The Creature Behind the Makeup — Jacob Elordi’s Slow, Strange Transformation
It’s funny how a movie can quietly rearrange the way you think about someone — and about what we call “monstrous.” Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein, adapted from Mary Shelley’s novel, does that. The film splits itself between two voices: Victor Frankenstein, played by Oscar Isaac, who tells his side, and The Creature, played by Jacob Elordi, who tells his. But here’s the twist: the Creature, at least on screen, is oddly beautiful. Not in some glossy, movie-star way, but in a bruised, stitched-together kind of way that makes you look twice and feel something complicated. I didn’t expect that, and maybe you won’t either.
A creature who confuses you
There’s something quietly unnerving about watching Elordi under that makeup. You know him from other roles—he’s tall, he’s handsome, and he carries the kind of presence that makes people notice him on the street. In Euphoria he was a different kind of magnetism; here he’s been reworked so thoroughly that the magnetism does strange things. Part of it is the performance: Elordi leans into a kind of tenderness that doesn’t quite belong to the usual “monster” archetype. He’s not always menacing. He’s awkward, sometimes tender, sometimes hurt, and that vulnerability throws you off balance. Which is the point, I think. The Creature forces you to decide whether you’re looking at a villain, or someone who’s been wronged in a very human way.
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That duality — beautiful and frightening, sympathetic and dangerous — is not accidental. It’s deliberate, and you can tell the team wanted it that way. The costume and makeup design play a huge role. They don’t simply hide the actor; they reshape him. But they also leave space for the actor’s inner life to come through. So there’s this tightrope between artifice and raw human feeling. It made me want to look closer, but also to look away. You probably know that feeling.
A long, painstaking transformation
If you imagine that makeup artists just slap on a few pieces and call it a day, that’s not this. Jacob Elordi’s transformation took work — so much work it becomes part of the story. Mike Hill, the head of makeup, spent hours with Elordi each day. I read that applying the prosthetics could take up to 10 hours. Ten. That’s almost a whole workday before you even start shooting. Then, at the end, removal took more than an hour. Forty prosthetic pieces in total. It’s hard to comprehend unless you’ve sat through that kind of process yourself.
Hearing that made me respect both the actor and the crew more. There’s something intimate about being in a chair, having someone glue, paint, sculpt pieces on your face and body. People joke about “getting into character,” but this is literal. The physicality of that routine — sitting still, letting others reshape your face — informs a performance in a way that lines on a page never could. Elordi didn’t just act the Creature; he let people remake him so he could play something else. That’s commitment, and yes, a little bit masochistic, maybe. But he didn’t complain, apparently. Which makes you wonder: did the silence during those hours change him? Did he talk? Did they become friends? The reports say they did; Hill called them “dear friends.” It’s touching, but also practical. When you spend ten hours a day next to someone’s shoulder, friendship becomes inevitable.
Why the look matters
Del Toro’s movies have always felt handcrafted. Even the fantastical elements often bear a tactile sensibility — like they’ve been assembled in a workshop rather than conjured on a computer. That sensibility shows in Frankenstein. The makeup isn’t only a technical feat; it helps the audience feel the Creature’s story. Scars, stitches, mismatched skin tones — these aren’t just effects. They’re narrative cues. They tell you the Creature has been assembled, taken apart, and perhaps, in a way, reassembled emotionally as well.
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I liked how the film didn’t try too hard to explain everything immediately. It gives you space to adjust your own feelings. Some moments pull toward pity; others snap you back to fear. That unevenness felt honest. Real people aren’t consistent. We switch moods, we contradict ourselves. The Creature is written that way, and Elordi’s performance respects that ambiguity.
Performance beyond looks
Yes, there’s Oscar buzz. It’s hard not to notice when a performance gets that kind of whisper. But what matters more to me isn’t awards. It’s whether the role changes how people see a familiar face. Elordi has played a certain type of character before, and this role pushes against that. He had to lose his mullet, sure, but it seems deeper than a haircut. He had to tolerate long sessions of prosthetic application and removal; he had to find a new physical language inside a heavy, constraining skin. That takes skill. And it shows.
What’s interesting is how the movie invites an ethical question without hammering it. Are we horrified because of how he looks, or because of how he behaves? Or — and this one’s trickier — are we attracted to his vulnerability? Attraction is messy. It doesn’t always follow the rules we expect. The film nudges you into that uncomfortable space where empathy and other feelings overlap. I found myself wondering whether part of my reaction was compassion, and whether another part was something less noble. The film doesn’t answer that for you. It’s not tidy. And I like that.
A final note, softly said
Films like this stick with you in odd ways. Not because they show you something new — monsters, lovers, scientists, guilt — but because they let you sit in the gray areas for a while. Jacob Elordi’s Creature is beautiful and broken, threatening and tender. The crew’s craftsmanship is obvious, and it matters. Ten-hour makeup sessions, forty prosthetics — these aren’t trivia. They’re the scaffolding that lets the performance breathe.
So, you watch, you tilt your head, you feel mixed things. Maybe you admire the work, maybe you’re uncomfortable. Both are valid. The movie doesn’t tidy them up for you. It leaves them there, slightly messy, like a real feeling.
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