I’m genuinely surprised by how many viewers are praising the cinematography of Frankenstein (2025). Personally, I found it disappointingly flat — another example of that overly polished, “Netflix-quality” aesthetic that drains the life out of what could have been a visceral story.
The film is immaculately lit, but in a way that feels more suited to a superhero movie than a gothic horror reimagining. Everything is too clean, too perfect — as if the filmmakers were afraid of imperfection, of texture, of the small accidents that make an image feel human.
It reminds me of what happened to Spielberg’s later work: an obsession with technical precision that sacrifices emotion. The digital sheen here is so dominant that I found it difficult to connect with the film on any emotional level, to let it sink into the heart the way Frankenstein should.
That said, the art direction is superb — beautifully designed and conceptually strong. But without grit or soul behind the lens, the result feels hollow, like a masterpiece rendered in plastic.