Mary Shelley

We live in an era obsessed with the "origin story." Whether it’s a caped crusader or a tech billionaire, we seem desperate to peel back the layers and see the moment of ignition. But while the multiplexes are busy de-aging actors to show us how a hero got their boots, Haifaa al-Mansour’s Mary Shelley (2017) tries something far more difficult: it tries to show us how a teenage girl in 1814 birthed the entire genre of science fiction out of a diet of grief, neglect, and absolute romantic chaos.

I actually watched this film on a Tuesday night while trying to ignore the fact that my radiator was making a rhythmic clanking sound that felt suspiciously like a heartbeat, and honestly, the accidental Foley work only improved the experience. It’s a film that demands a certain level of atmospheric gloom to really land.

A Gothic Origin Story for the Streaming Age

Released during the mid-2010s boom of "prestige-lite" biopics that often felt designed specifically to live on the Netflix "Trending Now" carousel, Mary Shelley somehow slipped through the cracks. It’s a bit of a shame, really. While the world was busy arguing over the latest MCU installment, this film was quietly deconstructing the "tortured male genius" trope.

The story follows young Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, played with a simmering, wide-eyed intensity by Elle Fanning (who I still think is one of the most under-utilized talents of her generation; see The Neon Demon for proof). Mary is the daughter of two radical thinkers, but she’s living a stifled life until she meets the rockstar-poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, played by Douglas Booth.

Now, I have to be honest: Percy Shelley was essentially the 19th-century version of a guy who starts a podcast to explain why he doesn't believe in monogamy while living off his parents' money. Douglas Booth plays him with exactly the right amount of "I’m very deep but also incredibly exhausting" energy. Their elopement, along with Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont (Bel Powley), is less of a romantic escape and more of a slow-motion car crash involving heavy drinking and a lot of unpaid bills.

The Most Relatable "Celebrity" Jerk in History

The film really finds its footing when the trio lands at the Villa Diodati to hang out with Lord Byron. Tom Sturridge (who you might recognize as Dream in The Sandman) plays Byron as if he’s trying to win an award for "Most Punchable Face in the Romantic Movement." He’s decadent, cruel, and dismissive of every woman in the room.

It’s in this toxic, rain-soaked environment that the famous ghost story challenge happens. While the men are busy being "visionaries," Mary is busy processing the death of her child, the infidelity of her husband, and the crushing weight of being a woman with a brain in a society that only wants her to be a muse. This is where al-Mansour’s direction shines. As the first female director from Saudi Arabia, al-Mansour (who directed the brilliant Wadjda) brings a very specific, lived-in understanding of what it feels like to have your voice suppressed.

The cinematography by David Ungaro is all ink-blues and candle-lit shadows. It feels heavy, like a damp wool coat. You can almost smell the rot and the parchment. It’s a "drama" in the truest sense—the stakes aren't about saving the world, but about saving one’s own soul and claiming credit for one's own work.

Why Did This Movie Fade into the Fog?

Despite the star power and the gorgeous production design, Mary Shelley is a bit of a "forgotten" film from the late 2010s. It suffered from a bit of identity crisis during its release. Was it a teen romance? A literary biopic? A feminist manifesto? In trying to be all three, it didn't quite capture the box office lightning that something like Little Women would a couple of years later.

Also, let’s be real: it’s a bit of a downer. It doesn’t offer the easy escapism people were looking for in 2017. It’s a film about how the things we love often hurt us, and how the greatest art is usually born from the things we’d rather forget. I once tried to read Frankenstein while eating a very messy burrito and got salsa on the page where the Monster is born, and that clumsiness felt more like my life than the pristine romances usually depicted in period pieces. This film captures that messiness. It’s not a polished, polite "Masterpiece Theatre" production; it’s a movie about ink-stained fingers and broken hearts.

The supporting cast is stellar, too. Stephen Dillane (Stannis Baratheon himself) provides a grounded, if distant, father figure as William Godwin, and Joanne Froggatt is wonderfully prickly as the stepmother you love to hate.

If you’re a fan of Dark Academia, or if you’ve ever felt like your boyfriend’s "creative projects" were actually just a way to avoid doing the dishes, Mary Shelley is well worth the two hours. It’s a moody, beautifully shot tribute to the woman who looked at the lightning and saw a story that would outlive all the men in the room. It’s currently floating around various streaming platforms, waiting for a rainy Sunday to find its perfect audience. Give it a shot; it’s much better than the "obscurity" tag suggests.

The film ends not with a victory lap, but with a quiet acknowledgement of the cost of creation. It leaves you thinking about who gets to tell their story and who gets relegated to a footnote. It’s a solid, soulful drama that deserves a second life on your watchlist, even if you have to turn the subtitles on to catch all the poetic yearning.