For Del Toro's version of Frankenstein, food is an unlikely yet vital conduit to connection. It becomes a metaphor for the tenderest acts of kindness and a bridge between two worlds – one of creation and the other of cruelty. This isn't about culinary masterpieces; it's more about sustenance as a visual shorthand for humanity.
The film follows Mary Shelley's original tale: after Victor Frankenstein abandons him in flames, The Creature is left chained to burn down in his own fiery prison. He escapes into a frozen wilderness where humans react with instinctive horror and ultimately shoot him – the first hint that this creature might be invulnerable. Despite his immense size, he remains fascinated by humanity and finds himself drawn to their life.
In a modest hut on the forest's edge, The Creature begins to help the family with various tasks under the cover of night. The children notice these blessings and attribute them to a benevolent forest spirit. This is when The Creature learns generosity – that first human gesture in his life. Guillermo del Toro brings this tender scene into focus: a massive figure perched on the rooftop, legs splayed, face tilted toward the sun as he bites into one of their loaves.
This tableau holds immense importance because it reveals everything about the story – the Creature yearning for connection even before he learns to speak. Food becomes an image of humanity in his life, and it helps ground him to earth despite the isolation. Every gesture involving nourishment conveys a human quality that resonates deeply in this monstrous narrative.
The film closely follows Shelley's novel: The Creature begins with primitive meals – acorns plucked from trees, fistfuls of berries, icy water from a stream. His journey progresses as he learns to tend fires and appreciates how they can make food palatable. A pivotal moment occurs when he encounters the De Lacey family. Through weeks of observing them, he realizes that his actions have caused misery – hunger, not because their poverty was anything other than genuine struggle. The Creature decides to repay them with labor, devotion, and silence, eventually winning their trust.
However, this vision of connection is short-lived in a world hostile to the idea of an immortal creature being humanized. The Blind Man's kindness offered freely becomes a moment that draws The Creature out from his isolation. This kindness has been absent for so long – and it stings deeply because he recognizes its beauty.
As circumstances spiral, cruelty reasserts itself, and The Creature is left heartbroken once again. In this darkness, an alternate ending lingers in our minds – an image of domesticity where two lonely figures pass the winter sharing bread and tending fires together. But that's not the story Del Toro chose to tell.
In a moment almost as crucial, after the Blind Man realizes The Creature isn't a monster but his own creation, he invites him to stay by offering bread and brandy on the table – an act of kindness so open-hearted it becomes painful. This is where our imaginations are allowed to wander into what could have been if this kind world existed in reality.
However, such tranquility is shattered in the end as Victor destroys The Creature's chance for a peaceful life with a companion like himself. So he begins dreaming of building a new world – one shaped by kindness and acceptance rather than fear and cruelty. His proposal to meet with Victor leaves us with a vision that feels almost Edenic: two creations living off sun-drenched fruit, sleeping on beds of dried leaves, wanting nothing more than solitude.
Yet it's doomed from the start because Victor cannot see beyond his own fears and biases. The film ultimately returns to devastation – a creature for whom life had briefly been a gentle tapestry that he was forced to tear apart. Yet what lingers long after the darkness recedes are those small, luminous moments of food sharing as a bridge to humanity.
These scenes remind us that connection is forged in the simplest gestures and are a testament to how nourishment can transcend our differences.
The film follows Mary Shelley's original tale: after Victor Frankenstein abandons him in flames, The Creature is left chained to burn down in his own fiery prison. He escapes into a frozen wilderness where humans react with instinctive horror and ultimately shoot him – the first hint that this creature might be invulnerable. Despite his immense size, he remains fascinated by humanity and finds himself drawn to their life.
In a modest hut on the forest's edge, The Creature begins to help the family with various tasks under the cover of night. The children notice these blessings and attribute them to a benevolent forest spirit. This is when The Creature learns generosity – that first human gesture in his life. Guillermo del Toro brings this tender scene into focus: a massive figure perched on the rooftop, legs splayed, face tilted toward the sun as he bites into one of their loaves.
This tableau holds immense importance because it reveals everything about the story – the Creature yearning for connection even before he learns to speak. Food becomes an image of humanity in his life, and it helps ground him to earth despite the isolation. Every gesture involving nourishment conveys a human quality that resonates deeply in this monstrous narrative.
The film closely follows Shelley's novel: The Creature begins with primitive meals – acorns plucked from trees, fistfuls of berries, icy water from a stream. His journey progresses as he learns to tend fires and appreciates how they can make food palatable. A pivotal moment occurs when he encounters the De Lacey family. Through weeks of observing them, he realizes that his actions have caused misery – hunger, not because their poverty was anything other than genuine struggle. The Creature decides to repay them with labor, devotion, and silence, eventually winning their trust.
However, this vision of connection is short-lived in a world hostile to the idea of an immortal creature being humanized. The Blind Man's kindness offered freely becomes a moment that draws The Creature out from his isolation. This kindness has been absent for so long – and it stings deeply because he recognizes its beauty.
As circumstances spiral, cruelty reasserts itself, and The Creature is left heartbroken once again. In this darkness, an alternate ending lingers in our minds – an image of domesticity where two lonely figures pass the winter sharing bread and tending fires together. But that's not the story Del Toro chose to tell.
In a moment almost as crucial, after the Blind Man realizes The Creature isn't a monster but his own creation, he invites him to stay by offering bread and brandy on the table – an act of kindness so open-hearted it becomes painful. This is where our imaginations are allowed to wander into what could have been if this kind world existed in reality.
However, such tranquility is shattered in the end as Victor destroys The Creature's chance for a peaceful life with a companion like himself. So he begins dreaming of building a new world – one shaped by kindness and acceptance rather than fear and cruelty. His proposal to meet with Victor leaves us with a vision that feels almost Edenic: two creations living off sun-drenched fruit, sleeping on beds of dried leaves, wanting nothing more than solitude.
Yet it's doomed from the start because Victor cannot see beyond his own fears and biases. The film ultimately returns to devastation – a creature for whom life had briefly been a gentle tapestry that he was forced to tear apart. Yet what lingers long after the darkness recedes are those small, luminous moments of food sharing as a bridge to humanity.
These scenes remind us that connection is forged in the simplest gestures and are a testament to how nourishment can transcend our differences.
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It's like, you know when you finally find someone who gets you, but then they just throw it all away? 
It's so heartbreaking. And I love how food is used as this universal language that transcends everything else in the story. Like, even in a world where The Creature is seen as a monster, he finds comfort and connection through sharing a meal with someone... 
The thing with Guillermo del Toro's version of Frankenstein is, it's all about the little things. How food brings people together, even when everyone else is scared of this giant creature. It's like, we're all just trying to survive and find some warmth in each other's company. And then there's that ending... ugh 
. IT'S LIKE, EVEN THOUGH THE CREATURE IS MONSTROUS ON THE OUTSIDE, HE'S GOT THIS HUMAN SIDE THAT HE LEARNS THROUGH SMALL ACTS OF KINDNESS LIKE EATING TOGETHER AND HELPING WITH HOUSEHOLD CHORES 
. IT SHOWS US THAT CONNECTION CAN HAPPEN IN THE MOST UNLIKELY PLACES, EVEN BETWEEN BEINGS WHO SEEM SO DIFFERENT 
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... it makes me wonder, what would be a politician's role in bridging the gap between 'fear' and 'kindness' when it comes to treating those who are different from us? 
guillermo del toro is literally a genius 
he makes me cry just thinking about the creature's story 
his way of showing connection through food is pure magic 
it's not just about what we eat but how it brings us together and makes us human 
i love how he portrays the monster as someone who yearns for connection even before he learns to speak 
it's like, yeah that's all of us at some point right? 
it makes sense why the creature would be drawn to kindness & connection through food, especially when hes feelin isolated n lonely 