Lisa Frankenstein

There is a specific kind of magic that happens when a movie decides to stop apologizing for being weird and just starts throwing lightning at a Victorian corpse. In an era where mid-budget cinema often feels like it was designed by a corporate committee looking to maximize "relatability," Lisa Frankenstein arrives like a neon-pink middle finger to the status quo. It’s a film that doesn't just embrace its niche; it builds a Victorian-era tanning bed inside that niche and invites you to get struck by lightning.

I watched this while trying to fold a fitted sheet—an exercise in futility that somehow mirrored the messy, stitched-together beauty of the film’s central romance. I eventually gave up on the sheet and just let the 1989 aesthetic wash over me.

A Neon-Gothic Reawakening

Set in the height of the 1980s, the film follows Lisa Swallows (Kathryn Newton), a grieving, socially catatonic teen who spends her free time at a neglected cemetery. After a freak lightning storm (and some questionable wishing), she accidentally reanimates the corpse of a Victorian gentleman (Cole Sprouse). What follows isn't a traditional horror movie, but a "coming-of-rage" story that feels like Diablo Cody finally found the missing link between Juno and Jennifer’s Body.

The script is vintage Cody—fast, stylized, and dripping with a hyper-specific vernacular that sounds like it was written by someone who swallowed a Thesaurus and a copy of Seventeen magazine. For some, this "Cody-speak" can feel grating, but in the hands of Kathryn Newton, it becomes a survival mechanism. Lisa isn't just a "weird girl"; she’s a traumatized kid trying to find a version of herself that doesn't hurt, and if that version involves a mute, reanimated corpse with a missing ear, so be it.

Director Zelda Williams makes an incredibly assured debut here. She understands that the horror-comedy balance is a tightrope. Lean too hard into the kills, and you lose the heart; lean too hard into the romance, and you lose the edge. Williams finds the sweet spot by leaning into the artifice. The film looks like a high-budget school play in the best way possible—all saturated purples, deep shadows, and set designs that feel intentionally "staged."

The Creature and the Queen Bee

The chemistry between Newton and Sprouse is the film's secret weapon. Cole Sprouse gives arguably the best performance of his career by saying absolutely nothing. He communicates entirely through grunts, tilts of the head, and a physical comedy that feels like a tribute to Buster Keaton or Boris Karloff. Watching him try to navigate the complexities of an electric knife or a tanning bed is genuinely hilarious.

On the other side of the spectrum is Liza Soberano as Taffy, Lisa’s popular stepsister. In any other movie, Taffy would be the antagonist—the "mean girl" who makes Lisa’s life a living hell. But Soberano plays her with such earnest, misplaced kindness that she becomes the movie's MVP. She’s not mean; she’s just aggressively well-adjusted, which is its own kind of horror. Her performance is a highlight of contemporary casting, bringing a fresh energy that subverts the tired tropes of 80s teen cinema.

The film also makes fantastic use of its supporting cast. Carla Gugino is delightfully unhinged as the stepmother from hell, and Joe Chrest plays the "oblivious dad" role with a weary perfection that reminded me of every 80s father who just wanted to read his newspaper in peace while the world ended around him.

Why This "Flop" is a Future Cult Classic

Financially, Lisa Frankenstein didn't exactly set the world on fire. With a $9.9 million box office against a $13 million budget, it was labeled a "disappointment" by the bean-counters. But in the current landscape of streaming dominance and franchise fatigue, box office is a poor metric for cultural longevity. This is a film designed to be discovered on a Friday night by someone scrolling through a streaming app, looking for something that feels like a Claire’s accessories store was hit by a lightning bolt.

The practical effects, handled with a charming "hand-made" feel, are a breath of fresh air. In a time of seamless, often soulless CGI, seeing Cole Sprouse covered in actual mud and prosthetic grime is satisfying. The film’s approach to body horror is "Disney-dark"—enough gore to keep the horror fans happy, but stylized enough to keep the whimsical tone intact. The missing body parts plotline is handled with a darkly comic touch that feels very much in line with 80s cult favorites like The Re-Animator or Death Became Her.

The film engages with current themes of female agency and "Good For Her" cinema without being preachy. Lisa doesn't find herself through a traditional makeover or by winning over the high school jock; she finds herself by literally rebuilding a man to suit her needs. It’s a twisted, feminist reimagining of the Frankenstein myth that feels perfectly suited for a generation raised on Tumblr aesthetics and gothic romance.

Lisa Frankenstein is a weird, wonderful, and unapologetically stylized piece of pop-art. It’s a movie that knows exactly what it is and who it’s for. While it may have been overlooked during its theatrical run, it has all the ingredients of a future cult classic: a killer soundtrack (shoutout to that cover of "Can't Fight This Feeling"), a breakout supporting performance, and a visual style that demands to be screencapped. If you’re tired of the same old franchise formula, give this undead romance a chance to live. It might just steal your heart—or your left hand.