This Frankenstein feels memorable because the script treats a familiar story like an epic confession, full of elevated, almost literary dialogue that still cuts right to the bone. It frames the classic monster tale as a clash of wills and philosophies—creator versus creation, science versus faith, free will versus inevitability—using rich, precise language (“pain is evidence of intelligence,” “only monsters play God”) to make every exchange feel like an argument about what it means to be human. The structure moves from polar expedition thriller to gothic family drama to metaphysical horror, letting us inhabit both Victor’s feverish ambition and the Creature’s awakening consciousness, loneliness, and rage. Instead of cheap scares, the script lingers on images and lines that stick in your head: bodies as “composite subjects,” the “secret circulatory system” of the lymph, the Creature imagining himself as the “Spirit of the Forest,” or demanding not just life, but a companion. It’s that mix of poetic narration, philosophical monologues, and emotionally raw confrontations that makes this version of Frankenstein feel grand, haunted, and hard to forget.

Quotes from the movie Frankenstein by Guillermo del Toro (2025) with Oscar Isaac, Jacob Elordi, and Christoph Waltz.

– Sir, with respect… The men need assurances.
– Assurances?
– Yes, that we will head back to St. Petersburg once we free the ship.
– They don’t think we’ll be seaworthy for long and they want to know–
– Listen up! It is neither your place, nor the officer here, to think anything… We signed up for a mission and we will see it to completion.
We will reach the North Pole.

What is that thing? What does it want?

Bring him to me!

The blunderbuss. Larsen, get the blunderbuss!

– How many shots are left?
– One, but it can’t kill it.
– I know.
– I’m not aiming for him.

– Where am I?
– You are on the Royal Danish ship, Horisont. I’m Captain Anderson. This is Dr. Udsen.
– How many of your men did it kill?
– Six.
– It will come back and kill many more. All of you, if necessary, unless you deliver me to it.
– No, no. It’s gone. It sank in the freezing waters. It’s dead.
– No, it is not! It cannot die.

I have tried to destroy it.
Whether you believe me or not, it will come back… for me.
And when it does, you must promise that you will put me out on the ice and let it take me.

– What manner of creature is that? What manner of devil made him?
– I did. I did. I made him.

I had determined that the memory of my evils should die with me.

Some of what I will tell you is fact.
Some is not, but it is all true.

– My name is Victor. Victor Frankenstein.
It was my father who gave me that name.
Do you know what it means?
– I believe I do, yes. Conqueror. One that wins it all.
– Yes. It all started with him. My father. And my mother.

My father was a baron and a preeminent surgeon.
He had married my mother largely out of convenience, as her dowry was considerable and her lineage noble.
It furnished my father with the means to preserve his rank and family estate.
He was absent from our lives, but when he came home, the entire household bent to his will.

The rest of the time, Mother was mine.

The salts in the meat will enrich your blood, as well as the baby’s.
You eat for two, remember? Go on. It’s nutritious.

I would hear them through the wall, arguing incessantly, yelling at each other about wealth, estate… and me. Their voices filled me with fear.

The man despised us both.
Our raven black hair, our deep, dark eyes.
Even our quiet, at times nervous disposition seemed to exasperate him to no end.

– List as accurately as you can the ancient classification of the humors in the human body.
– Blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm.
– Average male heart. Weight?
– Nine to eleven ounces, Father.
– Average female heart. Weight?
– Eight to ten ounces.
– Why do you suppose that is? Difference in mass in female heart? Depth of emotion? Tendency to the melancholic?
– Mass. Volume of blood, Father. Muscular irrigation.
– Quite. There is no spiritual content in tissue, and no emotion in a muscle.
– Now, describe the main function of the tricuspid valve, please.
– I cannot recall, Father, but I’m sure I will remember.
– Yeah, I’m sure you will. Ivory does not bleed, Victor. Flesh does. By the time you remember a fact, your patient could be dead. You understand? The main function of the tricuspid valve is to prevent the reflux of blood into the vena cava.

– No, not your hands. Not anymore. They are now the instruments of your craft and will, and we must care for them. Your face, however, is vanity. You bear my name, Victor, and with it my reputation. I pray you remember that.

My mother, whom I had come to consider a part of my very self, she who I thought would never leave, she who was life… was now death.
Her eyes extinguished, her smile feeding the cold earth.

A part of the universe had been hollowed out and the firmament was now permanently dark.

William grew full of sunshine and smiles.
He was of a calmer, gentler disposition, clearly favored by my father.

He was the breeze, I was the storm cloud.
He was all laughter, I was all frowns.

There was something more. Or rather, something was missing.
My mother had died at the hands of the most distinguished doctor of his day:
My father.
An idea… took shape in my mind.

– Define the circulatory system, if you will…
Inevitable, unavoidable…
…as enunciated in De Motu Cordis.
…until it became truth.

– Father? You let her die, did you not?
– I did everything in my power to save her. You must know that.
– So you failed.
– No one can conquer death.
– Mm-hmm. I will. I will conquer it. Everything you know, I will know. And more.

I was born anew that night. I had a vision. I saw, for the first time… the Dark Angel.
And it made me a promise.
I would have command over the forces of life and death.
I would become every ounce the surgeon my father was.
I would surpass him in ambition and in reach.
The vision was so clear.
Clearer than anything I’d ever seen in my waking hours or dreams.
But how?
My downfall was swift.
Two revolts and a fire on my mother’s plantations dwindled the family fortune.
We kept the estate, but lost everything else.
William went to one side of the family in Vienna and I to London, then Edinburgh.
And there, for decades, I tried to… expand the narrow limits of academia.

Life.
This… is life, gentlemen.
We are born.
And no sooner do we rise, we fall.
Death.
And in the space between that rise and fall, our humble little purview.
Now, birth is not in our hands.
Is it?
Conception, that spark, the animation of thought and soul.
That is in God’s hands.
God.
But death.
Ah, now there lies the challenge.
That should be our concern.
It should be.
Who are we to do so? We are not gods, are we?
But if we are to behave as immodestly as gods, we must, at the very least, deliver miracles.
Wouldn’t you say?
Ignite a divine spark… in these young students’ minds.
Teach them defiance rather than obedience.
Show that man may pursue nature to her hiding places and stop death.
Not slow it down, but stop it entirely!

How exactly do you propose to teach what is impossible?

Composite subject, the body.
That of a shopkeeper, delivered mere moments after expiration.
The brain laid bare but functional, the spinal branches and vagal nerves intact.
You may observe the hair-thin scars.
No coarse stitching needed by my own technique.
The arm, you see, comes from another specimen, that of a carpenter.
The muscles, ligaments, nerves, all connected now.
Now, the spasmodic movement of the body caused from the electric current, this is not new.
It’s not new. However, the flow of energy through the body follows a different notion entirely.
An Eastern notion called qi.
Now, it considers the vital flow of energy both within and without.
I’m utilizing needles in six–

– Quiet! Sit down! This is a hearing, Doctor, not a carnival act. You’re not helping your cause, Victor. This galvanic trickery will simply not do. Trickery.
– Trickery? Are you sure?
That is not trickery. That is a decision.
Motor coordination between the eye of one dead man and the arm of another, infused with a new will and the rudiments of understanding.
– Understanding in a brain that already died?
– Release now. Please.
“Please” always helps.

– Turn that off at once. At once, you charlatan.
– This is the future. This is possible. Why not study it? Why not quantify it?
– This is unholy. An abomination. An obscenity! God gives life, and God takes it, Victor.
– Perhaps God is inept!
And it is we that must amend his mistakes!
Do not let these old fools extinguish your voice!
The answers only come when coaxed by disobedience, free of fear and cowardly dogma!

– Baron Frankenstein, my name is Heinrich Harlander, and I carry with me a letter of introduction from your brother, William.
– From my brother?
– I asked for the privilege of your acquaintance. It won’t take but a minute of your time.

– William has become quite successful in the world of finance. He’s making a name for himself.
– Ha! A name? For himself? Well, I’m afraid we both share that name, whether we like it or not.

– I read your article in The Lancet. You really believe you can do it? Assemble a man? A full new body? And give it life?
– You saw it today, didn’t you?
– What I saw was a crucifixion, really. You were done for before you uttered a word.
– I still showed them.
– What?
– The truth.
– They will forget by suppertime.

– I thought it was brilliant.
– It was. I know.
– But you are like a child, so excited, clutching your new pet so tightly that you’re strangling it.
That is why I worry about you. Can you contain your fire, Prometheus?
Or are you going to burn your hands before delivering it?

– This is a memento mori. The peach, symbol of life and youth, and you bite into it?
– I was hungry, Kiki.
– Don’t call me Kiki.

A young art, photography.

– You’re using the nervous system to deliver the surge of energy. Are you not?
– Correct.
– And thus the sustainability of the life force you command is very brief, wanes, evaporates.
– How so?
– At the lecture, you ended your demonstration out of pride.
But really, because the galvanic life force was already fading, was it not?
– Are you yourself a surgeon, sir?
– Yeah, once upon a time. An army surgeon. Not a particularly skilled one, either. But it allowed me to secure the rudiments of my fortune. I own a few ammunition factories.
– An arms merchant.
– A realist.

Are you familiar with the Evelyn Tables?
Acquired by Sir John Evelyn, there are four planks, meticulous dissection, some of the oldest in Europe, presenting the nerves, veins and arteries of cadavers.

But there’s a fifth one.
The most compelling one.
Exquisite, is it not?
Flesh rendered onto wood.
The cadaver lies on the plank, is peeled away layer by layer, and the remaining tissue is lacquered with resin onto the wood.
It showcases the lymphatic system.
Muslim medics called it the secret circulatory system.
It moves a mere three liters of fluid, but it’s a vast network.

The ninth configuration. A very delicate, almost ethereal structure surrounding the heart.
It can distribute, but also store energy.
Yes, if you can access that without destroying
– the surrounding tissue–
-No. Not through the front. The back, spinal column, thoracic curvature.
Flow of energy, scarring and regeneration beyond anyone’s imagination.
Life eternal.

– I will endow your pursuit with unlimited resources.
– And in exchange?
– No need to become indelicate. We’re searchers for truth and transcendence, kindred spirits. I may in time ask you for a favor in return, but it’s mostly the privilege to record your process for posterity.
– I work alone.
– I’m very quiet.

William Frankenstein and your niece, Herr Harlander.
– I shall consider it. I’ll consider it.
– Baron. Don’t pretend to be reasonable now. It would be such a shame.

– Look at you. My, you’ve grown.
– Through no merit of my own.

– May I introduce the woman I’m to marry. Lady Elizabeth Harlander.
– Absolutely delighted.

– Can’t say I was shocked when you were expelled, but the manner and virulence of your expulsion, uncalled for, I’m sure.
– No, it was called for. I earned it. I made it a point to earn it, wouldn’t you say, Herr Harlander?
– It was quite an exit, I assure you.
– Why provoke them? Why not just carry on without calling attention to yourself in such a manner?
– How safe, even by your standards, William. You almost sound like Father. He was a most tactful man, our father.
He was precise, discreet, measured.
I, on the other hand, fail to see why modesty is considered a virtue at all.
– Victor’s always been one to harvest attention. Even as children, I mitigated his voice by staying silent. Perhaps too much and far too many times, wouldn’t you say, Victor?
– If life can be regenerated, not as a mere simulation, but as a divine act by physical, chemical means, why whisper it?
You laugh?

– You’re amused?
– I must be, yes.
– Are my ideas not clear?
– You certainly expressed them loudly enough.
– Are they not worthwhile?
– Ideas are not worthwhile by themselves, I don’t believe.
– Enlighten me, please.
– Take the war, for example.
– William, cigar and brandy in my study? Surely you’ve heard my niece expound on the matter before.

– Pray, carry on. Ideas.
– Well… honor, country, valor. These surely are worthwhile, elevated ideas by themselves, wouldn’t you agree?
– Mm-hmm.
– And nevertheless, men are dying for them. In a decidedly un-elevated way, face down in the mud, choking on blood, screaming in pain.
Men that were fathers, brothers or sons to someone out there.
Men that were fed, cleaned and nursed and schooled into this world by their mothers, only to fall on a battlefield far away, far from those that provoke these tragedies.
Those men remain at home, untouched by blood or bayonet, their skin unpierced, their blankets warm and clean.
That is what happens when ideas are pursued by fools.
– And you think me a fool?
– Run to your brandy and cigars. The boys are waiting.

How often a man believes he’s met an angel or a devil, only to find it is all an illusion.
The game of chess we play… we play only against ourselves.

A few weeks later, I rode with William and Harlander to a lake near Vaduz across the channel.
The tower was built as a water filtration plant to irrigate the fields.
Public works, so construction was abandoned at the start of the war.
Not this war, the one before. Or the one before that, I cannot quite remember.

The moment I laid eyes on it…
The tower.
I could feel destiny calling.

The structure’s basically intact.
And there’s a chute going from top, right to the bottom.
I can arrange for your belongings.
We’ll bring them from Edinburgh.
Anything you need or want shall be granted.
– Anything?
– Anything.

I have secured William’s service for the duration of the project.

– I’ll need a holding cell. And an ice chamber close to the lab.
There are two pump reservoirs at the base of the tower.
– We’ll repurpose those.
– We shall need to recondition the steam engines.
– We’ll need enough fuel to make sure they run.
– There and there, four high-capacity voltaic batteries, positive and negative polarity, and a lightning rod system of pure silver telescoping down into the lab.
– Yes. My contractors can manufacture any and all equipment you may require.
– I take it then that we have an understanding?
– A bargain has been struck.

You, you’re lucky to be hanged. You would have died within the year.

– Herr Harlander promised me access to optimal specimens.
– Yeah, that he may have, your lordship, but as you well know, crime doesn’t pay, and it’s a poor showing of it we have here. They’re wretches every one of them.
– I’m sorry about that.

That’s a strong back. This one will do.

What would such a delicate, pious creature have to confess to?
As luck would have it, an opportunity presented itself,
and I…
I was about to find out.

– Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
– How long has it been since your last confession, my daughter?
– Barely a week, Father. I was in a convent.
– A week?
– Tsk-tsk. Have you so hastily committed sin?
– I have. Sin of intent, not deed.
– A man, is it?
– Yes.
– My fiancé’s brother.
– Lust?
– Hatred.
– Hatred…
– Hatred?
– The man is appalling, grotesque.
– Harsh words. Rather uncharitable, wouldn’t you say?
– Respectfully, Father, you do not know this man. He tries to control and manipulate everything and everyone around him.
Like every tyrant, he delights in playing the victim.
His only advantage, I would say, is he’s far cruder than he believes himself to be.
– Cruder? Uh, pray explain yourself, my child.
– For one, he’s easy to spot. You can see him… even on a busy street on market day.

– A romance… drenched in Mediterranean sun and silk and the skirmishes of love.
– Insulting, but unsurprising.
– Really? Insects?
– My interest in science leans towards the smallest things.
Moving with nature, perhaps the rhythms of God.
I’ve always searched for something more pure, marvelous.
– Is that what you were seeking in the convent?
– In a way.
– Was it worth it?
– Is anything?

– Permit me, sister.
– This hardly seems appropriate.
– Is anything?

And for the very first time, I became more interested in life and somewhat less interested in death.

Pure silver is a perfect conductor.

– Should we trap her or let her go?
– Mm… Trap her.
– Now we have something in common.
A prisoner.

As promised, William took dutiful charge of the laboratory build and needs.

Conduction points corresponding to the lymphatic system, which was quite complex.

French porcelain, chimes to a man’s stream.

– I am very near a solution, an access point to the lymphatic system.
– Ah, yeah, that. It’s been so long. The war is waning. And my funding will end with it.
– You said your funds were unlimited.
– My patience is not.

– I have it on good authority that a battle is to take place within a week. The tide of war will deliver its bounty to our shore.
– A battlefield?
– The bodies will be mangled. One week.
– One week?
– After that, history will pass us by.

I must warn you, Elizabeth, I’ve been working on a dissection.
– It’s beautiful.
– Does it shock you?
– Reminds me of martyrdom paintings.
– Pain is gone.
– You can see God’s design in the symmetry and the shapes.

– Elizabeth. I must confess something to you. I have a belief in the marvelous and so do you. There is a bond between us. Can you feel it? An almost physical one. I truly believe it to be something else.
– Believing something does not make it true.
– Then why are you here?
– Beautiful creature, is she not? Remote. Entirely bewitching, but so odd. Three hearts. Multiple eyes. White blood. And a fascinating lack of choice.
– I don’t understand.
– Choice is the seat of the soul. The one gift God granted us.
– Elizabeth…
– I have chosen.

Placing the battery above the lymphatic system.
I had found the key.
Nothing could stop me now.
Nothing.

No! No, do not take any bodies
from the top or the bottom of the pile unless I mark them.
Ice or rot may have destroyed the tissue.
Look only in the middle.
Abundance can be disorienting unless one hones one’s aim.
I’m favoring tall specimens, long limbs.
Scale will make the work easier.

Look for a head that’s intact.

– Are you ill?
– Thank you.
– Is it… syphilis?
– Yeah, I’m dying. One night with Venus, a lifetime with Mercury. Isn’t that the phrase?
– What stage? Secondary?
– We both know the precise schedule. It starts to eat away my bones,
orbital, cheek, teeth, jaw, skull, exposing my brain.
Tumors, madness, excruciating pain.
One fine morning, I will start to scream and I will never stop.
I cannot face such a vulgar demise.
Which brings me to my one condition.
Our deal. As agreed, in exchange for my generous intervention on your behalf.
And as we give life to our new Adam, I want to be placed in this new perfect body.
– No. No, no.
– Yes.
– Not now. Not now!
– Precisely now.
– We’ll talk about this after, not now.
– There is no after! There is no after. I gave you everything you wanted! I give you everything you ask for.
Name it, it’s yours.
Even Elizabeth.
Please. “Please” always helps.
– The disease has spread all inside of you. It’s systemic, and you know it.
Every organ in you is polluted.
Your brain, your blood, it’s all polluted.
– But my money’s not, is that it?
– It’s impossible.
– Now, all you need to say is one simple word. “Yes,” no more and no less.
– No! Do you understand? No!
What are you doing? Stop! Stop.
If we lose that, we have nothing. We both lose.
– I will be the eagle that feasts on your liver!

Victor!
Victor!

– Look. Same.
Sun.
Sun. Light.
Face it.
Sunlight. The sun is…
The sun is life.
Ah, the warmth. Huh?
Yes! Yes.
– Victor. Victor.

Everything was new to him.
Warmth, cold, light, darkness.
And I was there to mold him.
I never considered what would come after creation.
And having reached the edge of the earth, there was no horizon left.
The achievement felt unnatural.
Void of meaning.
And this troubled me so.

Weeks passed, and as his strength increased rapidly, mine waned.
Alas, no further language or development occurred.

I didn’t do this. You did this.
The wound.
It’s closed.
But how?

I know you have thoughts. I know.
I know you do.
Somewhere in there. Somewhere in there you have thoughts.

Is there anything else that you can say? Anything at all? Hmm?

Oh. Oh, oh. You are afraid of me?
You’re afraid of me?
Why? Why would you be afraid of me?
I’m not going to hurt you.
I’m not going to hurt you. I made you.
I’m your maker! Stop it!

Who hurt you?

– The man downstairs.
– You saw him?
– Is he a patient? A victim? His wounds. You wounded him like that.
– No, no, no. It was the world that hurt him, Elizabeth. I… I gave him life.

All its systems are functional.
All healing.
And the healing is erratic, yes.
But exceptional.

– Why is he chained here?
– For his own safety and for mine, and it’s easy to clean and, uh, maintain it. And it doesn’t know any better.
– But you do.

Victor, is it intelligent?

– Victor, did you ever ask yourself, of all the parts that make that man, which one holds the soul?
– No, I didn’t.

There’s something so disquieting about that creature down there. Askew, like a figure peeking around a funhouse mirror.

– A leaf? For me? Thank you. Isn’t it beautiful? This is for me?
I’m Elizabeth. Can you say “Elizabeth”?

– I believe there is life in it, but not the spark of intelligence that I had intended.
– Perhaps not as you understand it.

– Something went wrong. A blockage, a suture, a connection.
– You, the great Victor Frankenstein, you made a mistake?
– The Creature knows but one word, and one word alone. “Victor, Victor, Victor, Victor.” It just parrots it without rhyme or reason.
– Perhaps for the time being that word means everything to him.
What if in being anew, the spirit that animates him is simpler, purer–
– Purer? Purer than that of the common man?
– What if, unrestrained by sin, our creator’s breath came into its wounded flesh directly?
– Good God, Elizabeth. If I could force myself to believe it, it would be my inclination to see attraction in you for that thing.

– In those eyes I saw pain, and what is pain if not evidence of intelligence?
– What about my pain? What about what you have denied me? What my heart wants…
– Your heart? Of all the human anatomy, that is the organ furthest from your understanding.

Only monsters play God, Baron.

Purer than the common man, hmm? And I, somehow, the villain.

Your heart is pure?
I assure you it isn’t.
I should know. I put it there.

Give me your leg!
Pain is evidence of intelligence, is it not?
Well, let’s test the theory.

– I failed. I made a mistake.
– No, you didn’t fail. I saw your papers.
-I did. The Creature is extremely dangerous.

Something I have to show you.
– Ha– Harlander… – In a fit of rage, he killed him. Do you understand now why I was hesitant to share this with you?

Tell her something urgent came up and you have to leave immediately.
Keep her in the dark.
For her own safety.

– The Creature, what’s its lifespan, you think?
– Brief. Very brief, I’m sure.

I have the most terrible feeling.

Turn the carriage around or I will jump. He’s going to kill him.

Say one word.
One word more. Anything.
Make me save you.

But that was not the end of it.
In seeking life, I created death.

Take me.
Go on, beast.
Kill us both. Confirm your maker’s tale.

My maker… told his tale.
Then I will tell you mine.

I called your name and understood I was alone.

My wounds had healed.
But I felt cold, so cold.

We followed it for a while and then it disappeared. Gone.

– That was no bear or human. I’ve never seen anything like it.
– Was it a ghost, then?
– It was no ghost. We drew blood. It was flesh and bone.

The old man moved me.
And his unseeing eyes were full of wisdom.

These people possessed a sound.
Used it to tell each other about feelings and ideas.
They called them words.

I longed to be part of this family.
To be their benefactor.
What could I possibly do for them?

Look, Anna-Maria!
Look, there’s more! Look!
Who could have done this?
The Spirit of the Forest.
We should thank him.

From then on, I became their invisible guardian.
The Spirit of the Forest.
And on occasion, they too extended a small kindness towards me.
Clothes, bread.
And for a moment, a brief, brief moment, the world and I were at peace.

An idea, a feeling became clear to me.
The hunter did not hate the wolf.
The wolf did not hate the sheep.
But violence felt inevitable between them.
Perhaps, I thought, this was the way of the world.
It would hunt you and kill you just for being who you are.

It’s just you and I now, Spirit. Just you and I.

And I had formed in my imagination many ways I would present myself to the old man.
Would he fear me?
Welcome me?
Turn me away?
Who goes there?
With a single step, I entered a different world.
One I had only seen from afar.

– Please, who is it? Answer me. Tell me. Why are you here?
– Travel.
– Welcome, dear traveler. Do not think me ungrateful for the company if I ask you to procure a chair. I… I find it difficult being a good host.
– Yes.
– My… My sight has failed me. But there is bread and brandy on the table. Pray help yourself.
– Bran… dy?
– Your language. You have a hard time speaking it. Are you not from these parts? Are you afraid? No need to be. What are you afraid of?
– Everything.
– Your… your hands are frozen and you’ve been hurt, have you not?
– Hurt?
– Yes. Your hands and face have scars and you are wearing uniform. Were you injured in battle? You were hiding in the mill gears, were you not? Ah! Yeah. Yeah. The Spirit of the Forest.
– Yes.
– I cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your voice which persuades me of your goodwill and kindness.
– Kindness?
– Mm. Stay with me. Share my food and fire. I would be delighted to share what little I have with you and would be greatly helped by your companionship. And you… you could read to me.

– Make this your home and I your friend.
– Friend.
– Friend.
– Friends.

And it was then that I read my first story, and it was the first story.
I read about a man named Adam and a woman named Eve, about their time in the first garden.
I read about the rise of rival cities and the collapse of a tower and the wrath of a God.
And I read about men that fought dragons and men who lost everything.
And time passed and fell away with the leaves of autumn.

Have you never seen the snow, my dear friend?
It makes the world clean… and new.

“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings.”
“Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.”
“No thing beside remains.”
“Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare.”
“The lone and level sands stretch far away.”
“My name is Ozymandias…”

Are there more books than this in the world?
A few more, I’m sure.

Last book on the left. Take it.
We haven’t got to it.
Paradise Lost, Milton.
Man has questions for God.
Even God has questions.
I think he wanted answers and that is why he sent us his son.

– I want to know who I am. Where do I come from?
– God took your memory just as I wish he would take mine away. Many years ago, I took a man’s life.
A good man.
And I have been atoning for it since.
Forgive.
Forget.
The true measure of wisdom.
To know you have been harmed, by whom you have been harmed, and choose to let it all fade.

– But I cannot forget what I cannot remember.
– Do you recall nothing?
– In my dreams…
…I… see memories.
Different men.
All… pieces.
I…
I remember f… fire and water.
And sand under my feet.
And a word.
A single word.
– What is it?
– Victor.
– Go to it. The word.

And then I learned it.
The horror of the truth.
I understood that I was nothing.
A wretch.
A blot.
Not even of the same nature as man.
This hurt clung to my mind.
It never let go.
Then I saw it.
Your name.
“Victor Frankenstein.”
And where to find you.

– I found what I am.
What I am made from.
I am… the child of a charnel house.
A wreckage.
Assembled from refuse and the discarded dead.
A monster.
– I know what you are.
A good man.
And… you are my friend.
– Friend?
– Friend.

There was silence again, and then… merciless life.

How long did I die for?
I do not know.
But I saw my injuries healed.
The cold winter air stung in my lungs.
I felt lonelier than ever, because for every man there was but one remedy to all pain: Death, a gift you too had denied me.

Envy rose within me and decided to demand a single grace from you.
My creator.
I would demand… a companion.

– I’ve spoken to a few guests about the inquest.
About the explosion.
The majority accept it for what it was.
– And what was it, William?
– The past, Victor. A terrible accident.

– I know it is bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.
– Only for the groom.
– Yes, that’s right. Not for me.

– Hello, Elizabeth.
I’ve rarely felt remorse before and now I feel little else. I…
A fever gripped me for so long, but it has passed, and I see you now as I should.
For whatever it’s worth, I… I wish you and my little brother, who I love more than life, the very best.
– You may like to believe you do.
And I dread to even hear it.
On my wedding day, I ask you but for a single grace.
No more lies.

– Come out of the shadows, if you are here.
Are you here to thank me?
You survived and are intelligent enough to have found me.
I made you well.
– I need you to make a companion for me.
One like me.
– A com… A companion?
Oh. I see. Another monster.
– Yes. We can be monsters together.
– I have found sanity at such a cost, and you here… are madness calling me back.
– I cannot die. And I cannot live… alone.
– In you I have created something truly horrible.
– Not something. Someone. You made someone. Me.

– Whatever puzzle I am, creator, I think.
I feel.
I have this sole petition…
Make one like me.
– And then what? Procreation. Reproduction. A home? A grave? Death begetting death begetting death.
A race of devils propagated upon the earth.
Obscenity perpetuating itself.
– I am obscene to you, but to myself I simply am.
– Begone! Never again will I make something like you, wicked and deformed.
– Then it is still all about your will, Victor.

That horrible, horrible will that birthed me condemns me now?
The miracle is not that I should speak, but that you would ever listen!
If you are not to award me love, then I will indulge in rage.
And mine is infinite.

– Elizabeth, move away from it!
– No! It attacked her! It attacked her!

Take me with you.

– I can save you.
– From what? From you?

– I fear you, Victor.
– No, no…
– I always have.
Every ounce of madness and destruction.
The very conflagration that devoured everything.
It all came from you.
You are the monster.

My place was never in this world.
I sought and longed for something I could not quite name.
But in you, I found it.
To be lost and to be found, that is the lifespan of love.
And in its brevity, its tragedy…
this has been made eternal.
Better this way… to fade…
with your eyes gazing upon me.

She is gone and I long to follow.
You gave me life unwanted.
I give that back to you.
You thought me a monster.
Now I return the favor.

You may be my creator, but from this day forward, I will be your master.

You hunted me past the forests,
past the mountains,
past frozen horizons,
until there was nothing left.
Just you… and me.

Victor.
You only listen when I hurt you.

This. You put your faith in this.
You think this will unmake me.

Light it then and hope it does, but if it does not,
I will come for you again.
Light it!
Now… run.

So, there you were, broken and discarded.
And I, alive again.
I could feel my singed flesh regrowing.
The crackling of my bones resetting.
The murmur of my blood pumping through my incessant heart.
And once more finding no mercy, I had but one path.
And here we are.
Spent and done.
No more in us to give or take.

The blood outside the tent… It is mine.
All mine.
I will bleed.
Ache.
Suffer.
You see, it will never end.
I am sorry.
Regret consumes me.
And I now regard my life for what it was.
You will go now, creator.
Fade away.
It will all be but a brief moment.
My birth. My grief.
Your loss.
I will not be punished.
Nor absolved.
What hope I had, what rage…
It is all nothing.
The tide that brought me here now comes to take you away.
Leaving me stranded.

Forgive me.
My son.
And if you have it in your heart, forgive yourself into existence.
If death is not to be, then consider this, my son.
While you are alive,
what recourse do you have but to live?
Live.

– Say my name.
My father gave me that name, and it meant nothing.
Now I ask you to give it back to me… one last time.
The way you said it at the beginning.
When it meant the world to you.
– Victor.
– I forgive you.
– Rest now, Father. Perhaps now, we can both be human.

– Weapons down. Put the weapons down!
-I am responsible for my men.
He can leave.
We are free!
We are free!
– Captain… What are your orders?
– Man the sails. Turn around.
– Do you want to tell the men?
– Men! We’re sailing home! We’re sailing home!