to come out in a few weeks already. There's plenty of room for del Toro's interpretation of this age-old tale. For all its flaws, it is still uniquely his version. [Grade: B]

 

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2022)

12. Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio

Co-directed by Mark Gustafson

Now that he's the director of a Best Picture winner, it seems Guillermo del Toro is working hard to get his dream projects made. While his big budget “At the Mountains of Madness” remains unrealized, his long dreamed-about adaptation of “Pinocchio” has finally arrived. That is thanks to Netflix, who clearly wants the prestige of being in the Guillermo del Toro business. (Even if their backing of weirdo auteur projects like this have done nothing to raise their profit margins.) The often adapted tale – so often, this is the second version to debut on streaming this year alone – has been on del Toro's docket since 2008. Del Toro's version is distinguished by being stop-motion and also, obviously, by the instincts of its filmmaker. How did the monster-loving director, who made the film alongside animator Mark Gustafson, handle this material?

Geppetto is a carpenter living in a small, Italian village with his beloved son, Carlo. The boy is killed when the area is bombed during World War I. Geppetto spends the next twenty years grieving. During a drunken fit, he carves a puppet from the tree that grows on Carlo's grave. That night, a blue sprite appears from the woods and brings the puppet to life. Named Pinocchio, Geppetto is unsure what to do with him at first. The mischievous marionette rubs the agents of Mussolini's fascist government the wrong way. Soon, Pinocchio is launched on a quest that sees him acting in a traveling show, ending up in a military training camp for young boys, dying multiple times, being swallowed by a monstrous fish, and attempting to make himself into a “real” boy.

“The Adventures of Pinocchio” is one of the most published and popular children's story in history, which explains why there's been so many adaptations of it. Yet “Pinocchio” is also a tricky book to adapt because it has such an episodic plot. Del Toro's version doesn't really resolve this issue, resulting in a sluggish pace that moves in a somewhat directionless manner from encounter to encounter. Surprisingly, this “Pinocchio” more-or-less maintains the structure of the beloved Disney version than attempting to wrangle a normal story from Carlo Collodi's rambling narrative. Pinocchio is made, recruited into a puppet show instead of going to school, ends up on an island with other mischievous boys, and ends up inside a whale again with his father. The hangings and gorilla judges of Collodi's text are nowhere to be seen.

The biggest change del Toro and his team makes to the familiar tale is shifting the setting to fascist Italy during the forties. The coachman is replaced with a member of Mussolini's police force, who is determined to make fine young fascist men out of every boy in Geppeto's village. Nazi salutes are done throughout the film, alongside the propaganda poster that are put up around the town. Eventually, the puppet is sought to perform before the dictator himself. The film depicts Mussolini as a stumpy little simpleton whose childish whims are enforced with violence. If that didn't make its anti-fascist perspective clear enough, Pinocchio compares Mussolini to a giant piece-of-shit and farts in his general direction before it's over.

That is a very specific message to add to your children's movie and one that's arguably more relevant than ever. Yet “Pinocchio's” anti-fascist messaging is part of a more general anti-war statement. Carlo was killed during a senseless bombing, planes dropping their explosives simply to lighten their load. This has lead Geppetto to hating all war, in all the forms it takes. This attitude soon extends to Pinocchio too, though the state still does everything it can to indoctrinate him. The film doesn't have time to really dig into these ideas, just finding the thought that war leads to people dying for no reason being enough of a message on its own. Which maybe could've been a little more nuanced, though it's direct and easy enough for kids to understand.

Even these ideas fall towards the background as “Pinocchio” goes on. Early in the film, Pinocchio's cricket conscience – named Sebastian in this telling – describes this as a story of flawed fathers and flawed sons. Geppetto is still grieving for Carlo and creates Pinocchio as a replacement for his dead son. Yet he has trouble accepting the puppet as his boy, seeing him as a pale shadow of the idealized child he once had. Per the tradition of Collodi's text, Pinocchio is a mischievous little hell raiser who is always shirking his responsibilities and getting into trouble. This makes his journey into becoming a good son to Geppetto a long one. The conflict between father and son, and their eventual road towards realizing they love and respect each other, is the main driving force behind the story.

Del Toro's interpretation of “Pinocchio” differs from most every other take in a big way. Pinocchio's goal to become a “real” boy is ultimately not as literal as that seems. When you think about it, I suppose the message of  "change yourself so that you are worthy of love” is kind of a fucked-up thing to say to kids. Del Toro goes with the idea that Pinocchio was always worthy of his father's love. That they simply needed to work through some issues to realize that. Ultimately, we are all just trying to be the best sons and men we can be, right? It's a matter of understanding, not gaining approval. That seems to be the message the director is bringing to this well-known narrative.

Yet even this is not the sole idea inside this overstuffed “Pinocchio.” As in the original novel, this Pinocchio dies a few times. Every time he does, he ends up in a fantastical afterlife where the spectre of Death itself sends him back after a short reprieve. Since a puppet isn't really “alive,” he can't really be “dead” either. The idea of immortality is not one touched upon in adaptations of “Pinocchio” very often. This leads to a moral about making the most of the time we have on this planet and always trying our best to be good people. Yet when the film has so many other matters on its mind, there's not really space to explore this particular theme with too much depth. (Even if it does lead to a likably bittersweet final scene.) 

Guillermo del Toro's “Pinocchio” has so many ideas on its mind, that many others are left undeveloped as well. Geppetto builds Pinocchio during a thunderstorm, which brings obvious parallels to “Frankenstein” to mind. That brings ideas of playing God into the story, which invites religious themes. That is discussed openly, when wooden Pinocchio wonders why the wooden crucifix is so beloved by the townsfolk but he's so despised. You can even read this as a story about the perils of being in show business, when Pinocchio gets repeatedly screwed over by Captain Volpe, the man whose puppet show he is recruited into. Devoting a version of “Pinocchio” to any one of these ideas would probably be enough. This one just has them floating around inside, without coming to too specific a point. 

Del Toro was inspired to do his “Pinocchio” in stop-motion animation because he loved an illustrated edition drawn by Gris Grimley. Making a movie about a puppet with puppets is an irresistible idea. Mark Gustafson has been working in stop-motion to various degrees since the eighties. He's had a hand in projects like the California Raisins, “The Adventures of Mark Twain,” “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” and “The PJs.” With such a lengthy resume, it's unsurprising that he makes “Pinocchio” look great. The tactile quality that benefits stop-motion so much is right on display here. The animation is detailed and smooth. The character designs are likable, with the right amount of facial hair, oversized noses, or weird eyes. Yet it also looks a lot like the various films of Laika. I don't know if “The Box Trolls” was a deliberate reference point here but I was reminded of it nevertheless.

Del Toro's high-profile means there's nearly an all-star voice cast here. Newcomer Gregory Mann plays Pinocchio with all the youthful exuberance that you would expect. David Bradley brings a fittingly exhausted quality to his grieving Geppetto. Tilda Swinton's ethereal presence is perfect for this take on the Blue Fairy, which mashes up a peacock with stories of Biblically Accurate Angels. Ewan McGregor is a nicely eccentric take on the Cricket, bringing a lot of his expected charm to the role. Christoph Waltz is here as Volpe, vamping it up nicely. Even the minor roles are filled out by recognizable names. Tim Blake Nelson voices the trio of rabbits in the afterlife and, most amusingly, Cate Blanchett plays a grumbling little monkey that doesn't even speak English. And, yes, because this is a del Toro project, Ron Perlman is here. His gravelly baritone is well suited to the Podesta.  

Out of everything del Toro's “Pinocchio' sets out to do, it is unquestionably least successful as a musical. I suppose as one final homage to the Disney version, the film includes a number of songs. Not a one of the songs are especially memorable. The best proves to be the mournful ode Pinocchio sings to his father while out on the road. The rest of the songs tend to have the characters just flatly explaining what their deal is. This is clear in Pinocchio's introductory number, called “Everything is New to Me.” Or in Volpe's solo, “We Were Kings Once,” which counts among the film's least essential numbers. All the songs have annoyingly sing-songy melodies to them that never stick in the brain, with forgettable lyrics.

I couldn't help but come away from this “Pinocchio” feeling a little disappointed. I think that Italian adaptation from a few years back set my expectations for weirdness too high. It's not like del Toro's “Pinocchio” isn't weird. An anti-fascist “Pinocchio” with this many ambitious themes inside of it, rendered through lovingly created stop-motion animation, is probably as unexpected a project as you could imagine. Yet you get the impression that maybe del Toro had spent so many years dreaming about this one, he tried to shove in every idea he had. Through it all, he still wasn't able to defeat the meandering pace that effects every version of this story. While it's still a worthy effort, I came away loving it a lot less than the director's previous work. I imagine his next Netflix-backed dream project – a version of “Frankenstein,” that he's been discussing even longer – will be more up my alley. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2021)

11. Nightmare Alley

It seems every major filmmaker, and all the movie nerds that love them, have an unabating passion for some cinematic genre that is considered hopelessly passé by the rest of the film-going public. This is why a big-name director tries to revive the musical every decade, to middling reactions from actual audiences. The same can be said of film noir, a style that peaked in popularity seventy years ago. With the newfound clout of his Best Director Oscar, Guillermo del Toro chose a new entry in this influential but unpopular genre as his follow-up to "The Shape of Water." That would take the form of a new adaptation of William Lindsay Gresham's "Nightmare Alley," previously filmed in 1947. It has now become the second of del Toro's movies to earn an Oscar nomination for Best Picture. 

A drifter named Stan arrives at a carnival. He quickly integrates himself into the crew, befriending a fortune teller named "Zeena" and her alcoholic husband, Paul. After accidentally contributing to Paul's death, Stan leaves the carnival with Molly, another sideshow performer that's fallen in love with him. Using the secrets he stole from Paul, Stan reinvents himself as a psychic and spiritualists among the rich of Buffalo, New York. There he meets Lilith Ritter, a duplicitous psychiatrist, and the two conceive of a con to defraud a millionaire industrialist. Yet as Stan seeks to exploit other people's dark pasts, his own is starting to catch up with him. 

In the lead-up to "Nightmare Alley's" release, del Toro has been careful to specify that his film is not a remake of the original "Nightmare Alley" but rather a new adaptation of the novel. This is presumably to dispel the stigma of remaking a beloved classic, as the original is among the most respected (and darkest) of classic noirs. Yet the new "Nightmare Alley" follows the events of the older movie fairly closely. The most notable difference is some more violence in the last third and the ditching of the original's tacked-on happy ending. It includes some of the details from the book left out of the first movie, so it's definitely different. But I still think "remake" isn't a dirty word to use here. 

The theme that most links del Toro's "Nightmare Alley" and all the ones before it is its moral philosophy. The film, at first, appears to be totally agnostic. The mechanics of cold reading and fortune telling are repeatedly explained. By tracking Stan's rise from carny to high-class spiritualist, the film shows there's no difference between the disreputable profession and the respectable one. Stan becoming a full blown con artist is a natural leap from there. And he's more than happy to take advantage of people's religious beliefs to achieve his goals. Yet from her Tarot card deck, Zeena warns Stan that he is on a grave path. There is no divine punishment here, no ironic comeuppance from the spirits that have been trespassed against, but a man does dig his own grave with his cruel actions. Whether were meant to take the Tarot as genuine divination or if Zeena could deduce Stan's fate, cold reading his future like she does so many people's past, is up to interpretation.

Noir as a genre is defined primarily by its deeply cynical opinion on humanity. In "Nightmare Alley," almost everyone is acting in a totally self-interested manner. Stan preys on the emotionally vulnerable. Lilith records her patients with the intention of blackmailing them later. Clem, Stan's first boss at the carnival, happily gets bums addicted to opium to turn them into chicken-eating geeks. Betrayal is a common thread throughout the story. Yet noir is also a deeply moral genre. Every wicked act Stan performs brings him closer to his downfall. He doesn't care about the people he's hurt or the death and destruction he's responsible for. Yet it certainly catches up with him in the end, the film's circular structure seeing Stan's inhumane actions turning him into a beast eventually. Noir often seems to say that the world is cruel but that there is, frequently, a certain karmic justice to the way things play out. "Nightmare Alley" remains faithful to that idea. 

This is not the only way "Nightmare Alley" shows its allegiance to the tropes of noir storytelling. In fact, the film often feels like a full-blown pastiche of the genre than del Toro’s personal reinterpretation of them. Like many noir protagonists, Stan is a man fleeing his past. Though he mostly feels no remorse for his actions, the one friend who has died as a result of his actions haunts him. We get glimpses at his troubled past. Yet the character remains frustratingly vague at times. Bradley Cooper has a certain charm in the role but mostly plays it stoic. He is not a deconstruction of the hard-as-nails noir protagonist, with dark secrets of his own, so much as a straight example of it. 

If “Nightmare Alley’s” amoral antihero is a stock-parts noir archetype, this is even more true for its female leads. Ronney Mara plays as the good girl love interest, Molly. She is literally virginal, admitting to Stan on their wedding night that she’s never been with a man before. As his criminal acts intensify, she grows increasingly wary of Stan and eventually abandons him. Why such a sweet girl would stay with a man like Stan is never addressed and Mara plays it close to the chest. Molly stands in contrast to Cate Blanchett’s Lilith, a classical femme fatale who seduces and manipulates men for her own purposes. Watching Blanchett play such a devious character is delightful, especially once the reveal arrives. But “Nightmare Alley” is stubbornly disinterested in a deeper addressing of noir’s problematic good girl/femme fatale dichotomy. 

If del Toro’s straight-forward handling of noir story tropes is a little frustrating, his treatment of the genre’s cinematic qualities are impressive. “Nightmare Alley” is a gorgeous looking movie. Dan Laustsen’s cinematography is wonderful, getting as much shadowy depth out of the images as possible. (I imagine this is even more true of the black-and-white version that was released earlier this year.) Many memorable sights are created, such as a rabbit sitting in a hallway or a moonlit reunion with a seemingly deceased girl. The camera even irises in a few times. The production design has the meticulous quality we’ve come to expect from del Toro. An early trip into a demonic looking funhouse is especially notable, while all the carnival sequences are fabulously detailed. Nathan Johnson’s atmospheric score suits the material nicely without being a boozy saxophone-laden parody that most noir pastiches go with. There's lots of trench coats and fedoras as well, of course. 

“Nightmare Alley” is maybe most interesting when it leans into the Freudian undertones of the noir genre. The story invites this, with one of its major characters being an analyst. Lilith delves into Stan's mind, digging up some of his lingering guilt and Daddy issues. Something of a parallel between is drawn between Stan's ability, as a cold reader, to dig into someone's life just by looking at them and Lilith's skills as a shrink to dig into someone's psyche. As Stan's scheme starts to unravel, we get more and more glimpses at the dark past that forged him. Repressed secrets bubble up to the surface from a number of characters, violence and depravity always just hidden behind the human face. As in all noir, the literal shadows here also represent the shadows of the human mind. 

We know for a fact that Tod Browning's “Freaks” is one of Guillmero del Toro's favorite movies. So it's no surprise that he revels in the sideshow setting of “Nightmare Alley's” first act. One of the most lovingly assembled scenes in the film involves Stan designing a more elaborate version of Molly's “electric woman” act for her, full of moving parts and shooting steam. This being a del Toro joint, he doesn't miss the opportunity to include a shelf full of pickled punks, the light shining through their cloudy jars. He even makes a mutated fetus, with a ever-watching cycloptic eye, a reoccurring omen in the story. Considering more than one review has noted that the first half of “Nightmare Alley” is a little stronger than its second half, I wonder why del Toro didn't set more of the movie in and around the carnival.

Another thing that has been said of “Nightmare Alley,” leading up to its release, is how it's a departure for the director. This is del Toro's first movie without any supernatural or science-fiction elements, falling totally outside of the horror or fantastique genre... But does it, really? An early scene, during which Stan and Clem chase the half-mad geek through the hellish fun house, certainly feels like something that could exist in a horror movie. A spiritualist, albeit a phony one, manifesting a ghost is still part of the plot. And of course this director soaks up the macabre visuals of a beautiful, ghostly maiden in blood-splattered clothes emerging out of the mist. A story of a scumbag committing increasingly brutal violent acts, on his way to a fittingly ironic fate, just needs a ghost or zombie to be a “Tales from the Crypt” episode. You can take the horror director out of the genre but you can't take the genre out of the horror director.

Being an A-list director now, del Toro can easily assemble A-list casts. While all the leads could probably do more, the supporting cast in “Nightmare Alley” is packed. Willem Dafoe steals all of his scenes as Clem, emanating a sleazy but totally captivating energy every second he's on-screen. Toni Collette is good at keeping the obvious world-weariness she has just under the skin, making Zeena a woman who has seen a lot but tries to stay positive. Richard Jenkins has a good villainous vibe as the businessman, who seems untrustworthy from the moment he appears. Naturally, del Toro sneaks Ron Perlman into a small role as the carnival strong man. (One can only assume Doug Jones was busy with “Star Trek: Discovery,” or else he would've been on hand as the living skeleton or something.)  

Like most every attempt to revive a long since dead genre like this, “Nightmare Alley” was met with complete audience indifference when released in theaters last December. (It certainly didn't help that Disney, probably eager to unload a film made by Fox, seemed to barely promote the movie.) However, it was well-liked by critics and scooped up four Oscar nominations this season. Even though it's a film obviously eager to be taken seriously, this still feels closer to del Toro in “Pacific Rim” mode than “Pan's Labyrinth.” In the sense that he's having fun paying homage to something he loves, rather than mixing his own influences up into something truly new and exciting. Yet “Nightmare Alley” is still an expertly assembled film full of effective touches, even if I couldn't help but come away hoping for more. [Grade: B]

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2017)

10. The Shape of Water

I love “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.” Both the monster and the movie. Though derivative, it's an excellent B-movie and completed the pantheon of classic monster archetype, by putting a famous name to the fish man concept. Mostly, I just love the Gillman, who is as lonely as he is dangerous. Universal Studio has been trying for decades to remake the movie, with the most recent planned iteration being a part of the already flat-lining Dark Universe. At one point, Guillermo del Toro was briefly attached to remake the film. When the trailer for “The Shape of Water” first started appearing, many people were eager to connect it to del Toro's “Hellboy” movies. I, however, immediately realized that the film likely emerged from del Toro's unrealized “Creature” remake. And now del Toro's revisionist monster love story may be a Best Picture winner.

Set in the early days of the Kennedy administration, the film follows Elisa. A mute woman working as a custodian at a government research facility, she lives about a movie theater. Her best friend and roommate is a gay man. Many of her co-workers are black. Each are outsiders in different ways, often ignored and abused by the white men that run the building. A top secret Asset is brought to the facility. A humanoid fish-creature taken from the Amazon, the government hopes to learn his secrets. And when they're done doing that, they'll kill him. Elisa, however, forms a bond with the amphibian man and becomes determined to save his life.

“The Shape of Water” is a distillation of del Toro's themes and concepts. An opening and closing narration frames the story in the context of a fairy tale. Something floating in a glass container is one of the main visuals of the movie. An underground tunnel puts in an appearance, in a round about way. (Though there's not much in the way of precocious children or clockwork creations.) More importantly, the film's themes clearly come directly from the director's hearts. This is a story of outsiders, misfits and monsters. Those that appear off-putting or strange, that are persecuted or pushed away, end up being less monstrous than the authority figures. The film is a loving, romantic ode to “monsters,” in the Greek sense of the word – meaning something hidden – and how that contrasts with a world eager to stamp out anything unusual or out of the ordinary.

“The Shape of Water” is also an incredibly beautiful, visually. The film is characterized by a blueish-green color, recalling light reflecting down through water. Moreover, every detail in the movie is clearly planned and highly detailed. One of the first scenes shows Elisa walking down from her apartment. We see frost on the window outside. A man waits for the same bus, who is clearly an important character in some other story. Many of the supporting characters clearly have fully realized lives and backstories of their own. Every background detail has been researched, with an obvious meaning behind it. “The Shape of Water” is one of the most meticulous films from a filmmaker known to be especially meticulous.

Sally Hawkins has had a respectable career as a character actress, winning accolades for indie films like “Happy-Go-Lucky” while appearing in bit parts in big budget stuff like “Godzilla.” Elisa's muteness does not limit Hawkins' abilities any. In fact, it seems to free her. Using her wide eyes and expressive face, Hawkins tells us everything we need to know about Elisa. She lets us inside her silent world, showing Elisa's humor, compassion, intense loneliness, and longing for more. Her sign language is frequently translated and even subtitled some times – leading one of the best cinematic F-bombs in recent memory – but I think Hawkins' performance would have been just as soulful and impressive even without that.

Throughout six films now, Guillermo del Toro has called upon Doug Jones to bring various fantastical creatures to life. (Including at least one previous fish humanoid.) Jones, naturally, plays the character listed in the credits as the Amphibian Man, but is only known in the film as the Asset. By now, it's well-known that Jones is more than capable acting through heavy make-up, rubber, and latex. Using minimal CGI, Jones makes the Asset a living, breathing character. With just a cock of his head or a simple hand gesture, Jones is able to express so much. The audience quickly gets attached to the Asset, Jones bringing layers of humanity and even a sense of style and grace to the gill-man.

There's a very clear subversion at play in “The Shape of Water.” Del Toro is telling a fifties monster movie story but the roles are reversed. The hideous fish-creature is the hero. The villain, meanwhile, is the FBI G-man. Michael Shannon plays Colonel Richard Strickland with a degree of charm, even giving him a seemingly normal family life. At first, he seems like a total professional, even showing some humor. However, the film slowly reveals Strickland's racism, sexism, and prejudice. Del Toro even physically manifests this reveal, as Strickland's necrotic fingers grow black and rotten as the story goes on. Shannon, a performer of great intensity and off-beat appeal, is perfect for the part of a monstrous man gradually showing his rotten depths.

Aside from its central three leads, “The Shape of Water” also features a wonderful supporting cast. Richard Jenkins is wonderfully empathetic as Giles, Elisa's friend and roommate. Jenkins' best scene comes when he attempts to awkwardly hit on the owner on the pie shop he's crushing on. Jenkins has his own brand of quiet humor, that is well suited for the part. Octavia Spencer appears as Zelda, Elisa's co-worker and one of her few friends at the government facility. Spencer elevates a part that could've been a simple sassy, black best friend. Her incredible sense of dignity makes Zelda a fully formed character. Lastly, Michael Sthulbarg shows an interesting degree of nervousness as the Soviet spy who ends up working alongside Elisa to save the fish-man.

“The Shape of Water” is unabashedly a love story. A key scene, shown in the trailer, has Elisa reaching out to the fish-man out of common compassion. She sees a lot of herself in the amphibian man, as neither can speak. Yet her interest in the fish-man goes beyond general empathy. “The Shape of Water” is about, rather literally, the healing power of love. The two find a way of completing each other, both outsiders that are opened to love. Yes, del Toro does take this romance to its natural conclusion. Elisa is openly portrayed as a sexual being, masturbating frequently, and the Asset is more than capable of satisfying her. Amazingly, this aspect never feels sensationalist or exploitative. It's a natural expression of their love.

Aside from making its human hero a monster and its monster a humanistic hero, Del Toro's film subverts its early sixties setting in other ways. Kennedy's Camelot is not a pure fairy tale setting though. This is the Cold War era, full of paranoia and political tension. Both the Soviets and the U.S. Government see the fish-man, not as a living creature, but as an Asset to be exploited. Sthulbarg's desire to save him puts him at odds with both countries. Shannon's character believes spies are everywhere, using his paranoia as an excuse to brutalize people around him. “The Shape of Water” doesn't look kindly on either government. It portrays the Cold War as an ugly, petty conflict that costed far too much human life.

Aside from being a love story between a woman and an amphibian, “The Shape of Water” is also a love letter to cinema. Since their apartment is above a movie theater, Elisa and Giles' lives are frequently contrasted against the Technicolor films on the silver screen. This informs del Toro's entire movie, as “The Shape of Water” is brought to life using the same language and texture as these silver age movies. Its color palette is richer and deeper, an obvious love of cinema dripping from every frame. This peaks in the film's most joyous sequence: A literal musical number, where Elisa's inner fantasy world comes to life as a song-and-dance scene... Which just happens to feature a dancing fish-man. It's a brilliant, beautiful moment.

In fact, “The Shape of Water” is a very musical film, in many ways. Alexandre Desplat's score is playful and lively. It's tapping melodies bring to mind droplets of rain outside a window. There's a clear romanticism and mystery to much of the score. As if the film's obvious debt to French New Wave cinema wasn't obvious, Desplat frequently incorporates a Parisian accordion from time to time. Yet there's also a sense of every day life, highlighted in scenes of Elisa going about her work day. No mater how grounded Desplat's music becomes, there's always a sense of longing for something more underneath the surface. It's a fantastic score, as whimsical and meaningful as the movie it accompanies.

2018 is a strange and confusing time to be alive. But it can't be all bad, if a movie like “The Shape of Water” is a serious awards contender. It's hard to imagine another time when a quasi-horror movie, an at times dark and odd story about a woman and a gill-man falling in love, could receive more Oscar nominations than any other movies from the previous year. “The Shape of Water” truly is one of the best of the year. It shows del Toro's obsessions crystallizing in a more romantic, melancholic direction, creating a beautiful homage to outsiders and monsters everywhere. Coming from someone else who also wrote a romantic take on “The Creature from the Black Lagoon,” it's one of my favorite films of the previous year. [Grade: A]

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2015)

9. Crimson Peak

Guillermo del Toro has never been shy about his love of gothic literature. Listen to any of his audio commentaries or watch any of the special features he’s in. His enthusiasm for gothic stories and films is evident. It was only a matter of time before he made a feature length tribute to the genre. He’s dabbled before. “The Devil’s Backbone” and “Pan’s Labyrinth” both have elements of it. If you squint, you can even see traces of it in “Blade II.” With “Crimson Peak,” my most anticipated film of 2015, del Toro endeavored to make a movie which could stand among the most iconic gothic stories.

From a young age, Edith Cushing has seen ghosts. Now as a young adult, she endeavors to write novels about ghosts. Her father, a self-made industrialist, is receiving offers from Thomas Sharpe, a British nobleman seeking investments for his family’s clay mining business. Cushing’s dad turns him down but Thomas still wins Edith’s heart. Soon afterwards, her father is brutally murdered. In her grief, Edith is swept away by Sharpe to his family manor, Allerdale Hall, in the British countryside. A crumbling old mansion, the red clay that seeps in through the floors earns the place the nickname of Crimson Peak. Edith is soon seeing ghosts again, warning her of something awful. Facing a cold reception from Thomas’ sister Lucille, and a sudden sickness, Edith begins to suspect that something sinister may be happening at Crimson Peak.

That “Crimson Peak” has done mediocre business at the box office is disappointing but not surprising. There are few less commercial genres in 2015 then the gothic melodrama. Which “Crimson Peak” unapologetically is. The film freely partakes in the conventions and clichés of that literary genre. There’s the female heroine. Though the film doesn’t commit to it fully, she’s pulled between two suitors, in a classical love triangle. There’s the crumbling old mansion, betrayal, family secrets, murder, and intrigue. “Crimson Peak” is even, to a degree, self-reflective. Edith is a would-be author who writes gothic literature herself, ghost stories with some romance weaved in. The world probably isn’t calling out for new stories in the vein of Bronte or Shelley but “Crimson Peak” is, nevertheless, a loving tribute to those authors and many more.

“Crimson Peak” stars Mia Wasikowska, an Australian actress who has been cast in plenty of period piece costume dramas. Out of all the English waifs we have right now, she is one of the most consistently talented. On this level, Wasikowska is very experienced playing these kinds of characters. Edith is a woman of manners, living a life of privilege at the turn of the century. However, Mia brings a certain rebellious quality to the part. She is good at deflating the stuffed shirts around her with frank, cutting language. This doesn’t exclude her father, who is always slightly humbled by his daughter’s intelligence. As a female writer during the Victorian period, she faces rejections from publisher because her stories don’t have romances in them. As the film becomes darker, Edith has to investigate loose ends and survive a situation that threatens her life. Casting Wasikowska in the part might be a bit on the nose but there’s no doubt that she’s excellent at this.

The biggest flaw of “Crimson Peak” is a slow first act. If it wasn’t for a handful of supernatural scenes, you’d be justify in thinking the film isn’t a horror movie at all. The opening half-hour concerns itself with setting up the rest of the plot. Part of this necessitates focusing on the romance. Thomas Sharpe is immediately smitten with Edith and it doesn’t take long for her to come around. The romance is charming, especially in a sequence where the two dance perfectly through a ballroom. It wouldn’t be a gothic romance without some drama and love triangles. Edith’s father forces Thomas to leave the country, necessitating that he break the girl’s heart. An absolutely brutal scene follows, where he viciously dumps her in front of a whole room. Edith has a back-up love interest in the form of Dr. Alan McMichael. Charlie Hunnam, perhaps in reaction to his stale-as-cardboard turn in “Pacific Rim,” plays the boring secondary male lead. Though it hints at it, “Crimson Peak” makes no attempt to actually pursue a relationship between Edith and Alan. Her romance with Sharpe, despite what happens in the film, is truthful. The two share a passionate love scene, pushing the movie into truly adult territory.

“Crimson Peak” isn’t just a romance though. The film is also deeply entrenched in the rules of the gothic melodrama genre. Betrayal and scheming is an integral part of the story. It turns out the Sharpes have ulterior motives. In a very classical plot turn, Edith is being poisoned by an extra ingredient in the tea. The Sharpes are after her family money, that most archetypal of villainous motivation. There is a trail of dead bodies in the Sharpes’ wake, previous brides bumped off for their fortunes. Naturally, Edith has to discover all of this on her own. Like hundreds of heroines before her, she has to sneak around the mansion at night, peaking into locked rooms, and discover the horrible secrets. It’s not especially difficult to figure out where the plot is going. The joy is in watching the character discover it.

In the lead-up to “Crimson Peak’s” release, I remember hearing someone describe it as a grown-up version of Disney’s Haunted Mansion. del Toro has spoken about his fandom for that attraction before and was even attached to make a movie about it at one point. In general, the director loves sprawling gothic manors. Accordingly, “Crimson Peak” may be the ultimate sprawling gothic manor movie. From the moment Edith enters the house, it’s clear how run-down it has gotten. There’s a hole in the ceiling in the center of the main hall. Leaves or snow drifts inside, rooting the movie strongly to its seasonal settings. The floorboards creak. The elevator sparks and grinds when activated, weaving to life. The house is full of hidden rooms and dark secrets. The production design is gorgeous, as the camera lingers on the mouths, shadows, and dust clinging to the home’s walls.

To say that a location is a character is an overused critical cliché. However, in “Crimson Peak,” the house really is a character. Not long after entering Crimson Peak, Thomas points out that the red clay seeps up through the floorboards. That dripping red clay is present throughout most of the home. It’s as if Allerdale Hall has a life blood all its own, flowing through every wall and board. If the amount of bleeding it does is any indication, Allerdale Hall is dying. When Edith jumps into the elevator, seemingly activated of its own will, she descends into the gory entrails of the home, huge amounts of red liquid collected in small pools. The amount of care put into making the building seem like a real place, full of detail and personality, is one of “Crimson Peak’s” greatest strengths.

Inside the walls of Allerdale Hall, everything is a sickly green or blue colors. It’s not a world where any warmth can grow. The only bright colors there belong to the blood red clay inching into the building. The clay is bright red, like the fake gore in a Hammer horror movie. If the building is an organism, then the blood is the sign that it’s sick. The only other thing of any color is Edith. The character is always dressed in warmly colored gowns. One especially notable dress is bright, autumn yellow. As she sinks into the bowels of the home, surrounding on all sides by a ghostly blue, her earthy coloration stands out. del Toro uses color to established mood and character. The visuals are gorgeous on their own but also further the audience’s understanding of the film’s world.

If there’s one major criticism that can be leveled at “Crimson Peak,” it concerns the ghost. While sold as a ghost story, the actual spirits play a small part in the finished film. They appear in a handful of sequences, warning Edith about the danger to come. Guillermo del Toro is capable of making frightening, intense horror films. He’s done it before. Weirdly, none of the major scare sequence in “Crimson Peak” land. When the ghosts appear, they’re contorting masses of CGI bones. Their skull faces burst through doors and around corners, accompanied by load scares on the soundtrack. All the ghost sequences are a little too heavy on the jump-scares and the CGI to be truly effective. It’s not from a lack of trying. From a design perspective, they work. Portrayed as skeletons, ribbons of smoky debris always float around their bodies. The ghosts as Allerdale Hall are blood red, fitting the Crimson Peak setting. del Toro’s resident monster-man Doug Jones performs all the ghosts in the film, bringing his twitching and miming skills to the part. The ghost should’ve been scary but, for some reason, they just aren’t.

Then again, maybe the ghosts aren’t supposed to be scary. As in “The Devil’s Backbone,” the ghosts aren’t the monsters in “Crimson Peak.” The people are. The film has occasional bursts of intense violence. A head is smashed into the ridge of a sink, repeatedly bashed against the porcelain until it’s concave. A knife is stabbed into a face, right beneath an eye. Even worst then that is when the blade is pulled out. And though the perpetrators of the crimes are undoubtedly monsters, even the human monsters in a del Toro film are somewhat sympathetic. The killers are driven by lust, desire, and fear. Like any good gothic melodrama, there are dark, forbidden family secrets. Either way, the movie is focused on the point that we shouldn’t fear the dead but the living.

Even with smaller parts from Hunnam and Burn Gorman as a shifty P.I., “Crimson Peak” is essentially a three-person movie. Aside from Mia, Tom Hiddleson and Jessica Chastain are the most important players. “Crimson Peak” will surely be a hit with Hiddleson fan girls and not just because he shows his butt. He’s the ideal type of romantic leading man for this sort of story. He’s mysterious and not entirely pure in his motivations. He’s also sensitive, something of a coward pushed around by his older sister. Despite all this, his feelings for Edith are real. It takes a qualified actor to embody so many conflicting attitudes and Hiddleson is more then up to the job. As good as Tom and Mia both are, Chastain is the one who dominates “Crimson Peak.” As Lucille, she is pure wind-up emotion. Under a mask of civility, she hides boiling contempt and anger. In the final act, she’s allowed to really go nuts yet never looses her steely determination.

As a fan of Guillermo del Toro, gothic melodramas, and spooky old buildings, I was probably predisposed to love “Crimson Peak.” In the future, I’ll doubt it will be looked back on as a serious work by its director. It’s ultimately an exercise in imitation, instead of a major achievement on its own. There’s nothing wrong with that though. If you like “The Innocents,” “The Uninvited,” “Jane Eyre,” or “Wuthering Heights,” “Crimson Peak” is likely to be right up your alley. Enjoy it for the fun mystery, the top-shelf performances, and the amazing production design. [Grade: B+]

Director Report Card: Guillermo del Toro (2013)

8. Pacific Rim

Guillermo del Toro has a unique position as a filmmaker who is beloved by fan boys all over the world but also critically respected by the mainstream film press. He can make an Oscar-nominated masterpiece like “Pan’s Labyrinth” and then turn around and crank out a light-weight, action-heavy comic book flick like “Hellboy II” with ease. After years of pre-production work on “The Hobbit,” truthfully always a rough fit for del Toro’s style, amounted to nothing, the filmmaker immediately went to work on his most fan boy friendly project yet. “Pacific Rim” is a big budget Hollywood popcorn muncher that smashes together two of Japan’s most endearing contributions to pop culture: Giant monsters and big ass fighting robots.

Perhaps the director’s most important skill is his ability to construct believable, fully-formed worlds on-screen. “Pacific Rim” successfully creates a world as detailed as anything out of Tolken within its opening montage. Giant monsters from another dimension have invaded Earth, uprooting society as we know it. In response, the nations of the world band together to build giant piloted robots, called jaegers, to fight back the invasion. That would be enough for most films but “Pacific Rim” is just getting started. The first several creatures are beaten back, the world adapting, changing. We see jaeger pilots become celebrities, the kaijus transformed into children show mascots, both slapped on shoe commercials. Life continues, even when in peril. The world of “Pacific Rim” is a lived-in one. Slums are built out of the bones of the giants, their huge open skulls becoming doorways. All the metals have a rusted, aged quality to them. While this world is recognizable as our own, it is entirely its own beast. Long-running cinematic universes have been built on less then this.

No aspect of “Pacific Rim” is more brilliantly thought-out then its central components, the monsters and the robots. I’ve been a fan of kaiju, the genre and the creatures, my entire life. “Pacific Rim” contributes some truly memorable addition to the kaiju canon. Within minutes, the film establishes the pure scale of these monsters in a way rarely recognized. Fighter jets slink between the massive arms, people dwarfed under foot. I love suitmation but it doesn’t exactly allow for the detail and sense of size seen here. Despite being created with CGI, the creatures have a weight and personality to them.

Which kaiju is my favorite? It’s hard to choose. Each one is brilliantly designed. Knifehead is patterned after the goblin shark, one of nature’s strangest creatures. His ferocity is vividly displayed with snatching jaws and massive claws. There are other notable creatures: the ape-like Leatherback with his organic EMP, the alien-alligator combo Raiju, the final boss Slattern, a mash-up of a hammerhead shark, an octopus, and a dinosaur. However, one inches above the rest. Otachi moves like a sea dragon, her tail whipping around, a snapping claw on the end. She sprays acid, her tongue splitting open at the end. Of the several “holy shit!” moments throughout “Pacific Rim,” none impressed me more then when the fearsome female monster took flight. I didn’t see that one coming. My only complaints about the creature design is the overlaying grayness of each monster. Otherwise, these kaiju can stand among Toho or Daiei’s best.

Of course, the kaiju is only one half of the film’s clash. Standing up for humanity are the jaegers, the humongous fighting robots created to battle the creatures. Naturally, the machines aren’t as cool as the monsters. However, their designs are as well thought-out and detailed. Each jaeger is massively different from one another. Cherno Alpha’s giant nuclear silo gives it a blocky, heavy appearance. Crimson Typhoon is aerodynamic, its hands topped with giant saw blades, its body rotating on a pivot. Everything about it is modern and smooth. Each robot represents its country in a strange way too. Cherno recalling the solid, strong Russian mountains, Typhoon resembling a swift, striking dragon. Striker Eureka’s sails and blades seem to be modeled after the world famous curves of the Sydney Opera House. And who stands in for America but the big blue Gipsy Danger. It’s the jaeger with the most standard body type, reliable and uniform. The dome-like head and sloping shoulders remind me of a football quarterback. The jaegers might be smooth and shiny on the outside but, inside, they are pure del Toro creations. The director’s love of clockwork gears and intricate, folding devices is most obvious in the meticulously detailed cockpits of the machines. 

The creativity displayed in the film’s creature and mech design also applies to its approach to action. There are only, truly, three battle sequences in the film. The first is intimate and intense, designed to put the audience in the pilot’s place, at the mercy of a giant monster’s roaring jaws. The centerpiece of the film, the three-way fight in Hong Kong, is “Pacific Rim” at its best. Here, del Toro adopts an animated, frenetic style, much of the action composed like moving comic book panels. A second kaiju leaping from the waters gets a great reaction from an audience. Gipsy is tossed across the city in full-view, coming to its feet in mid-roll. The sense of fun and excitement is most obvious in a tiny moment when the robot’s fist tears through an office building, stopping just in front of a desk nik-nak. The reveal of the sword is another nerd-boner inducing moment, coming when the excitement is at peak level. The creativity is displayed at the end as well, when a kaiju is split straight down the middle. Throughout it all, del Toro never looses track of its character inside the chaos. Even with all the incredible action, the most thrilling moment might be a flashback to the beginning of the war, a monster reaching for a helpless little girl in a tight, cramped alleyway.

One of “Pacific Rim’s” biggest issues is that it’s actually too awesome too soon. The film peaks early at the end of the second act. After the incredible airborne battle through Hong Kong, the grounded, deep sea finale can’t help but disappoint. The final minutes of the film engages in some cheap third act dramatic ramp-ups. Characters’ lives are put in peril, the hero intentionally waiting far too long to save himself. The plan is overturn at the last second, the characters forced to improvise a way to save the world. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with ancient screenplay tricks like this. “Pacific Rim” partakes in time-tested clichés throughout. The story ultimately boils down to two mismatched partners coming to appreciate each other, the buddy cop scenario writ large. A respectable authority sacrifices himself, but not before giving a rousing speech, straight out of “Independence Day.” I’m not complaining, just noting that after such an exciting first 110 minutes, those final twenty come off as slightly underwhelming.

There’s giant black hole in the middle of “Pacific Rim” preventing it from attaining true classic status and I’m not talking about the giant interdimensional rift. Charlie Hunnan plays Raleigh Becket, the film’s protagonist. Raleigh has no defined character arc of his own. The film begins with him loosing his brother, a massive emotional lost. The story leaps ahead five years later. Becket, at first, seems to have become a bitter, disillusioned man in the wake of his grief. You’d expect him to learn to love again through his partnership, right? Nope. Instead, Raleigh turns a page almost immediately, instantly deciding to take Rinko Kikuchi’s Mako under his wing. All of Becket’s character development seems to happen off-screen. Who’s to blame, screenplay or performer? I’m inclined to lay the blame at the feet of Hunnan. His performance is flat and uninspired, Hunnan carrying little emotion in his voice. His attempts at macho tough-guy posturing are tiresome and unconvincing. It’s a good thing the rest of the film is so captivating and exciting because its lead hero is a total bore.

Perhaps to make-up for its hunk of wood hero, the film’s supporting cast is packed with colorful, memorable actors. Kikuchi winds up carrying the story’s emotional wake. Her quest of revenge giving way to acceptance and love proves far more interesting then Hunna’s non-entity. Idris Elba has the rather thankless task of speaking the script’s cheesiest dialogue. He pulls it off with ease. Charlie Day brings the manic comic energy he regularly displays on “It’s Always Sunny” to his role, standing in for every hardcore nerd in the audience. He has great chemistry with Burn Gorman, playing the kind of part that would have ideally been filled by a twenty-years-younger Jeffrey Combs. Finally, del Toro stalwart Ron Perlman brings his effortless attitude to a hilarious supporting role, a minor mob kingpin who seems to have step right out of a Takahiro Omori anime.

Though obviously pitched at mainstream audiences, “Pacific Rim” is definitely a fan boy film. The various homages and callbacks to its influences will be lost on most viewers but are deeply appreciated by folks like me. The kaiju are clearly inspired by earlier giant monsters. Knifehead recalls Guiron, one of Gamera’s most memorable enemies. The briefly glimpsed Onibaba is souped up version of Ebirah, the giant lobster that vexed Godzilla once. Otachi’s movement and design was obviously influenced by Cloverfield, Rodan, Gyaos, and the Xenomorph. Raiju also owes something to Giger’s signature creation, with his double jaw. Finally, Leatherback might be the film’s most subtle homage. He is a literal Godzilla. For those unaware, Godzilla’s Japanese name, Gojira, is a combination of Japanese phrases for gorilla and whale. “Pacific Rim” presents us with a literal aquatic gorilla. I might be reaching on that one but I imagine it was intentional. The references even extend to the score, as a very familiar sounding series of musical notes play right before the final kaiju’s introduction.

The jaegers recall giant robot anime of different types. Each design is a variation on a basic build, bringing to mind the Gundam universe. Gipsy’s hand-canon is the type of finishing move used by any number of robotic heroes. Most obviously, Gipsy, like Mazinger before it, has a rocket punch. (Or should that be a ROCKETO PUNCHI?!) Yet, the biggest influence has to be “Neon Genesis Evangelion.” The premises, giant robots build to fight giant invading monsters, are comparable. Instead of synching with the souls inside of the robots, the pilots have to synch with each other. Instead of the suits and scientist hanging out in the GeoFront, they hang out in the Shatterdome. Mako’s page-boy haircut, streaks of blue included, slyly mirror Rei Ayanami’s. Hell, the movie even throws in a giant robot in a crucifixion pose. Considering an American-made, live action “Evangelion” movie was considered at one point, I’d say this is a best case scenario. An “Eva” movie would have boosted everyone’s age and dropped the weird religious and Freudian aspects anyway. Here, we get to enjoy all the awesome stuff guilt-free, without sacrificing what made that series special.

“Pacific Rim’s” box office performance was heavily discussed upon release. The internet was hugely excited for this film, aware of its director pedigree and story influences. Yet the general public shrugged it off as a “Transformers” rip-off. While this would deter American movie-goers, who pluck down billions of dollars for the next “Transformers” piece of shit, I do not know. Despite cheer-leading from critics and fans, the movie bombed domestically. (And in Japan too, because that country has lost its way and no longer cares about giant monsters.) Surprisingly huge business in China has created some talk of a sequel but I doubt it’ll see the light of day, due to del Toro’s increasingly busy schedule and apathetic studio brass. Most Americans might not crave something equally original and beholden to classic sci-fi but I do. “Pacific Rim” isn’t del Toro’s deepest film but it is one of his most buoyantly entertaining. [Grade: A-]

Thus ends Catch-Up Week, which actually stretched out for 17 days. What better why to end this little excursion then with an excessively detailed, three-page long review of a movie everyone else stopped talking about four months ago? (I might have went a little overboard with the links...) Even if it went wildly off-schedule, as all things do here at Film Thoughts, I consider Catch-Up Week to a be a success. Looking over at the Director Report Card side-bar there and realizing it's truly complete and hole free satisfies my obsessive-compulsive tendencies nicely. At least until the next time I fall behind and have to do this sort of thing again.

Anyway, I'll be back soon with some seasonal updates. Hopefully.