The film’s most unique aspect is that it’s narrated by a Giant Pacific Octopus named Marcellus (voiced by Alfred Molina). Once a free cephalopod, Marcellus was captured and now lives in a public aquarium. He mourns the loss of the ocean and grates at being held prisoner by an inferior species who gawk at him in his tank. Marcellus is the spirit animal of anyone who prefers their own company to the maddening crowd. They say hell is other people and I bet Marcellus would agree. 

Like an eight-limbed David Attenborough, Marcellus observes his human captors. He grows fond of Tova, an elderly cleaning lady who, like Marcellus, prefers solitude to the company of her own species. When she gets injured and needs to train a young man named Cameron to replace her, Marcellus sees that the two bickering humans share more than either knows. Realising that Tova and Cameron are the keys to the other’s healing, Marcellus makes it his mission to connect them before he dies. 

The performances were great. Sally Field as Tova is excellent (isn’t she always?). Tova is just the right balance of wise grandmother, pernickety mentor, softly mournful widow, and broken-hearted mother. Lewis Pullman pulls off Cameron well, without sliding into unseemly teenage angst (honestly, he’s too old to be called “the juvenile” by Marcellus). And Alfred Molina as Marcellus has likely found his best role since Doc Ock. 

Now, I really like the heavy and hard-hitting stuff, especially when it comes to loss and grief. For me, The Leftovers and the Buffy episode “The Body” are peak television when it comest to sorrow and loss. But I acknowledge that not everyone gravitates towards such visceral and painful stories. I also recognise that’s what makes Remarkably Bright Creatures special and important. 

It’s a light, gentle movie that admittedly feels like something Lifetime would make rather than Netflix. At its heart is a simple story about loss, but also about finding healing and love – not just romantic love, which seems to be the only kind Hollywood knows and finds commercially viable, but love in other forms: love for one’s community, love across generations, across species. 

It’s a positive sign that a major streamer like Netflix would commission and support films like Remarkably Bright Creatures, which was based on the novel of the same name by Shelby Van Pelt. These days it seems that the only thing on our screens are images of pain and loss, all dialled up to 11. Maybe that’s why the cosy subgenre has been enjoying a boom. We’re seeing a real interest in cosy mysteries, cosy fantasy, even cosy horror. 

So it’s unsurprising that a quiet story about an elderly lady and a young man seeking connection is just the palate cleanser people are craving. Remarkably Bright Creatures offers a cosy drama that’s high on warmth and low on drama. It may deal with the grief of child loss and parental abandonment, and it may be told through the eyes of a cynical octopus, but at its core is a deep humanity. 

At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter that Remarkably Bright Creatures didn’t resonate with me emotionally in quite the same way that it did with so many others. I appreciate that this movie exists, that it offers comfort, even catharsis, to those who connected to it. And it was a good reminder that we are all more closely connected than we could ever have imagined. 

Remarkably Bright Creatures is now streaming on Netflix.

The post Remarkably Bright Creatures: An Octopus’s Guide to Cosy appeared first on Goggler.

I know I’m not alone in this. Enough of my friends have the exact same tendency. It’s almost like an emotional coin toss: some days you’re able to laugh it off, other days it ends in a fight because of the cold shoulder you hand to the person who answered honestly. We’ve all been there, curiosity never fails to get the best of us. But truly, maybe the better question, before asking anything at all, is this: how much of your partner’s past are you actually willing to accept?

The Drama takes this question and drags it into a far more extreme direction: how much are you actually willing to accept your partner’s past once you discover the worst thing they have ever done?

Our stunning protagonists, Charlie and Emma are a soon-to-be wedded couple, with an apartment that is to die for. Everything seems just about picture perfect, right down to a first kiss that literally takes place in an art museum as the alarm goes off. The “drama” essentially erupts when the couple spots their wedding DJ snorting heroine by the side of the road, which somehow spirals into a wine-tasting-slash-moral-debate with their married friends, Mike and Rachel, on whether they should they fire the DJ? Then the conversation turns into a confession session in which the arrow eventually points to a drunken Emma. As she finishes her sentences, the room detonates into an immediate: what the fuck? ”

To keep this somewhat spoiler free, I will not disclose Emma’s darkest secret, but it is definitely something you won’t be able to guess. Not by a long shot. More importantly, it is important to note that Emma, now in her thirties, is completely different from the young teenager she was when that secret took place. Yet in one instant, Charlie takes out the word “empathetic” from his wedding vows. 

We are living in an era where perfectionism is expected to be present, or if not, arrive easily. Romance is repackaged over and over again and presented to you like a checklist. There are to be no flaws and no fuckups. Our partners are supposed to be open-minded, understanding at all times, and get you flowers just because they want to. The stakes are high and must be met.

So much so that when something unexpected from the past enters the frame, we begin to wonder if that perfect reality ever truly existed. (What do you mean you used to be on Bumble premium???) But here’s the rub: humans are meant to grow, even as we are inevitably shaped by what came before. We’d like to believe we can outgrow our past. The Drama does a very good job at picking apart these contradictions and offering different versions of an answer. Evidently, growth here does not erase; it merely rearranges. If you look closely enough, all the characters who are supposedly occupying the moral high ground are still mimicking the faults they once married: Rachel remains mean-spirited, Mike remains a wuss, and Charlie still possesses the power to drive someone insane. 

Most of all, The Drama recognizes something deeply fundamental about humans. There’s a line from Celine Song’s Materialists (though not my favourite) that has stayed with me: People are people are people are people. It sounds simple, almost nonsensical, but it is true. There is no mould for who someone should be, or what they are allowed to become. Most of the time, you do not get to pick only the parts that make you comfortable. No one will ever arrive in love as a perfect package or a clean slate. The best you can do is to choose if you want to accept this version of them. Flaws and all. 

Because for all the time Charlie spends trying to reevaluate his fiancée, trying to mentally rearrange who Emma is after what she tells him, he still ends up finding comfort in smallest thing he knows of her: he plays and dances to Inside Out by Jesse Rae, the same song Emma would put on whenever he was frustrated. Somehow, even after everything, he still reaches for a habit she gave him. Emma, the woman he has practically worshipped for years, still exists in the gestures that made her lovable to him in the first place, which makes it feel almost absurd to believe that one confession should immediately cancel out every good thing she has been to his life. Because truly, how do you decide that someone becomes lesser because of something they did – or in this case, didn’t do – a decade ago? (Disclaimer: this is extremely context dependent, please do not take this statement as gospel.)

That said, not every truth deserves a graceful acceptance speech. You are not under any obligation to try to accept any version of anyone in your life. If something crosses your line, sever it. If you want to stay, despite everything, then stay knowingly. What matters is not forcing yourself into acceptance just because love sounds noble that way. There is little use driving yourself insane trying to manufacture peace when, deep down, you already know you cannot live with what you learned. Don’t be like Charlie, is essentially what I’m saying. 

What I have learned about love, especially since getting into a relationship, is that it is partly about accepting that people are always tethered to what they once were. Sometimes they relapse. Sometimes remnants remain. Sometimes they are genuinely transformed. Sometimes all three are true at once.

If you want a perfectly flawless partner, maybe try wishing upon a shooting star instead.

The Drama is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post The Drama Is About Accepting the Shots Your Partner Has Taken appeared first on Goggler.

War Machine follows a basic, by-the-numbers plot. A nameless Staff Sargent (Alan Ritchson) joins the Rangers to fulfil his dying brother’s wish. He gets assigned the number 81 and becomes team leader. During a military exercise, they encounter a big metal something in the forest. Naturally, their first instinct is to blow it up. Turns out, this was an alien machine that crash landed. The machine gets mad (who wouldn’t?) and starts killing them. They run; it chases them through the forest, firing missiles and bombs at them. That’s it.

War Machine managed to tick most of the boxes for both a military and sci-fi movie. On the military front, the first ten minutes has plenty of tanks, army fatigues, and explosions in a generic desert. The Rangers’ training was a by-the-book montage of recruits running around obstacle courses and drill sergeants screaming like their only reference point was Full Metal Jacket. Honestly, while all this looked like a U.S. Army recruitment promo, I found Boots to be more inspirational military fare. 

Once the alien machine pops up, things swing towards sci-fi for 81 and his team. The sudden genre pivot was what initially drew me to War Machine. Think of other movies that took the risk of combining genres halfway through. Cowboys & Aliens did it in 2011 with its unusual (some might say unholy) mashup of the western and sci-fi. Or Shyamalan’s Signs (2002), which starts as a family drama before veering beautifully into a high-concept sci-fi mystery.  

War Machine had the same potential and could have been a movie from a whole different universe if handled with more skill by Patrick Hughes, who co-wrote, co-produced, and directed the movie. Unfortunately, Hughes seemed content to tell a perfectly linear and lukewarm story. The alien machine rampages; the recruits die one by one. 81 alone is impervious, protected by tank-grade plot armour and the fact that nothing can kill the sheer bulk of Ritchson/Reacher. Like any final girl, 81’s survival is guaranteed.

Hughes’s movie had a little of everything from sci-fi and a whole lot of nothing. The alien machine looked like a Temu version of the ED-209 from Robocop. It stumbled around, firing death at the recruits like the Tripods from War of the Worlds, but without the same visceral horror of bodies being vaporised by an unstoppable killer. This alien, and this movie, were neither homage nor tribute to any of the greats from science fiction or military.

Credit where it’s due, though, the action scenes were pretty good. Hughes packs in plenty of explosions and big set piece action sequences. Which were the only thing adding meat to a scrawny plot and even scrawnier characters. Too bad none of the recruits were fleshed out as actual people with any meaningful personalities or motivations. So when the machine (which also has zero personality or motivation) starts slaughtering them, it’s hard to care, especially when nobody has names.

The one good thing about War Machine, which I’m genuinely grateful for, is that the threat is firmly extraterrestrial. Too often we’ve seen the American military in movies fighting enemies from whichever real-world nation is currently on America’s (s)hit list of bad actor states. Hollywood isn’t helping tensions by cementing these geopolitical stereotypes on screen. So I’m glad that Hughes allows a small discussion where the recruits speculate if the alien is Chinese or Russian before putting the debate down. 

In the end, War Machine wasn’t a bad movie. Neither was it a good one. It was a perfectly middling Netflix product that won’t leave any impression. It offered nothing original (not even its name!) despite having a potentially potent concept that blended two powerful genres. I won’t be recommending this to my students. They might end up accidentally watching Brad Pitt’s 2017 War Machine instead. Then again, they’d probably have a better time with that one. 

War Machine is now streaming on Netflix.

The post War Machine Is All Firepower and No Soul appeared first on Goggler.

When I heard of Zootopia 2, I got excited, but cautiously. After all, how many sequels reach, if not top, the original’s glory? Well, whatever. We were going back to Zootopia! That model society of inclusion, where animals of all breeds live side-by-side. Now I’m not ashamed to admit that although I love the film, I didn’t realize until I read an interview with creator Byron Howard that Zootopia was a mammal-only place: no fish, birds, insects, or reptiles. But it wasn’t always that way, apparently.

Although we had to wait nearly a decade for this sequel, barely any time had passed for Judy and Nick. After busting Mayor Bellwether, the sly bunny and dumb fox become the ZPD’s first predator-prey partners. As the city’s centennial approaches, the first snake sighting in Zootopia in a century causes panic. Judy, with her usual Energizer Bunny enthusiasm, self-appoints herself and Nick to the case. And they discover some uncomfortable truths about their city. 

What I adore about the first film is how it used speciesism to explore prejudice. Zootopia appears utopian because different species live together. But the prey-predator dynamics of the animal kingdom mean that fear and assumptions of “the other” colour every interaction and relationship. Nobody, not even Judy, is free from prejudice and confirmation bias, no matter how open-minded they believe themselves to be. Zootopia opens powerful conversations about the insidious nature of discrimination in human societies. 

While the theme and threat of species prejudice were foregrounded in the first movie, Zootopia 2 explores with a more measured hand (or paw?) how historical injustices reverberate down generations. Judy befriends Gary De’Snake (Ke Huy Quan), a viper who infiltrates Zootopia to right a great historical wrong done to his family and people. Judy and Nick learn that Zootopia’s founders, the Lynxley family, framed Gary’s grandmother, Agnes, for murder after stealing her original plans for Zootopia. The Lynxley dynasty then expanded its domain, Tundratown, into Reptile Ravine, displacing all reptiles. 

In Zootopia, snakes have a bad reputation among mammals for a single “crime” that occurred 100 years ago. And the framing of Gary’s grandmother had disastrous spillover effects. All reptiles are regarded suspiciously as security threats and are barred from the city. Like any imperialists, the Lynxley family understand that to retain power, they must constantly reinforce prejudice against “the other.” They weaponise this fear of the cold-blooded to ensure no scaly undesirable returns to claim what’s theirs.

Beyond the initial character assassination of the De’Snake family and all other reptiles, the Lynxley dynasty wages a perpetual project of historical erasure. They cannot allow the truth to surface: that Agnes De’Snake was the original creator of Zootopia’s plans, not the Lynxleys. The revision of history is often entangled with and fuels present-day discrimination and othering. Zootopia, a beacon of diversity, was founded on the literal expulsion, exclusion, and eventual erasure of an entire class of animals.

The dispossession and disenfranchisement of indigenous populations from their land is a heavy theme for an animated kids’ film. But the Zootopia franchise excels at tackling deeply uncomfortable aspects of humanity. And it doesn’t just dwell on the negatives. There’s always the counterbalancing message that our diversity doesn’t divide us; it’s what makes societies stronger and healthier. As Nick and Judy know, their differences don’t make any difference.

Side note: I’m glad that while Nick and Judy become police partners, they stay purely platonic. It was a bit touch-and-go at first, with the pair pretending to be a couple several times. Sure, an inter-species romance might be interesting if you ignore the biological gymnastics needed, but the world does not need another Scully/Mulder or Brennan/Booth romance. Friendship is rewarding enough. 

While I don’t think Zootopia 2 was as wonderfully charming as the original, it is still a solid sequel. There’s plenty of action, jokes and Easter Eggs (I got unreasonably excited by The Shining and The Silence of the Lambs references). And if the post-credits teaser is anything to go by, the third installment promises to soar to new heights.

Zootopia 2 is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post Zootopia 2 and the Insidious Nature of Historical Injustices appeared first on Goggler.

The first part of Stranger Things, Season 5 is now streaming on Netflix.

The fall of 1987. Hawkins is scarred by the opening of the Rifts, and our heroes are united by a single goal: find and kill Vecna. But he has vanished — his whereabouts and plans unknown. Complicating their mission, the government has placed the town under military quarantine and intensified its hunt for Eleven, forcing her back into hiding. As the anniversary of Will’s disappearance approaches, so does a heavy, familiar dread. The final battle is looming — and with it, a darkness more powerful and more deadly than anything they’ve faced before. To end this nightmare, they’ll need everyone — the full party — standing together, one last time. Stranger Things was created by The Duffer Brothers and stars Winona Ryder, David Harbour, Millie Bobby Brown, Finn Wolfhard, Gaten Matarazzo, Caleb McLaughlin, Noah Schnapp, Sadie Sink, Natalia Dyer, Charlie Heaton, Joe Keery, Maya Hawke, Priah Ferguson, Brett Gelman, Jamie Campbell Bower, Cara Buono, Nell Fisher, and Linda Hamilton.

Thank you for checking out The Goggler Podcast, if you have any thoughts or questions, just email us on podcast@goggler.my, or reach out to us via Instagram. You can also WhatsApp us on The Goggler Hotline, on +60125245208

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Wicked: For Good is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

Elphaba, now demonized as The Wicked Witch of the West, lives in exile, hidden within the Ozian forest while continuing her fight for the freedom of Oz’s silenced Animals and desperately trying to expose the truth she knows about The Wizard. Glinda, meanwhile, has become the glamorous symbol of Goodness for all of Oz, living at the palace in Emerald City and reveling in the perks of fame and popularity. Under the instruction of Madame Morrible, Glinda is deployed to serve as an effervescent comfort to Oz, reassuring the masses that all is well under the rule of The Wizard.  As Glinda’s stardom expands and she prepares to marry Prince Fiyero in a spectacular Ozian wedding, she is haunted by her separation from Elphaba. She attempts to broker a conciliation between Elphaba and The Wizard, but those efforts will fail, driving Elphaba and Glinda only further apart. The aftershocks will transform Boq and Fiyero forever, and threaten the safety of Elphaba’s sister, Nessarose, when a girl from Kansas comes crashing into all their lives. Wicked: For Good was directed by Jon M. Chu, and stars Cynthia Erivo, Ariana Grande, Jonathan Bailey, Ethan Slater, Bowen Yang, Marissa Bode, Michelle Yeoh, and Jeff Goldblum.

Thank you for checking out The Goggler Podcast, if you have any thoughts or questions, just email us on podcast@goggler.my, or reach out to us via Instagram. You can also WhatsApp us on The Goggler Hotline, on +60125245208

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Edgar Wright’s adaptation of King’s novel is timely and not just because the original story is set in 2025. Paul Michael Glaser’s 1987 film of the same name sacrificed the novel’s relatability by Hollywoodizing it into an action fest on steroids with a predictably happy ending. Worse, Glaser’s film felt more like a parody of the novel. Thankfully, Wright gets right the finer psychology and rage that smolders in the book, which King wrote during his Richard Bachman era, where he freely ripped into the status quo.

The story is simple enough to be mythic: Ben Richards (Glen Powell) is an everyman who can’t afford to pay for his sick daughter’s medicine. So he does what anyone desperate and living in a reality TV-saturated world would: join a gameshow to make a quick buck – a billion “New Dollars” if he survives The Running Man for 30 days. While playing, Ben discovers that real life is also a rigged game that everyone must survive – and working-class joes like him never win. 

You’re never quite sure what era this new The Running Man is set in. That temporal ambiguity is brilliant on Wright’s part. For King/Bachman’s original readers, 2025 must have felt so far away. Wright would’ve faced an interesting dual challenge: how to make the story’s world relevant to contemporary audiences without feeling laughably dated while also making present-day concerns feel futuristic? A tough balancing act, but one that Wright pulls off admirably. 

Wright builds a world with advanced tech like DNA sniffers and robot recorders alongside contemporary anxieties like deepfakes and post-truth media. But there are also nostalgic, almost quaint throwbacks to late 20^th century gear like boxy CRT monitors and tape recorders. This is a world where reality TV entertainers have genuine political influence, while the revolution uses actual paper zines and YouTube-style video platforms to get the good word out. What an interesting collage of different timelines!

What I love most about Wright’s film is how he resolves the ending. King’s novel is among his bleakest because the hero perishes. Dying and certain that his wife and child have been murdered, Richard intentionally flies a jet into the Games Network building. He kills executive producer Dan Killian, but also thousands of people as collateral damage. In his kamikaze mass-killing, Richards becomes the very thing the Games Network says he is – a psychotic killer. 

Now, that shock ending might have been acceptable in 1982, but it definitely isn’t anymore. Just like David Fincher’s Fight Club could never have ended the way it did today, seeing Glen Powell crash a plane into a skyscraper would be abhorrent to a post-9/11 American audience. There are some taboos Hollywood simply cannot tolerate breaking. Without spoiling anything, I commend Wright for finding an elegant workaround that simultaneously satisfies new audiences, fans of the novel, and apparently even Stephen King himself.

I enjoyed the surprise twist of The Running Man more than I did with Francis Lawrence’s The Long Walk. In many ways, The Running Man and The Long Walk are siblings. As books, they were written by King during his Bachman days; both feature deadly games that predate reality TV; both are decidedly masculine and nihilistic. Wright and Lawrence’s movies this year cemented the connection. But Wright’s is the best adaptation of King that I’ve seen since Flanagan. 

I just wish Wright had restrained himself a little with the happy ending. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with seeing Richards reunited with his family. Heck, it’s practically mandatory in Hollywood for the hero to get it all at the end. That’s what blunts it for me. King/Bachman spoke truth to power by speaking the truth of power: the media machine is too strong for one man to win against. Wright came close to perfection but sold out at the finishing line by giving Richards his Hollywood-perfect ending. 

The Running Man is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

The post The Running Man’s America Is Supposed to Be Fiction. In 2025, It Isn’t. appeared first on Goggler.

The Running Man is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

In a near-future society, The Running Man is the top-rated show on television – a deadly competition where contestants, known as Runners, must survive 30 days while being hunted by professional assassins, with every move broadcast to a bloodthirsty public and each day bringing a greater cash reward. Desperate to save his sick daughter, working-class Ben Richards is convinced by the show’s charming but ruthless producer, Dan Killian (Josh Brolin), to enter the game as a last resort. But Ben’s defiance, instincts, and grit turn him into an unexpected fan favorite—and a threat to the entire system. As ratings skyrocket, so does the danger, and Ben must outwit not just the Hunters, but a nation addicted to watching him fall. The movie was directed by Edgar Wright and stars Glen Powell, William H. Macy, Lee Pace, Michael Cera, Emilia Jones, Daniel Ezra, Jayme Lawson, Sean Hayes, Katy O’Brian, Colman Domingo, and Josh Brolin.

Thank you for checking out The Goggler Podcast, if you have any thoughts or questions, just email us on podcast@goggler.my, or reach out to us via Instagram. You can also WhatsApp us on The Goggler Hotline, on +60125245208

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Predator: Badlands is now showing in Malaysian cinemas.

In the distant future, on a hostile alien planet, a young Predator cast out from his clan for his size finds his world turned upside down when he teams up with Thia, a damaged android with her own mysterious past. Together they embark on a deadly journey through harsh wilderness and ancient hunting grounds, where survival means confronting both monstrous beasts and the code of the Predator itself. Along the way, their unlikely alliance challenges everything they thought they knew about honor, power, and who the real hunters are. Predator: Badlands was directed by Dan Trachtenberg and stars Elle Fanning and Dimitrius Schuster‑Koloamatangi.

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Let me explain the paradox. In an early scene, Victor Frankenstein relates his childhood. We see Victor as a young boy being drilled in human anatomy by his exacting father, who quizzes him on the human heart. His father disabuses Victor of any romantic notion that the heart and soul are connected. The way Leopold Frankenstein disciplines and punishes his son will become a paternalistic model of manhood that Victor will replicate in his relationship with the Creature.

This carelessly toxic father/son relationship is the driving force in Shelley’s novel. As an artistic creator, del Toro is himself father of the monsters in his films. Except he treats them with more love than Victor Frankenstein does. Monsters fascinate del Toro. From Pan’s Labryinth, to Hellboy, to The Shape of Water, del Toro gives his monsters heart, humanising them with empathy. With Frankenstein, could del Toro have finally stepped too far, making his Creature too good?

I think so. The changes del Toro makes in his adaptation actively remove blame and culpability from the Creature. In Shelly’s novel, the Creature kills Victor’s brother William simply for the crime of being related to his hated creator. The Creature also murders Victor’s fiancée Elizabeth in cold blood, wanting Victor to suffer. In del Toro’s version, William is collateral damage and Elizabeth sacrifices herself to protect the Creature from Victor’s bullet. Victor ends up doubly monstrous while the Creature gets off scot-free. 

Then there’s the Creature’s moral education. In the original, the Creature befriends the blind Mr De Lacey, who teaches him English and exposes him to philosophical ideas, expanding his worldview and refining his sensibilities. The Creature even reads Paradise Lost. This education is absent from del Toro’s adaptation. Sure, not everything will make the cut. But the omission of this critical education steals the Creature’s advanced understanding of right and wrong and, ultimately, his culpability in the choices he makes. 

The overall effect is to keep the Creature a perpetual babe. In this neverland of innocence, he does not grow up. This is reinforced in del Toro’s forgoing of the emotionally disturbing request the Creature makes: for Victor to create him a companion. To me, this underlines that Elordi’s version of the Creature never achieves adulthood. So, like a child, he can’t be held accountable for his actions. Clearly, del Toro is determined to keep the Creature above such unseemly things like guilt. 

Even when the Creature kills, the killing is sanitised. At the movie’s beginning, the Creature lays to waste innocent seamen who rescue Victor in the North Pole. But these nameless, faceless men are more like the red shirts in Star Trek. They are nothing more than bodies for the Creature to fight. They are human only in the moment of their deaths and then forgotten. Nobody will blame the Creature for taking their lives, not even their captain. All is forgiven.  

I sound cynical, I know. But we’re talking about a story that birthed a new genre and reshaped Gothic fiction. Every incarnation of Frankenstein, from Kenneth Branagh’s to Danny Boyle’s stage play, has added something. Del Toro’s is the first I’ve encountered that removed something. By acting like an overprotective parent, del Toro robs his creation of greater humanity. The monster is less human precisely because del Toro never lets him indulge in his monstrosity. 

The movie’s not all wasted, though. It has everything else you’d expect from a Guillermo del Toro epic: fairy-tale sets, lush costumes, beautiful composition and cinematography, solid performances from Isaac and Elordi. Yet like del Toro’s Creature, these are just component parts missing their heart. By trying to make the monster more sympathetic, del Toro unwittingly loses the true beating heart of this tragic, tortured story: that even the most innocent, when pushed by cruelty, can themselves turn cruel. Perhaps that’s the true nature of humanity.

Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is now streaming on Netflix.

The post Netflix’s Frankenstein Suffers From Having Too Much Heart appeared first on Goggler.