Filmography Worship: Ranking Every Guillermo del Toro Film
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Filmography Worship is a series where we review every single feature of filmmakers who have made our Wall of Directors (and other greats)
There have been three filmmakers in the twenty-first century who have dominated the industry; they also happen to be a trio of Mexican compadres who go by the name “The Three Amigos of Cinema”. They are Alfonso Cuarón, Alejandro Iñárritu, and Guillermo del Toro. They ushered in what felt like a central American answer to the incessant need for a new New Hollywood movement after the nineties. Cuarón places philosophical inquiries in peculiar, varied scenarios, often framed with mysticism and introspective soul searching. Iñárritu loves to provoke and get to the darkest depths of the human psyche, often to points that break these characters or the films that house them. While all three directors dabble with danger, del Toro embraces it with a hug, not with combat. Then there’s del Toro who feels more like a student of America’s Tim Burton: an aficionado of horror-based whimsy, the curiosity found within the abnormal, and the champion of the misunderstood. While I believe that del Toro is far more refined than Burton, I do think that both directors love to venture into the unknown.
The bigger difference is that del Toro loves finding new angles to moments in history that are already well established and understood, including the Spanish Civil War, or the American Cold War. By taking ongoing sociopolitical topics and attaching them to moments in time with creatively unusual angles, del Toro opens our eyes to the hardships of reality with perspectives we maybe never considered. The main vantage point is that of a child becoming aware of the severity of being alive: one who becomes familiar with how big and complicated the world truly is. Even if we aren’t following a younger character, del Toro’s films are almost always amusing, entertaining, and hypnotic as if we are a kid again. It is through this portal that del Toro accomplishes his greatest capability: the humanization of cinematic creatures. Time and time again, he takes beings that most other storytellers would condemn as “monstrous” and gives them life, purpose, and spirit. Del Toro renders these filmic misfits as heroes, proving that not every on screen legend has to be a Clark Gable or Cary Grant; sometimes, they can be the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or Frankenstein’s “Creature” (what del Toro prefers to call it).
Not only is del Toro’s signature style already established, but it is no secret that the director is one of the biggest students of film out there. It was once a tradition for del Toro to curate cinematheque programs in Toronto (he has done so elsewhere as well); he gave a masterclass lesson on numerous Alfred Hitchcock films (the British auteur’s influence is clear on del Toro’s work, especially the use of tension and suspense, the fixation on literary objects and tropes, and much more); he also specialized in an exposition of gothic cinema; this past summer, he gave remote discussions on his favourite Canadian horror films (including a discussion with David Cronenberg). Considering all of the above and his propensity to film in Ontario (as well as his frequent appearances at the Toronto International Film Festival), many of us have christened del Toro an honorary Canadian. Del Toro has professed his adoration for working in Canada, including championing the Canadian film scene at this past TIFF’s premiere of Frankenstein (we love having you here as well, del Toro). Suffice to say, del Toro is a critical piece of the film industry right now as a director, an academic, a preserver, and a catalyst for numerous industries.
With all of this in mind, he doesn’t have the biggest filmography: just a noble one where you can sense that he is always as true to himself as he can be. That doesn’t mean that I think every film of his is a winner, but not once has he betrayed his values or vision. If anything, he has been a critical protector of the use of practical effects and makeup in the face of the CGI takeover, and has doubled down on both artforms (yes, even CGI) once artificial intelligence reared its ugly head. Even in his worst films, you can see the pure artistry del Toro is known for. When he is firing on all cylinders, there aren’t many wide-eyed and fantastical directors like del Toro working today. While I found it quite simple to rank his feature films, I do think that the majority of his titles have their fans and how anyone else would sequence his motion pictures would paint a picture of themselves; how has del Toro changed you as a person? I think he is capable of making outcasts feel heard in a myriad of touching ways. Here’s how they have inspired me. Here are the films of Guillermo del Toro ranked from worst to best.
13. Blade II
The only film that feels antithetical to the del Toro experience is unquestionably his worst film to me: Blade II. While del Toro is clearly trying his best within the confines of the studio system (there is a lot of mythical imagery and a prioritization of aesthetics), this is very much just an action film with horror elements. No more. No less. It’s telling that this is still the best film in the Blade series despite it being del Toro’s nadir, and I see this as a sign of how many artists are held back by producers who aim to be protective of profits as opposed to allowing directors to get their proper say out. I think del Toro makes the most of the human versus vampire narrative, trying to find empathy on both sides, but another major pitfall is David S. Goyer’s hyper-thin script (Goyer has always been one with strong ideas but less impressive execution); del Toro sees what Goyer is aiming for and goes as far as he can with the stunted screenplay. I think Blade II has its fans because, despite its restrained nature, you can sense a director who really wants this film to work. It doesn’t, but at least I never feel like del Toro gave up on Blade II when some other directors would lazily recognize this opportunity as just another payday.
12. Crimson Peak
I think there is a lot to admire about Crimson Peak, and it all stems from the on-screen presence; the chilling performances; the stunning costume and production design; the gorgeous cinematography. Having said that, del Toro aims for a frigid gothic film with Crimson Peak and instead makes something glacial. It doesn’t quite work in the way I believe he wanted it to. Instead of feeling like we are in a frozen state of limbo like other gothic classics (Hitchcock’s Rebecca, for instance). Instead, Crimson Peak just feels a bit lifeless: as if we are detached from what we are watching to the point that it sadly comes off as a bit dull. I feel like there is a strong film here, but it got lost in the midst of the aesthetic fog. Nonetheless, I would never criticize a director who is trying something interesting like del Toro does here; his efforts are still noteworthy, even if the end result doesn’t fully work.
11. Mimic
Del Toro’s first full foray into English-language cinema (and the director’s first film to be shot in Toronto), Mimic is a bit of a forgotten film by him. When you first start watching Mimic, it promises to be something quite grand: an entomologist who creates an insect to slaughter disease-ridden cockroaches, who have now gone feral and are taking on the human race. This is one of del Toro’s most Cronenberg efforts, but what he misses here a little bit is the latter’s ability to turn the horrific into something breathtaking; del Toro’s Mimic just feels a little reductive by both director’s standards. It’s a decent effort that has been lost with time, and I do think that any fans of del Toro (or even Cronenberg) should check Mimic out just for the hell of it; while this does feel like a film that is too interesting to be as neglected as it is, don’t expect anything special enough to change your life, either.
10. Pacific Rim
Time can be a little cruel to films. In the same way that motion pictures can age better than how they were once received, beloved works can also grow out of favour of general audiences when societal norms change. Case in point: Pacific Rim. What once felt like a fun homage to the kaiju film genre now feels a bit like an overlong special effects portfolio. Perhaps the spectacle was seeing Pacific Rim on the big screen and feeling the intensity of these colossal battles between titanic robots and alien sea creatures. While Pacific Rim does still feel quite fun (the action choreography and the insane visual display are impossible to ignore), it doesn’t feel as monumental as it once did. Maybe the typical and thin story has been exposed over time. Perhaps we have just seen stronger action films since. Either way, Pacific Rim once felt like a major cinematic event; it now resides as a lower entry on a great director’s filmography ranking.
9. Hellboy II: The Golden Army
On the topic of time and how films age, the Hellboy sequel, The Golden Army, hasn’t aged gracefully or poorly since its release; it kind of just exists as a pretty good comic book film. Even with some of the effects feeling a bit dated, the film is protected by del Toro’s efforts to try and make something special with this sequel instead of focusing on having a potential cash grab. The Golden Army was once deemed maybe too ambitious with its story, but I think that the film succeeds with having many intertwined parts (it never gets too carried away to the point of thinning itself out like, say, Spider-Man 3). Here is a sequel that wants to do more with its established characters and setting, in hopes of conjuring up some new cinematic lore. While the Hellboy story did stop here for del Toro, we are left with a noteworthy attempt at the much-dreaded Hollywood sequel.
8. Nightmare Alley
I may be a rare defender of Nightmare Alley (even though the film was nominated for numerous Oscars, including Best Picture, del Toro himself has joked about how the film was underseen and unappreciated), but I cannot deny the one major flaw of this otherwise spellbinding neo-noir: it is too damn long. The film takes around forty minutes before it truly gets going with its carnival-of-horrors plot and that is a major ask of an audience; while I remained invested, many viewers tuned out and didn’t feel the weight of the strongest sequences like del Toro anticipated. With a grimly pastel aesthetic, cryptic performances, and eerie sets, Nightmare Alley is a nice adaptation of Tyrone Power’s film of the same name (or at least the William Lindsay Gresham novel that both films are based on). It just doesn’t have the staying power that it should have, mainly because it dawdles when, like its central performers, it is meant to reel you in and lure you under its spell.
7. Hellboy
Hellboy feels like a do-over after Blade II: a second attempt at making a comic book film. Blade II feels held back by del Toro’s standards; Hellboy soars, instead. A major reason why is that del Toro is a filmmaker who succeeds in making unrealistic superheroes feel tangible, grounded, realistic (even with their powers) and, most importantly, sympathetic. Such is the case with Hellboy: a film that could have just done the bare minimum with its source material to make bank but, instead, comes off as an inspired initiation of a new franchise (which sadly didn’t go as far as it could have). Possessing a childlike whimsy that I can strangely compare to films like Matilda and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Hellboy takes the youthful elements of the fantasy genre and places them in the confines of the dangers of action flicks and the dread of the horror genre. The end result is a blockbuster film that makes you feel like you are a youngling watching a movie for the first time again: a nostalgia you didn’t know you needed. Comic book films can be overly serious and dark, or they can be silly to the point of ridiculousness; Hellboy knows how to be both mature and playful and succeed.
6. Frankenstein
While we don’t need the ten thousandth adaptation of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, I welcomed del Toro’s attempt at the story when it was first announced. What we get is two sides to the story: a dichotomy that plays with Hollywood’s misconception of who Frankenstein is (for the last God damn time, Frankenstein is the doctor, not the creation). The first story is through the perspective of the complicated Dr. Frankenstein and his upbringing; del Toro brings truth to this monster, too, by explaining why this inventor and reanimator is so vengeful and tortured. The second is from the nameless creature’s vantage point, and this is where we get del Toro’s answer to Tim Burton’s Edward Scissorhands: a masterfully wintery, gothic look at recreation through the silence and mime-like innocence of a figure cursed with a life they did not ask for. While all of Frankenstein is quite beautiful and epic (like some other del Toro films, it can feel a bit long), the section with the creature at the forefront is some of del Toro’s best direction (it helps that Jacob Elordi is sensational as the creature to the point that he may bring you to tears).
5. Pinocchio
If we didn’t need another Frankenstein, we certainly do not need the ten millionth Pinocchio. The kicker is that del Toro’s Frankenstein is a welcome attempt, while his Pinocchio is — dare I say it — one of the best I’ve ever seen (then again, many other Pinocchio films are atrocious or annoying, so the bar was never really that high). Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio is not scared of the darkness that the story is meant to embody, and del Toro and his team go all-in with the cynical side of this coming-of-age fairy tale (life is not all bells and whistles, after all). Using the film as a series of allegories (for fascist Italy, of traumatic grief and addiction, and numerous other themes), Pinocchio makes the most of its source material and del Toro’s reinterpretation by accepting that there is an ongoing grotesquerie in the human experience throughout all of history. Since del Toro has never shied away from celebrating monsters and creatures in his films, Pinocchio accepts that humans are as horrific as the creatures we are told to be afraid of, solidifying his version of this oft-told story as a benchmark rendition; how can we understand that there are terrors in this world if we lie and pretend that there aren’t?
4. Cronos
Del Toro’s debut film, Cronos, is a superb example of body horror cinema. We have a doorway to the unknown via a curious contraption that grants eternal life. This device arrives in the hands of an antique dealer and grandfather who wishes to learn more about it, much to the detriment of a dying business mogul who is aware of the machine and wishes to use it on himself. What transpires is a fable of morality and a statement on how life can be wasted when one focuses on the wrong things. Even in this preliminary film, del Toro empathizes with what other directors would deem “monstrous;” in this case, we find the protagonist biologically deteriorating, and yet Cronos frames him as a beautiful being. This is an incredibly mature and restrained film by a horror filmmaker who could have gone too far with their first proper film budget; instead, we have an independent horror staple made by someone who always knew what they were doing.
3. The Devil's Backbone
After Mimic failed to stun American audiences, del Toro returned to Mexico for another Spanish-language film with The Devil’s Backbone: his first attempt at creating a horrific metaphor out of the Spanish Civil War. A highly inventive entry in the ghost story genre, The Devil’s Backbone uses the concept of a haunted orphanage to detail the many ways people go through trauma or grief (here, it’s through the guise of a child who lost his father to war). Our pain never goes away: we can only live to with with it. Del Toro recognizes how our dark provenance will always be a part of us and likens these personal blemishes something textured. Whether you find The Devil’s Backbone terrifying or oddly comforting, there’s no denying that del Toro is great at finding solace within the bleakest places. Thanks to this complexity and grace within an otherwise shocking film, The Devil’s Backbone remains one of the greatest independent horror films of all time.
2. The Shape of Water
There are two occasions where del Toro specialized in making fairy tales specifically for adults, and he blew us away both times. The first that I will mention is The Shape of Water: the greatest English-language film del Toro has released to date. This fantasy time capsule of the Cold War places us within the confines of a governmental laboratory, amongst the cleaning staff, particularly the mute Elisa Esposito and her best friends, fellow cleaner Zelda (a Black woman) and neighbour Giles (a gay man); all three are ostracized in sixties America. Elisa coming across “The Amphibian Man” (played by del Toro veteran, Doug Jones) unlocks an allegory of how people are primed to be hateful to that of which they do not know; as a misfit herself, Elisa quickly embraces the creature with open arms. What transpires is a race between the empathetic characters and the political figures who want to use the creature as a test subject or weapon: a sign that many are deemed useless unless they can be exploited. The Shape of Water is a brilliant film that doesn’t miss a beat; sometimes genre films are so strong that they cannot be ignored, and such was the case with The Shape of Water being only the second fantasy film to win Best Picture at the Academy Awards (after The Return of the King, which is a film that carries the same undeniability).
1. Pan’s Labyrinth
Del Toro once returned to Mexico when he wasn’t performing well in Hollywood; The Devil’s Backbone came after Mimic floundered. However, he was fully embraced after Hellboy when he still wanted to revisit Spanish-language cinema for something that he couldn’t ignore: a second attempt at trying to contextualize the Spanish Civil War in his own way. The end result is the first and best of his adult fairy tale pictures: Pan’s Labyrinth. We follow little Ofelia to a new home when her mother is to remarry (her stepfather to-be is a Falangist captain who works via fear-inducing tactics). While the Spanish Civil War continues, Ofelia imagines the world in a different way: one with mythical creatures, tasks she has to accomplish, and the promise of a kingdom that will be all hers if she proves herself as a suitable heir. This is an exemplary case of escapism within film: the reinterpretation of the heights of human terror in the form of a fable. Pan’s Labyrinth blurs the lines between fantasy and reality effectively to the point of driving its point home: there is so much that we don’t know about this beautiful world, and yet we have rendered being alive a painful experience throughout much of history.
Fantasy and horror films can get hyperbolic and aimless with all of the ideas they wish to boast about. I cannot stress enough how tightly composed and exquisitely crafted Pan’s Labyrinth is, as if it is a true story and all of its details were painstakingly recreated by del Toro and his team. Pan’s Labyrinth is so strong as a film that those who oppose genre films, gory pictures, and so many of the film’s typically alienating traits cannot escape the excellence of this film, its message, and its artistry. Easily one of the great fantasy films of all time and a staple of twenty-first century cinema, it is easy to crown Pan’s Labyrinth as Guillermo del Toro’s masterpiece. It is an innate film that can’t be taught to be made; it can only exist within the hands of a skilled visionary who carried years of passion, purpose, and wonder. This is a film made by a man driven by a hypothesis: how can human beings be so hateful? He counters this thought with the evidence of how humans can also be some of the most compassionate, courageous, and magnificent animals when they use their capabilities for good; as revolutionaries or dreamers. The jaded will never extinguish the inspired.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.