There’s always been something inherently cinematic about the tension in Frankenstein — that mix of awe and rot, creation and destruction. Guillermo del Toro, known for his unique empathy toward the monstrous, has often gravitated toward stories where the creature is a misunderstood being longing for love and acceptance. In films like Pan’s Labyrinth, The Shape of Water, and Crimson Peak, del Toro’s monsters embody the sorrow and beauty of being outcast, often reflecting the darker aspects of humanity. His cinematic approach to Frankenstein would undoubtedly be filled with empathy, transforming the classic horror tale into a tale of broken-hearted creation.
But long before del Toro’s poignant explorations of monstrous empathy, a radically different version of Frankenstein emerged from the depths of pop art and avant-garde cinema. This was not a story that whispered about sorrow or trauma. Instead, it screamed through a haze of decadence, sex, and aristocratic decay. Flesh for Frankenstein, directed by Paul Morrissey and marketed as Andy Warhol’s Frankenstein, was a fever dream that upended the tragic romanticism of Mary Shelley’s creation. Imagine Hammer Horror blended with A Clockwork Orange, filtered through the sleazy lens of Rocky Horror Picture Show, and you might begin to understand where Morrissey’s interpretation resides.
In this version, Frankenstein becomes an exploration of excess, control, and the grotesque, abandoning remorse in favor of ironic, campy body horror. It’s a vision of the Frankenstein myth far removed from del Toro’s emotional landscapes — one that’s cold, synthetic, and perverse, a stark contrast to the human-centered empathy del Toro crafts so beautifully in his films.
Overview Table: Key Comparisons Between Del Toro’s and Morrissey’s Frankenstein
| Aspect | Guillermo del Toro’s Vision | Paul Morrissey’s Flesh for Frankenstein |
|---|---|---|
| Tone | Lush, romantic, tragic | Darkly comic, grotesque, perverse |
| Monster’s Nature | Sympathetic, humanized | Detached, grotesque, absurd |
| Creator’s Motive | Seeking redemption through creation | Obsessive control, eugenics, power |
| Cultural/Artistic Influence | Gothic romance, fairy tale-like storytelling | Pop art, exploitation cinema, camp |
| Emotional Impact | Empathy for the monster and creator | Discomfort, laughter, and horror through absurdity |
| Visual Style | Rich, mythic visuals, often painterly | Stark, exaggerated, campy with 3D violence |
A Frankenstein for Andy Warhol’s Factory
In the early 1970s, the cultural hum of Andy Warhol’s Factory was still alive, buzzing with creativity, collapse, and excess. Paul Morrissey, a director known for films like Flesh and Trash, stepped into this environment to produce a version of Frankenstein that was far from the gothic tragic tale most viewers were familiar with. Instead of portraying Frankenstein’s monster as an outcast longing for love, Morrissey took the myth and transformed it into a cynical, grotesque satire.
Warhol’s involvement in the film, however, was minimal. The “Warhol” branding was more of a marketing gimmick; Warhol lent his name and logo to the project, but Morrissey ran the show. The film was shot in Italy with an Italian crew, and Morrissey crafted a narrative not focused on the sorrow of the monster, but rather on the exploration of how far the creators — specifically the aristocratic and egotistical Baron von Frankenstein — could take their obsession with creating the perfect being. The film became less about creation as redemption and more about creation as a perverse expression of power, control, and disgust.
As Morrissey himself put it, “Flesh for Frankenstein is not about mourning the monster. It’s about showing the absurdity of creation, of taking something so pure as life and turning it into a grotesque commodity.”
From Midnight Movie to Arthouse Ancestor
Flesh for Frankenstein debuted in 1973 as a midnight movie in 3-D — a shocking, disturbing ride that went against the grain of what audiences expected from a Frankenstein adaptation. Bodies arrive in crates, organs are launched toward the camera in gruesome 3-D effects, and bloodlines, sexual repression, and violence swirl in a toxic cocktail.
In the film, Baron von Frankenstein, played by Udo Kier, is not simply obsessed with creating life. He is obsessed with creating the “perfect Serbian race,” a vision that leads him and his sister (who he is also married to) to stitch together body parts from various corpses. This dark and twisted fixation highlights the perverse nature of the aristocrat’s desires, showing how Frankenstein’s myth can turn from tragedy into a grotesque, elite joke about manipulation and control over bodies. The film embraces the decay of the upper class with relish, pushing boundaries of what was acceptable in mainstream cinema at the time.
Unlike del Toro’s work, which makes viewers empathize with the monster’s humanity, Morrissey’s film removes any notion of empathy, replacing it with dark humor and a cold, synthetic portrayal of life and death. The monsters in Morrissey’s world do not weep for their existence — they laugh at it, or at least sputter in agony, but the laughs are part of the horror. There is no room for sentimentalism here; instead, the grotesque is fetishized and celebrated in a deliberately campy, ironic fashion.
A Cinematic Shift: Flesh for Frankenstein vs. Del Toro’s Tragic Monsters
The stark contrast between Flesh for Frankenstein and del Toro’s typical approach to the Frankenstein myth highlights two divergent sensibilities. In del Toro’s world, the monster is always imbued with longing, heartache, and vulnerability. Films like Pan’s Labyrinth and The Shape of Water celebrate the monster as a misunderstood being, exploring the loneliness and pain that comes with being different. For del Toro, the monster is a reflection of humanity itself, and the tragedy lies in the monster’s yearning to be seen, loved, and understood.
Morrissey, on the other hand, stripped away the sentimentalism, presenting a Frankenstein that is less about tragic creation and more about absurdity and exploitation. The Baron’s obsession with the perfect race, his bizarre, perverse experiments, and his view of the human body as an object to be controlled and manipulated, takes the Frankenstein myth into a realm of dark satire. His creature, far from tragic, is a grotesque reflection of the creator’s moral decay, with no empathy in sight.
Yet, despite their differences, both films share a common thread: the exploration of creation and destruction. Both del Toro and Morrissey portray the monster as an extension of creator guilt, human failure, and longing. The difference lies in how they treat that failure. For del Toro, it is a failure that seeks redemption, while for Morrissey, it is a failure that revels in its own grotesque, absurd nature.
Frankenstein Movie Comparisons: Del Toro vs. Morrissey
Here’s a breakdown comparing the two distinct approaches to the Frankenstein myth:
| Aspect | Guillermo del Toro’s Vision | Paul Morrissey’s Flesh for Frankenstein |
|---|---|---|
| Tone | Lush, romantic, tragic | Darkly comic, grotesque, perverse |
| Monster’s Nature | Sympathetic, humanized | Detached, grotesque, absurd |
| Creator’s Motive | Seeking redemption through creation | Obsessive control, eugenics, power |
| Cultural/Artistic Influence | Gothic romance, fairy tale-like storytelling | Pop art, exploitation cinema, camp |
| Emotional Impact | Empathy for the monster and creator | Discomfort, laughter, and horror through absurdity |
| Visual Style | Rich, mythic visuals, often painterly | Stark, exaggerated, campy with 3D violence |
Flesh for Frankenstein: The Weird, Chaotic Precursor to Modern Horror
When Flesh for Frankenstein first hit theaters, it was seen as an absurd, boundary-pushing spectacle. Its blend of camp, gore, and exploitation made it a midnight movie favorite, but it wasn’t just a temporary shock. Over time, the film has been recognized as an influential precursor to the kind of boundary-blurring horror seen in modern indie and arthouse films. Critics later noted the film’s “assured sense of camp” — its ability to wink at the Frankenstein myth while delivering visceral, shocking moments.
Today, the film’s legacy lives on in arthouse horror. It has influenced filmmakers who are comfortable experimenting with the grotesque and absurd, creating works that are not afraid to explore the boundaries between horror and humor, between tragedy and exploitation. Morrissey’s film may not soften the monster for empathy, but in opening up the myth to absurdity, it made the Frankenstein story adaptable again. It showed that the myth could be pushed, twisted, and re-imagined in ways that challenge the viewer, forcing them to confront the grotesque with both discomfort and laughter.
FAQs
No, the film is rated X and contains explicit violence, sexual themes, and grotesque imagery. It was designed as a boundary-pushing midnight movie, so it is definitely not for everyone.
Warhol’s involvement in the film was minimal — his name and logo were used primarily as a branding tool. However, the connection to Warhol’s avant-garde pop art influence is felt in the film’s use of irony, exploitation, and surreal visuals.
Yes, both films explore the theme of creation and the consequences of playing God. However, while del Toro focuses on empathy and human emotion, Morrissey’s version is a critique of aristocratic control and the grotesque manipulation of the human body.
