Guillermo del Toro recently took on one of the most widely adapted and influential novels in literary history: Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Since the release of the film’s teaser posters in August, I hadn’t stopped talking about the movie until it came to Netflix in November, when I finally watched it. The visuals were perfectly gloomy, and the creature’s character design was terrific—this I mean with a positive connotation, but also in the way Shelley used it to mean “really terrible” in the 1800s. What frightened me most, though, was seeing Jacob Elordi’s name plastered beneath the title, which should not be the scariest thing about a horror movie.

Everyone around me had been raving about this movie. I heard a lot of, “No, really, it was so book accurate!”—something I should never believe ever again. I’m one of those people who can talk through an entire movie, and I will pause it to make sure everyone can hear me. With this movie in particular, being close to three hours and split into parts, it took me two nights to finish it.

What shocked me more than the cadavers, bone saws, and gushing blood was that Jacob Elordi was my favorite part of this movie. After decades of seeing the same green monster with a big forehead and lightning bolts through the neck, del Toro’s decrepit, mangled, and rotten creation is a welcome addition to the mix. Elordi added a childlike sympathy to the monster that countered his freakish height over Oscar Isaac as Victor.

As much as I wanted to like this movie, especially to add to my repertoire of Frankenstein adaptations I love, I just couldn’t at the time. It was all wrong: Elizabeth is marrying Victor’s brother for some reason even though he should’ve been long gone by the 45-minute mark, the creature can’t die, Victor had an extremely troubled childhood when his parents should’ve been in love, Elizabeth had some romantic chemistry with the monster—seemingly a trope of del Toro’s—and it ended with a bond of loving forgiveness between Victor and his creation. Personally, though, I was mostly upset about the lack of Victor’s friend, whom he was kind of into. I was relieved to see some book accuracy in the exchange between the blind man and the monster, but the feeling was fleeting.

I set out to write a scathing review about all the inaccuracies and creative liberties that shouldn’t have been taken, but instead, I sat with it. Still, everyone I knew loved it. Obviously, I loved it for the spectacular scenery and Mia Goth’s beautifully haunting gowns and long hair, but it just wasn’t right.

As I sat with my thoughts, I remembered the adaptations I loved: the 1930s movies, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Tim Burton’s many takes on the monster, etc. None of these were anything close to being book-accurate, yet I still cherish them for other reasons. With more research, I found that del Toro did not intend for this film to be completely accurate, and he sought to make the message more about forgiveness and unity. Over the past few days, I’ve grown to really enjoy the movie and what it adds to the Frankenstein cinematic universe.

Other than the performances and stunning gowns, I love that this movie got people talking about Frankenstein again. If you want book accuracy, read the book. Classic literature is something we’re so lucky to have—not just in a performative, pretentious way. It’s important to take the time to understand the original, rather than blindly accepting the adaptations. Once you know, you’ll be seeing Frankenstein everywhere. Take it from me, as someone who played the Bride of Frankenstein in a middle school play and is utterly obsessed with Frankenweenie: it’s everywhere.