Lisa Frankenstein review: Diablo Cody’s triumphant return to teen girl horror

Screenwriter Diablo Cody was done dirty upon the release of Jennifer’s Body, a horror film inappropriately marketed to teenage boys that only later found its proper cult following in the form of terror-loving girls and women. It’s heartening then that Cody was not put off from returning to teen girl horror with director Zelda Williams to present Lisa Frankenstein, a film more appropriately sold as a pastel gothic ode to the teen girl movies of the ’80s and, perhaps more obviously, to cinema’s most famous undead monster.

In practice, it’s like a gothic negative print of She’s All That filtered through early Burtonesque whimsy, a la Edward Scissorhands and Beetlejuice. Wearing those inspirations on its sleeve is enough to hint at an exciting blend of high school drama and bloody body horror hijinks, but Lisa Frankenstein has such an immaculate sense of identity that it transcends the impression that it’s cobbled together from the dead parts of other films, strutting confidently into the annals of teen horror royalty in its own right.

Soft-spoken Lisa Swallows (Kathryn Newton) struggles with living in a new town with a new stepmother (a deliciously wicked Carla Gugino) and stepsister (a bubbly Liza Soberano) after her mother was murdered and her father (Joe Chrest) has emotionally shut down. Her only solace is a gravestone in an abandoned cemetery, where she lusts after the bust of a handsome, long-dead man. However, after a freak lightning storm strikes the grave, the dead man (Cole Sprouse) comes to life, following up on Lisa’s professed desire to be together.

Storing the shambling monstrosity in her closet like a rotting E.T., Lisa soon finds that this mute companion is the perfect sounding board for her to finally open up about her feelings. This sets up an engrossing dynamic wherein the monster encourages Lisa to lean into her darker impulses in terms of fashion, attitude, and, eventually, murder for the sake of harvesting replacement body parts. The combination of Newton’s hypnotically awkward charisma and Sprouse’s flailing sad puppy dog routine makes them an instantly iconic couple, and the more messed-up their gruesome motivations become, the more likable and relatable they are in their oddness.

Theirs is a story of big, incomprehensible adolescent emotions, the fantasy of a death-obsessed girl who pines after her school’s literary editor (Henry Eikenberry) and the dead man literally incapable of sharing his feelings for her. It’s at once pulpy and poignant, using the archness of its characters to explore issues of our cultural unwillingness to grieve tragedy, the insidious deceptions of so-called “nice guys,” and the value of dark art as a pressure valve for dealing with dark impulses within. And this is all presented without ceremony or drawn attention, instead allowing these themes to inform the narrative without overbearing it.

This is in no small part because Williams and Cody are perfectly in sync in terms of the film’s darkly comic tone, which prevents their story from being weighed down by serious implications. Whether it’s a self-important Gugino listening to a satirical self-help tape on avoiding narcissists, Soberano intoning inappropriate bubbly enthusiasm with complete sincerity, Sprouse pantomiming like an undead Charlie Chaplin, or one of Newton’s many, many lines of melodramatic absurdity, Lisa Frankenstein is consistently laugh-out-loud hilarious. One scene in particular is such a shocking collision of comedy and violence that it’s hard to imagine how it managed to retain a PG-13 rating, and it’s the kind of cinematic moment that cements a film into classic status.

And that’s perhaps the most amazing thing about Lisa Frankenstein: its instant timelessness. Sure, it may be a pastiche, or a love letter to previous eras, or any other euphemism for cinematic recycling, but that doesn’t prevent it from being just as much a singular creation as any of its forebears, sidestepping derivative rehashing in favor of an original take on teen angst that isn’t bound by its homage. This film could have easily come out in 1989 and been heralded amongst its contemporaries as a current object of nostalgia, but we’re lucky enough to have the 2024 version, performed by a very game cast who all understand the assignment and deliver what is likely to be one of the funniest films of the year. (… Or at least the funniest on-screen murders.) Here’s hoping there’s no need for a cult awakening for Lisa Frankenstein to be recognized for its casually brooding brilliance.

Lisa Frankenstein opens in theaters on February 9.