When Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein debuted in 1994, Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of the seminal novel seemed like a breath of fresh air for gothic cinema. Positioned as a faithful retelling of Shelley’s groundbreaking work, the film’s operatic tone, lavish production design, and reverence for its source material made it feel like an audacious attempt to elevate gothic horror into a grand cinematic spectacle. Thirty years on, however, while the film retains its place as a fascinating adaptation, time has revealed both its achievements and its missteps.

Branagh, who directed and starred as Victor Frankenstein, approached the material with a larger-than-life theatricality, pouring a seemingly unrestrained passion into the story. At the time, this intensity felt like a bold choice, giving audiences a film steeped in gothic aesthetics, from sweeping landscapes and haunting laboratories to thunderous scores and unrelenting melodrama. But in hindsight, the weight of Branagh’s vision comes across as excessive. The film’s relentless emotional intensity often teeters on overwrought, with every confrontation, revelation, and tragedy turned up to operatic levels. While this approach may have felt daring in 1994, it now feels like it undermines some of the subtler complexities of Shelley’s narrative.

Yet, there are elements of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein that remain undeniably effective. The performances of Robert De Niro as the Creature and Helena Bonham Carter as Elizabeth elevate the film beyond its uneven execution. De Niro’s portrayal of the Creature is deeply affecting, bringing an unexpected humanity and pathos to the role. His embodiment of Shelley’s philosophical questions about creation, abandonment, and revenge remains one of the film’s most enduring strengths. Similarly, Bonham Carter imbues Elizabeth with a warmth and intelligence that makes her tragic arc all the more harrowing, particularly in the film’s climactic and macabre finale.

Visually, the film continues to impress. Its production design, helmed by Tim Harvey, crafts an immersive gothic world, from the icy Arctic wastes to the shadowy confines of Victor’s laboratory. Patrick Doyle’s score, a bombastic and emotive accompaniment, heightens the film’s gothic grandeur, even as it sometimes amplifies the melodrama.

Ultimately, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is a film of contradictions: innovative yet excessive, faithful yet flawed. Its ambition to stay true to the novel’s thematic depths deserves admiration, but Branagh’s unchecked directorial choices leave the narrative buckling under the weight of its own gravitas.

Thirty years later, it remains an intriguing, if imperfect, entry in gothic cinema, a reminder of both the power and perils of artistic vision. For all its faults, it is still an enjoyable film and one that warrants revisiting—if only to marvel at its audacity and revel in the brilliance of De Niro and Bonham Carter.

• Saul Muerte