Vital organs of the same cinematic body, the artists who handcrafted Guillermo del Toro’s imposing “Frankenstein” helped ensure the experience of watching it feels immersive.

“When a movie is the best possible incarnation of itself, it’s a universe you fall into; as the youth says, it’s a vibe,” Del Toro says during an interview at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, where he was in attendance to screen a restoration of his 1992 feature debut, “Cronos.”

Like Victor Frankenstein, who diligently selects body parts from corpses to stitch together his humanoid creation, the Mexican director carefully assembled his troupe of movie magicians. Of course, their talents mattered immensely to him, but so did their drive and their willingness to participate in the “team sport” of filmmaking.

“The cohesive personality of the film, the expressiveness of the film, depends on every aspect being orchestrated without an ego,” Del Toro says. “Each department sustains the department next to them.”

Del Toro clearly knows how to pick them. The Envelope recently caught up with makeup effects veteran Mike Hill, seasoned production designer Tamara Deverell, costume virtuosa Kate Hawley and acclaimed composer Alexandre Desplat, all Oscar-nominated for their work on “Frankenstein.”

And just like organs that constantly communicate with each other, their work is intimately intertwined. Nothing is conceived in isolation on a Del Toro film. “We all know what everyone’s doing within the different departments, so we all echo each other,” says Hawley.

In casting his acolytes, Del Toro seeks the alchemy that only human minds and hands can accomplish building tangible worlds. “The audience knows when something is digital, and when something has been crafted with real materials,” Del Toro explains. “I really believe people can tell the difference. Maybe they can’t articulate it, but they can feel it.”

Hill agrees. His mandate to create the prosthetics and makeup that transformed Jacob Elordi into the Creature aimed to make him look like an artwork that Victor Frankenstein handcrafted. Every part of him was by design, with the scars on his body reflecting incisions that those studying human anatomy in the 18th century would have made.

“If the monster felt fake, we would’ve lost the movie,” says Hill. “The Creature had to feel real. Not to put down VFX, but there’s a human quality they can’t catch.”

For Deverell, “Frankenstein” represented both the continuation of a creative partnership that dates back to the 1990s and an opportunity to showcase her multi-faceted skills. “Guillermo and I speak in a language of art history, and he is steeped in cinematic history,” she says.

With a team of technicians and craftspeople, Deverell constructed breathtaking sets, including Victor’s laboratory with giant batteries that required intricate steam and lighting mechanisms.

Undoubtedly, her pièce de resistance is the full-size Arctic ship where the opening sequence unfolds. Though the production considered existing vessels, none of them measured up. “There were specific action beats that Guillermo wanted, and a look that we all wanted,” she says. “To have complete creative control, there’s only one way to do it.”

To anyone who disagreed with the need for a ship, Del Toro would explain that it was not an extravagance. “It’s actually what tells the audience the scale of the movie,” he says.

The first half hour of the film, Del Toro believes, establishes its ambition and operatic quality. There are no digital doubles in that sequence, but real stunt performers aboard a ship that’s not a miniature but a massive structure that moves thanks to a giant gimbal.

It’s the way Del Toro pursues ideas by way of collaboration that brings Hawley back to his worlds (she even worked with him on his unmade version of “The Hobbit”). She’s learned to conceive her pieces considering that in his movies real water, mud, snow and fake blood might be in play.

“There’s something that happens with real materiality, real construction, there’s an alchemy to it,” Hawley says. “What a fabric does and performs is not always predictable, but the outcome and the potential you see in something then becomes the magic.”

As production timelines get shorter and A.I. utilization creeps into the filmmaking process, Hawley believes artists are trying to hold onto the craft as much as possible. “We came here to build worlds,” she says. “That’s what we did as kids. That’s what we do. This is our church.”

Del Toro admits he can be a “pain in the ass,” especially when dealing with his film’s production design and makeup effects. He atones by constantly reassuring his artisans. “They need to know that even if you are torturing them you admire them,” he says.

The only element of the film where Del Toro actively hopes to be surprised is the score. And Desplat is committed to delivering.

“Writing music is using your imagination. It’s not using references. It makes no sense to me,” says Desplat, who believes most scores today sound like work that has come before. “I hear many composers use references, but what for? That’s not what we do. We have the film to be inspired by. That’s enough.”

For “Frankenstein” — his third creature movie with Del Toro, after “The Shape of Water” and “Pinocchio” — Desplat thus avoided Gothic compositions to create a counterpoint to the images, highlighting the fragility of Elordi’s Creature, who he thinks of as the core of the film.

Also tying together the film’s craftsmanship is Del Toro’s awards campaign for “Frankenstein,” which he’s navigated to the tune of “F— AI.” The chant has resonated with those fighting to keep art made by humans for humans. “Frankenstein,” in turn, is the director’s latest monument to the beauty of imperfection.

“Art is the thing that we should never let go of, never surrender to mechanization or artificial intelligence,” Del Toro adds. “We need to grasp on it because this is the last point of contact between humans.”

It’s hard to imagine people having lukewarm reactions to the new time-travel comedy that’s so Canadian they should be selling poutine at the concession stand. Matt Johnson’s mockumentary creation clearly has its ardent fans. It’s a feature-length spin-off of both a successful web and television series in its native country. Based on early reviews and reports from film festivals, many people find it hilarious.

Well, no disrespect to the unrealized 51st state, but I found Nirvanna the Band the Show the Movie to be as sophomoric as its title. Paying lavish homage to, if not outright plagiarizing from, Back to the Future and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, this overly meta farce beats its mildly silly jokes so steadily into the ground that it’s not so much a case of diminishing returns as humor abuse.

It would probably help to be a Torontonian, since the film features a plethora of gags relating to the city that features so prominently in the proceedings. The story begins in 2008, with best friends/musicians Johnson and Jay McCarrol desperately trying to score a gig at Toronto’s legendary club The Rivoli (footage is incorporated from the web series). Cut to 17 years later, when Matt and Jay are still trying to score that gig, with Matt, who resembles Doc Brown with his outrageous ideas, coming up with the perfect publicity stunt to achieve their goal.

It involves going to the top of the city’s CN Tower and parachuting down into the adjacent stadium during a Blue Jays game.  The idea is that the fan frenzy over their subsequent announcement that they’re playing that night at the Rivoli will surely force the club to follow through.

The outlandish stunt fails spectacularly (you’ll have to see the movie to find out how), inducing Jay to come up with an even wackier idea involving a makeshift time machine in their rundown RV. Somehow, the plan, literally fueled by the long-defunct novelty drink Orbitz (I told you that you need to be Canadian to get all the jokes), succeeds in transporting the duo, along with their ever-following unseen cameraman, back to 2008. Cue the inevitable jokes about such things as Bill Cosby still being revered as “America’s Dad” and, more specifically Canadian, Jian Ghomeshi still hosting his CBC radio show.

For reasons both too silly and too complicated to go into, the two men’s friendship ends and Jay winds up becoming a huge pop star as a solo act — and eventually, a fugitive from the law. And that’s one of the more believable plot elements.

Johnson, who garnered acclaim for his 2023 film BlackBerry, displays plenty of technical ingenuity in this effort, from the blending of old and new footage to the convincing sequence in which the two men jump off the CN Tower to the improvised scenes in which the performers interact with unwitting civilians. And some of the segments are slightly amusing in a Sacha Baron Cohen sort of way, as when Matt and Jay go into a Canadian Tire store and ask an unruffled employee to help them find the proper equipment for their impending illegal stunt.

But for all their aspirations to be a Canadian Bill and Ted, this duo lacks the lovability factor that Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter brought to those endearing characters. Matt in particular is so grating that it makes Jay’s eventual wanting no part of him all too relatable. Both characters prove so annoying that it only demonstrates the endless politeness of Canadians who have to engage with them.

Indeed, the film’s funniest elements are the endless times that Matt and Jay say “Sorry” and “Thank you” as they chaotically blunder their way through the city. But it’s still not enough. 

Thanks to Bad Bunny, it’s been a banner month for us Puerto Ricans.

Coming off the heels of his emotional, history-making Grammy win for album of the year, which made it the first time an all Spanish-language album has won the category, Bad Bunny continued to break ground on Sunday with his Super Bowl halftime performance.

As Latines in the United States, we’re still struggling to be properly and proportionately represented in Hollywood, politics and in the music industry, where Latin artists have been historically boxed into smaller roles, limited to exotic window dressing in the anglophone-dominated landscape of American pop. But through Bad Bunny, Puerto Rico had something to say: He tapped into his unique star power with his zeitgeist-defining magnum opus, his 2025 album “Debí Tirar Más Fotos.” Then, at the Super Bowl, he used a platform usually reserved for bombastic shows of U.S. patriotism to ensure that Puerto Rico, along with many other nations and territories that make up the Americas, would be celebrated, even as we are routinely being denigrated by American conservatives.

Sports have a rich history in Puerto Rico, from boxing to baseball — but with the exception of Super Bowl Sunday, American football doesn’t typically reach us. My parents, who have never watched a football game in their lives, excitedly watched back home on the island, while I, over a thousand miles away, watched from my freezing New York City apartment with my partner, wishing we were basking in the warmth of the Isla Del Encanto. But it didn’t matter where we were watching, as boricuas — and Latines — were united.

The Instagram stories on my feed were filled with Puerto Ricans and other Latines hosting watch parties, taking in this much-needed moment of sheer joy during a treacherous time when speaking in our native language, or being a brown-skinned person is enough of a risk factor in being abducted by ICE. Having had the privilege of seeing Bad Bunny at the Choliseo during his residency in San Juan last August, I knew this performance would not only be an impactful homage to my island, but the Super Bowl halftime show carried an underlying, defiant message, that no matter how much conservatives prop up hatred and fear-mongering toward Latines and immigrants, nothing will stop us from being proud of our roots.

And Bad Bunny’s performance literally started straight from the roots. Levi’s Stadium was transformed into a labyrinthine sugarcane field, perhaps as a nod to Central San Vicente, the first sugarcane refinery in Puerto Rico, established in 1873 in Bad Bunny’s hometown of Vega Baja. Opening the show was an acoustic guitarist donning traditional jíbaro clothing — a straw pava hat and white linen — whose words, “qué rico es ser Latino,” established instant solidarity with Latinos all over the world.

While launching into his 2022 dembow-trap hit, “Titi Me Preguntó,” Bad Bunny walked the cameras through the makeshift sugar cane field, which was tilled by dancers dressed as jíbaros. He was decked out in a custom all-white outfit, featuring a jersey bearing his mother’s last name, Ocasio, and the number 64, which is the number his uncle once wore as a football player.

Bad Bunny’s set was staged with many scenes from working-class life in Puerto Rico: a coconut stand, a piraguero, old men playing dominoes, manicurists, baddies, construction workers and a jeweler who buys back “oro y plata.” These scenes served as reminders that Puerto Rican music wasn’t made by and for the elite, but forged by everyday people with limited resources.

Everything about the performance was a wink to the Puerto Rico I grew up in: from the skirts worn by the backup dancers, reminiscent of Taíno taparrabos, to the temperamental power grids, and the garita, or the lookout tower inspired by Old San Juan. During the staged wedding sequence, I saw myself in the tired child napping over two chairs, waiting for the adults to wind down the party so I could go home to my own bed.

We’d seen the famously star-studded house, or the casita, in both his San Juan residency and international tour run, which was duly brought back for the halftime show. The Super Bowl edition of the casita was filled with Latinx pop culture icons like Cardi B, Pedro Pascal, Jessica Alba, Karol G, Ronald Acuña Jr. and Young Miko. But there was another set that was vital for this performance: a New York City backdrop that included a bodega, a barbershop and a bar modeled after Toñitas, a famous Caribbean social club in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

Bad Bunny not only name-dropped Toñitas in “NUEVAYoL,” but its owner and namesake, María Antonia “Toñita” Cay, made a cameo during the halftime show from behind the bar — serving him a shot. Since the 1970s, Toñitas has become a symbol of resistance amid growing gentrification in the neighborhood, where businesses owned by people of color have been shuttered and longtime Williamsburg residents pushed out by exorbitant rent hikes. It’s a rare safe space for Latines in the city, one where anyone is welcome, but unmistakably ours. As one of many Puerto Ricans who’ve relocated to New York City, it meant a lot that Bad Bunny paid tribute to boricuas in the diaspora, showing that this moment is, too, for those who carry our pride far from home.

Yet unlike Bad Bunny’s first Super Bowl appearance — back in 2020 for Shakira and Jennifer Lopez’s joint headlining performance — this wasn’t an all-Latinx affair. Lady Gaga, who shared a touching moment with Benito at the Grammys, surfaced for a surprise salsa rendition of her collaborative hit with Bruno Mars, “Die With a Smile,” accompanied by Los Sobrinos. She had her own nod to the island with a brooch of a Flor de Maga, Puerto Rico’s national flower.

(Lynne Sladky / Associated Press)

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While it feels like a loss to omit Bruno Mars (who is of Puerto Rican descent), it’s understandable why Bad Bunny chose Lady Gaga as the only non-Latinx person to perform during the set. Not only is Bad Bunny a longtime Gaga fan himself, but they have both used their platforms to champion trans and queer rights. It’s evident she feels a kinship with Bad Bunny not just for dedicating his career to fighting for the same rights she did, but also for creating opportunities for marginalized people in the face of conservative backlash. While speaking to the press after the Grammys, she raved about how lucky we are to have a musical leader like Bad Bunny speak up for “what is true and what is right.”

Surprisingly, though, one of the most powerful political moments from the halftime show didn’t come from Bad Bunny, but rather from another Puerto Rican icon: Ricky Martin.

Martin, who made himself a household name in the States with English-language songs like “Livin’ La Vida Loca” and “She Bangs,” never tried to posit himself as a revolutionary. But sitting in a plastic chair modeled after the “DTMF” album cover, he sang an impassioned rendition of Bad Bunny’s protest song “Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii” — in which he warns that Puerto Rico could face the same whitewashing that Hawaii experienced upon becoming a U.S. state, citing the privatization of our beaches and the gentrification of our hometowns as threats to our culture’s legacy.

Seeing Bad Bunny emerge with our original flag moments later only drove the pro-independence sentiment further; woven in a shade of baby blue, this version of the Puerto Rican flag was created to represent the island’s independence from Spain, but was outlawed from 1898 to 1957 once the island became a U.S. territory.

Bad Bunny carries the original Puerto Rican flag Sunday during the Super Bowl LX halftime show at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, Calif.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

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The average Super Bowl viewer may not know about the light-blue flag, or understand the words behind the heartbreaking song about the perils of being a colony. But for those native Puerto Ricans watching, it was a triumphant reminder that Puerto Rico no se vende. It is not a tax haven for gringos, nor is it a “floating island of garbage”; it’s a gem that needs to be nurtured for generations to come. And to Puerto Ricans like me, that will never be achieved through U.S. statehood.

Because Puerto Rico is a colony, its citizens cannot vote in presidential elections, but it is still affected by the U.S. government. The island’s governor, Jenniffer González Colón, is a staunch supporter of President Trump who pushes conservative values — such as banning gender-affirmative care for trans Puerto Ricans under 21 and approving a law that grants personhood to fetuses from conception. It’s been difficult for Puerto Ricans to feel like we’re being heard when we’re trapped in a political situation we didn’t ask for.

When Bad Bunny was announced as this year’s performer, conservatives voiced their opposition on Fox News and social media, designating themselves as the true judges of who’s “American enough” to perform at the Super Bowl. They seemingly forgot that the U.S. has occupied Puerto Rico for over a century — and that performing in a language besides English doesn’t make Bad Bunny any less of a citizen of this country.

The right tried, and failed, to draw attention elsewhere, with conservative group Turning Point USA organizing an “All-American Halftime Show” headlined by Kid Rock and featuring additional performances by MAGA-friendly country acts like Brantley Gilbert, Lee Brice and Gabby Barrett. While it drew in 6.1 million concurrent viewers, that number paled in comparison to the 135 million viewers who tuned in to Bad Bunny’s halftime show, according to initial reports from NBC and CBS News.

But there was one moment during the performance that stuck with me, when Bad Bunny gave an impassioned motivational speech in Spanish, urging the audience to recognize their worth.

“My name is Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio. And I’m here at the Super Bowl 60 because I never stopped believing in myself — and you should also believe in yourself,” he said in Spanish. “You’re more valuable than you think. Believe it.”

As agents of the federal government continue to kidnap immigrants and place them in what have effectively become concentration camps — taking the dignity of those who’ve left their homes behind searching for a better life, only to render their hard work and assimilation as worthless — Bad Bunny’s halftime show felt like a call to make us even louder and prouder. The U.S. can no longer deny us Puerto Ricans and Latines of our value; its time we act like it. It’s time we move forward with love for ourselves and our communities, no matter how much hate and fear they try to lodge into us.

After all, as Bad Bunny put it at the halftime show: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.”