Entertainment
To keep ‘Frankenstein’ human, Guillermo del Toro trusted his craftspeople
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.
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1. Tamara Deverell. 2. Kate Hawley. (Lauren Fleishman / For The Times)
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.
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1. Alexandre Desplat. 2. Mike Hill. (Lauren Fleishman / For The Times)
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.”
Entertainment
Bob Spitz proves the Rolling Stones are rock’s greatest band in magnificent new biography
By early 1963, the Station Hotel in London had become an epicenter of the burgeoning British blues scene. On a blustery, snowy night that February, the Rolling Stones’ classic early lineup took the stage for one of the first times, dazzling the audience with ferocious renditions of blues standards like Muddy Waters’ “I Want to Be Loved” and Jimmy Reed’s “Bright Lights, Big City.”
Multi-instrumentalist Brian Jones, the band’s founder and leader, synchronized guitars with Keith Richards, who favored a distinctive slashing and stinging style. Drummer Charlie Watts, the group’s newest member, a jazz aficionado and an accomplished percussionist, propelled the music forward with a rock-solid beat.
Anchoring the rhythm section with him was bassist Bill Wyman, who was recruited more for his spare VOX AC30 amp that the guitarists could plug into than for his musical skills. The stoic bassist proved a strong and innovative player. Together, he and Watts would go on to form one of rock’s most decorated rhythm sections.
Ian Stewart’s energetic boogie-woogie piano style rounded out the sound. Months later, manager Andrew Loog Oldham kicked him out of the band for being “ugly,” although Stewart continued to record, tour and serve as the band’s road manager until his death in 1985.
This April 8, 1964, file photo shows the Rolling Stones during a rehearsal. The members, from left, are Brian Jones, guitar; Bill Wyman, bass; Charlie Watts, drums; Mick Jagger, vocals; and Keith Richards, guitar.
(Associated Press)
Fronting the group was Mick Jagger. Channeling the music like a crazed shaman, Jagger shimmied and sashayed, owning the stage like few lead singers have before or since. By the end of the night, the Stones had the crowd in a frenzy. Although only 30 people had made it to the gig because of the treacherous weather conditions, the hotel’s booker had seen enough: He offered the Stones a regular gig.
“The Rolling Stones had caught fire. The music they were playing and the way they played it struck a chord with a young crowd starved for something different, something their own… It was soul-stirring, loud and uncompromising,” writes Bob Spitz in “The Rolling Stones: The Biography,” his magisterial work that charts the 60-year journey of “the greatest rock and roll band in the world.”
Spitz, the author of strong biographies on the Beatles and Led Zeppelin, as well as Ronald Reagan and Julia Child, captures the drama, trauma and betrayals that have kept the Stones in the public’s consciousness for more than six decades. It’s all here: The Stones’ evolution from a blues cover band to artistic rival of the Beatles; the musical peaks — “Aftermath,” “Let It Bleed” and “Exile on Main Street” as well as misfires like “Dirty Work”; Keith’s descent into a debilitating heroin addiction that nearly destroyed him and the band; the death of the ‘60s at the ill-fated Altamont free concert; Marianne Faithfull, Anita Pallenberg, Bianca Jagger, Jerry Hall and other lovers, partners and muses; the breakups, makeups and crackups; and perhaps most important, the unbreakable bond between Jagger and Richards at the center of it all.
Although Spitz unearths little new information, he excels at presenting the Stones in glorious Technicolor. Spitz homes in on the telling details and anecdotes that give the band’s story a deep richness and poignancy.
Take “Satisfaction,” the Stones’ 1965 classic and first U.S. chart topper. The oft-told story is that Richards woke up in the middle of the night, grabbed the guitar that was next to his bed, and recorded the iconic riff and the phrase “I can’t get no … satisfaction” on a cassette recorder in his Clearwater, Fla., hotel room before falling back asleep. But as Spitz notes, the song initially went nowhere in the studio. That is until Stewart purchased a fuzz box for Richards a few days later, which gave the tune a raunchier sound that perfectly matched Jagger’s lyrics of frustration and alienation. A classic was born.
Piercing the Stones mythology
Spitz’s deep reporting often pierces the mythology surrounding the band. Contrary to the popular belief of many fans, for instance, Jones bears much of the responsibility for the rift with his bandmates and his tragic demise.
The most musically adventurous member of the group — he plays sitar on “Paint It Black” and dulcimer on “Lady Jane” — Jones wasn’t a songwriter. That stoked his jealousies and insecurities, along with frontman Jagger stealing the spotlight from him. A monster of a man, Jones impregnated multiple teenage girls and physically and emotionally abused several women, including Pallenberg. Perhaps that’s why she left him for Richards. Over time, Jones made fewer contributions in the studio and onstage, becoming a catatonic drug casualty. The Stones fired Jones in June 1969 but would have been justified doing so a couple years earlier. He drowned in his pool less than a month later.
Author Bob Spitz
(Elena Seibert)
Similarly, Stones lore has long romanticized the making of “Exile on Main Street” in the stifling, dingy basement of Richards’ rented Villa Nellcôte in the South of France, where the Stones had decamped to avoid British taxes. In this telling, Richards, deep in the throes of heroin addiction, somehow managed to come up with one indelible riff after another built around his signature open G tuning — taught to him by Ry Cooder — leading the band to create one of the best albums in rock history. That’s not entirely accurate, according to Spitz.
Yes, Richards came up with the licks for “Rocks Off,” “Happy” and “Tumbling Dice.” But it’s equally true that a strung-out Richards missed myriad recording sessions, invited dealers, hangers-on and other distractions to Nellcôte, and repeatedly failed to turn up to write with Jagger. Far from completing the album in the druggy haze of a French basement, the band spent six months on overdubs at Sunset Sound in Los Angeles, where Jagger contributed many of his vocals.
Beatles vs. Stones
One of the more interesting themes Spitz develops is the symbiotic relationship between the Beatles and Stones, with the Fab Four mostly overshadowing them — until they didn’t.
John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote “I Wanna Be Your Man” and gave it to the Stones, whose 1963 rendition, with Jones on slide guitar, became the group’s first UK Top 20 hit. The Lennon-McCartney songwriting partnership inspired Jagger and Richards to begin penning their own songs. In early 1964, the Beatles came to the U.S. for the first time, making television history with their appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show” and playing Carnegie Hall. A few months later, the Stones kicked off their inaugural American tour at the Swing Auditorium in San Bernardino. In 1967, the Beatles released “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band,” a psychedelic masterpiece. The Stones responded with “Their Satanic Majesties Request,” a psychedelic mess.
The Rolling Stones: The Biography cover
As the Beatles began to splinter, Spitz writes, the Stones sharpened their focus. The band released “Beggars Banquet” in late 1968 and “Let It Bleed” the following year, albums every bit as innovative and visionary as “The White Album” and “Abbey Road.” For the first time, the two groups stood as equals.
When the Beatles broke up in 1970, the Stones kept rolling. With Jones replaced by virtuoso guitarist Mick Taylor — whose fluid, melodic style served as a tasty foil to Richards — they produced what many consider their finest works, “Sticky Fingers” and “Exile on Main Street.” More impressively, the band, with Taylor’s successor, Ronnie Wood, has continued to dazzle audiences with incendiary live shows, touring as recently as 2024 behind the late-career triumph “Hackney Diamonds.” The Beatles, by contrast, retired from the road in 1966 and devoted their energies to the studio.
Hundreds of books have been written about the Rolling Stones, but few sparkle quite like Spitz’s. For anyone who loves or even likes the Stones, it’s indispensable.
Like most of the band’s biographers, Spitz gives short shrift to the post-“Exile” period after 1972. He curtly dismisses 2005’s strong “A Bigger Bang” and 2016’s “Blue & Lonesome,” a back-to-basics album of blues covers, as “adequate endeavors that signaled a band living on borrowed time.” That critique is both off target and under-developed. Spitz ignores the band’s legendary live album, “Brussels Affair,” recorded in 1973, or why the band waited decades before officially releasing it.
These are small quibbles. Spitz has written a book worthy of its 704-page length; another 50 or so pages covering the later years would have made it even stronger. To quote the Rolling Stones: “I know it’s only rock ‘n roll, but I like it, like it, yes, I do.”
Marc Ballon, a former Times, Forbes and Inc. Magazine reporter, teaches an advanced writing class at USC. He lives in Fullerton.
‘4’, the opening track on Richard D James’ (Aphex Twin) self titled 1996 album is a piece of music that beautifully balances the chaotic with the serene, the oppressive and the freeing. It’s a trick that James has pulled off multiple times throughout his career and it is a huge part of what makes him such an iconic and influential artist. Many people have laid the “next Aphex Twin” label on musicians who do things slightly different and when you actually hear their music you realise that, once again, the label is flawed and applied with a lazy attitude. Why mention this? Well, it turns out we’ve been looking for James’ heir apparent in the wrong artform. We’ve so zoned in on music that we’ve not noticed that another Celtic son of Cornwall is rewriting an art form with that highwire balancing act between chaos and beauty. That artist is writer, director and composer Mark Jenkin who over his last two feature films has announced himself as an idiosyncratic voice who is creating his very own language within the world of cinema. Jenkin’s films are often centred around coastal towns or islands and whilst they are experimental or even unsettling, there is always a big heart at the centre of the narrative. A heart that cares about family, tradition, culture, and the pull of ‘home’. Even during the horror of 2022’s brilliant Enys Men you were anchored by the vulnerability and determination of its main protagonist.
This month sees the release of Jenkin’s latest feature film, Rose of Nevada, which is set in a fractured and diminished Cornish coastal town. One day the fishing boat of the film’s title arrives back in harbour after being missing for thirty years. The boat is unoccupied. And frankly that is all the information you are going to get because to discuss any more plot would be unfair on you and disrespectful to Jenkin and the team behind the film. You the viewer should be the one who decides what it is about because thematically there are so many wonderful threads to pull on. This writer’s opinions on what it is about have ranged from a theme of sacrifice for the good of a community to the conflict within when part of you wants to run away from your roots whilst the other half longs to stay and be a lifelong part of its tapestry. Is it about Brexit? Could be. Is it about our own relationships with time and our curation of memory? Could be. Is it about both the positives and negatives of nostalgia? Could be. As a side note, anyone in their mid-40s, like me, who came of age in the 1990s will certainly find moments of warm recognition. Is the film about ghosts and how they haunt families? Could be…I think you get the point.
The elements that make the film so well balanced between chaos and calm are many. It is there in the differing performances between the brilliant two lead actors George MacKay and Callum Turner. It is there in the sound design which fluctuates from being unbearably harsh and metallic, to lulling and warm. It is there in the editing where short, sharp close ups on seemingly unimportant factors are counterbalanced with shots that are held for just that little bit too long. For a film set around the sea, it is apt that it can make you feel like you’re rolling on a stomach churning storm one minute, or a calming low tide the next. Dialogue can be front and centre or blurred and buried under static. One shot is bathed in harsh sunlight whilst the next can be drowned in interior shadows.
Rose of Nevada is Mark Jenkin’s most ambitious film to date yet he has not lost a single iota of innovation, singularity of vision or his gift for telling the most human of stories. It is a film that will tell you different things each time you see it and whilst there are moments that can confuse or beguile, there is so much empathy and love that it can leave you crying tears of emotional understanding. It is chaotic. It is beautiful. It is life……
Rose of Nevada is released on the 24th April.
Mark Jenkin Instagram | Threads
Released through the BFI – Instagram | Facebook
Review by Simon Tucker
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