By Tequila Mockingbird
We watched Frankenstein — and it was absolutely horrific, fabulous, gruesome, and beautiful all at once. Every frame dripped with gothic brilliance, every performance was award-worthy, and the direction was pure genius — the kind that only comes from a mind living on the razor’s edge between brilliance and madness.
This Frankenstein reminds us of something deeply human — that the true monster isn’t the stitched-together creature gasping for life, but Victor Frankenstein himself. The so-called “monster” is the real innocent, a tragic victim of circumstance and neglect, doomed by his creator’s ambition and society’s fear.
It’s a haunting mirror of our own world — where those who dare to create often destroy, and those who are misunderstood are the ones who feel most deeply.
