Editorials
A ‘Cronos’ Retrospective: Guillermo del Toro’s Subversive Mexican Vampire Tale
Guillermo del Toro is one of my favorite directors and I’m certainly not the only person in the world who thinks that.
Del Toro, a native from Guadalajara, Jalisco in Mexico, has developed a rock-solid reputation of being something of a huge nerd and an imaginative child in an adult’s body, having been interested in the macabre and other geeky things since his youth in a strict Catholic home. Hobbies would include drawing his own unique monsters and directing various short films on his Super 8 camera, one which is about a killer potato venturing into the outside world – only to get crushed by a car. They truly do start early, don’t they?
Though obviously not as refined as his professional work, Del Toro’s early home films still contained the wildly morbid, darkly humorous, and expansive creativity that has defined the man’s work in both films and shows. A child at heart despite the multiple traumatizing events that he has experienced, Del Toro finds the beauty in the world of fantasy fiction and otherworldly beings with strong connections to his own reality.
It’s this brand of horror and fiction that set him apart from his fellow Mexican contemporaries who dabbled in horror at the time. While his work didn’t have the same level of eccentric filmmaking as the work of Alejandro Jodorowsky, Del Toro favored a healthy balance between an entertaining story and a rich and detailed world full of magical wonder and/or macabre. Drawing from his own upbringing in a Catholic home, Del Toro’s stories are not unlike detailed religious worlds on their own, making way for stories not seen in this form anywhere else.
It’s no wonder that Guillermo Del Toro’s feature length debut, the 1993 vampire classic, Cronos, made an impact on the Mexican film scene, earning rave reviews and even being submitted as Mexico’s entry into the Best Foreign Language Film. It didn’t get in, but a genre film like this one being submitted for Oscar consideration is no easy feat. Even if it didn’t get in, Cronos’ crossover appeal with the casting of Ron Perlman and its imaginative take on the vampire monster stood as a crucial moment in Mexican horror filmmaking, demonstrating what Mexican filmmakers could add to the somewhat lowkey horror genre in the country.
Although many Mexican horror films were distributed internationally by K. Gordan Murray, who was most notable for distributing low-budget Mexploitation horror films, Cronos still stood on its own thanks to Del Toro’s mature story being told within the confines of fantasy fiction. He certainly wanted the audience to have fun, but telling a compelling story was and still is just as important and this is something that the notorious Mexploitation films seemed to lack, despite their immense popularity in Mexico and eventually the United States.
Spoilers ahead for Cronos, so read at your own risk.
With Cronos, we don’t have a masked luchador fighting off some otherworldly evils. Instead, we get a story spanning over 400 years, detailing humanity’s lust for power and youth becoming their own undoing. By no means is this an epic, but the world crafted for the film’s narrative has this grand presence that could easily find its way into a tentpole-budget film from the land of Hollywood. Del Toro crafted this with an estimated $2 million budget, which is already incredibly admirable and impressive.
But Cronos’ best features lie within its story making full use of this world to create a compelling example of the sins of lusting for God-like power. The main protagonist of this vampire tragedy is antiques store owner, Jesus Gris (played by prolific Argentinean actor and future Del Toro collaborator, Federico Luppi), a simple and down-to-earth man of religion who stumbles across a strange device hidden inside a statue in his shop. While he is clueless as to what this device is, the opening narration sets the stage for what is to come.
Over 400 years earlier, an alchemist creates this very device as a means to acquire eternal life, with something in the device granting this unique power to whoever holds it against their bare skin. Jesus unintentionally uses its power while showing it off to his granddaughter, Aurora. While initially painful, he comes to feel a bit younger, demonstrating an energetic vigor he has not felt in ages. Unfortunately, his use of the device causes insatiable greed for continued usage and endless power, all while an American brute named Angel (the legendary Hellboy himself, Ron Perlman) is after the device for his dying and abusive uncle, Dieter de la Guardia.
Many characters and plotlines to cover, yet Cronos makes good use of every one of them to fit into the ultimate starring narrative of the film, which is the greed of humanity falling back unto itself. The characters of this world desire something out of their mortal reach and are willing to suffer and/or make others suffer to achieve it. Jesus, in all his earnestness, desires his youth to make his estranged wife, Mercedes (Margarita Isabel) closer to him once again while feeling full of life all on his own. Dieter, despite his upper-class status, desires eternal life after learning of his upcoming death, while Angel desires his uncle’s inheritance, willing to withstand his abuse to do so.
Despite the dark story of greed being the center focus of Cronos, Guillermo del Toro’s childlike wonder and personality still shine through in the film’s various moments of tender sweetness and humor. Jesus is shown to be playful and passionate about games and puzzles, playing hopscotch on the street and harboring a fascination with the artifacts in his shop. Even as his body begins to transform, there’s a layer of sensitivity to Jesus, preferring to spend time with his family despite his increased craving of blood.
This tenderness is actually the strongest when Jesus is killed by Angel after refusing to give up the device. The inevitable happens when Jesus is brought back from death, only to become a grey-faced vampire craving human blood and burning up at the slightest hint of sunlight. Yet Jesus does not try to satisfy his bloodlust, even with the presence of unaware humans isolated to his advantage. Apart from Dieter at the climax of the film, Jesus contains himself, refusing to give in and become the monster that the device seemingly sets him up to be.
Even in vampire films like Let the Right One In, Nosferatu, and Dracula, any hint of reluctance is gone as soon as blood enters the mix, leaving the fanged beings no choice but to feed off the lifeblood to survive. Cronos has hints of this, most notably when Jesus licks the remnants of his nosebleed off a public bathroom floor, but his humanity takes charge even in his transformed state, where he prioritizes his family’s safety over indulging in their sweet lifeblood.
The heart of Cronos may very well be the reason why the film broke out like it did in 1993. Winning the Mercedes-Benz award at that year’s Cannes Film Festival, Del Toro’s vampire drama was lucky enough to receive international treatment with a limited run in America, a decision that critics at the time and even now have agreed was poor, given the film’s popularity. There was crossover appeal with its heavy use of the English language and the film felt considerably more mature than the various “Wrestler v. Evil” films coming from Mexico in the ’50s and ’60s (though these certainly have value in the timeline of Mexican cinema). There’s a sincere nature to Del Toro’s work and above all else, audiences love to see a film designed to transport them into a world far and away from their own.
Cronos represents an effort from a young filmmaker completely unfiltered and fully embracing the nature of his upbringing, in spite of some of his disagreements with religion. Rich with culture and filled to the brim with an imaginative take on the vampire, Cronos appropriately served as one of Mexico’s finest horror films and is now regarded as among Guillermo del Toro’s best work, including his higher-budgeted projects. Del Toro’s debut feature may be appealing for American audiences, but it did not sacrifice its cultural identity to do so, relying on the film’s tender, but heartbreaking story of the sins of man coming to claim their unfortunate victims.
As Issa Lopez’s Tigers Are Not Afraid has just released in America courtesy of Shudder, it’s important to take a step back and examine the path that Lopez’s modern fairy tale is following, largely paved by the likes of Guillermo del Toro and Alejandro Jodorowsky with their unique and subversive work in the horror genre. Cronos may not have been the first internationally successful Mexican horror film, but it still stands as the point in time when Mexican horror showed what it could do. Lopez is showing off what she can do this year and we have the influence of Guillermo del Toro to thank for that.
After fifty years of continuous writing, Stephen King has become a genre unto himself.
The unrivaled Master of Horror made a splash in 1974 with his debut novel Carrie and has been terrifying readers ever since. Two years later, Brian De Palma brought this shocking story to the screen with an equally electrifying horror film that remains a genre classic and a prototypical example of “Good For Her” horror. This dual debut seemed to open the floodgates, unleashing endless waves of Stephen King films.
From the highs of Misery, Cujo, and The Shawshank Redemption to the schlocky fun of Cat’s Eye, Creepshow, and Children of the Corn, the last five decades have seen just about every notable horror creator take a stab at the author’s massive collection.
In recent years, this singular subgenre has begun to burst at the seams, expanding to include Stephen King-esque fare. In 2016, brothers Matt and Ross Duffer debuted Stranger Things, a sci-fi series heavily inspired by two of King’s most famous books. The Netflix series remixes Firestarter and It by following a little girl with psychic powers and an intrepid group of kids on bikes who must battle an otherworldly foe and a sinister government agency. With its clever blend of modern effects and comforting nostalgia, this gateway horror series paved the way for Andy Muschietti’s It adaptation which remains the highest grossing horror film of all time.
Four years later, Mike Flanagan would create Midnight Mass, a spiritual adaptation of King’s second novel Salem’s Lot. Published in 1975, the book sees a tiny New England town torn apart by a centuries-old vampire. Though Flanagan’s story is perhaps more tender, both iterations of the classic horror tale follow close-knit communities shaken to their core by the presence of an ancient evil.
In addition to these recent hits, 2025 was a banner year for the Master of Horror. Audiences delighted in six mainstream adaptations, including the massively popular It: Welcome to Derry which chronicles earlier cycles of the titular clown’s reign. With this boost to King’s cultural cache, it’s no surprise that we’ve begun to see more unofficial adaptations of the author’s work and horror creators who build their own unique castles in King’s creative sandbox.
So what defines a Stephen King-esque story?
For the past fifty years, the prolific author has dipped his toes in nearly every subgenre from supernatural stories and grisly gore to western fantasy and science fiction. Including his vast catalogue of short fiction, King has tackled ghosts, demons, werewolves, zombies, aliens, mutants, and self-driving cars, not to mention bizarre monsters of his own creation. But what truly unites this vast array of horror is King’s focus on relatable characters. In his 2000 memoir/instructional text On Writing, the prolific author describes the amusement he finds in writing disparate characters, placing them in horrific scenarios, then exploring the ways they try to survive.
An unofficial Stephen King adaptation may take place in the author’s native New England — bonus points if it’s set in Maine — and reference his well-known heroes and villains. But what makes the King connection unbreakable is a character-driven story about average people who band together in the face of abject terror.
Weapons Captures Small Town Stephen King
Following his 2022 shocker Barbarian, Zach Cregger returned with Weapons, a sprawling story that begins in a doomed elementary school. On an otherwise ordinary day, Justine (Julia Garner) arrives at her desk to find that all but one of her students have disappeared. As the mystery grows increasingly violent, Justine and Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of a missing boy, find their way to the home of Alex (Cary Christopher), the class’ only surviving student. In some ways reminiscent of Salem’s Lot, Weapons swings wildly through the unfortunate town, introducing us to its flawed inhabitants as we watch their lives fall apart.
Cregger’s setup nods to a pair of King short stories. Both “Suffer the Little Children” and “Here There Be Tygers” tackle monstrous presences in elementary schools, but as Weapons reaches its final act, Constant Readers may remember another Stephen King tale. Featured in his 1985 collection Skeleton Crew, “Gramma” introduces us to George, a little boy tormented by an aging witch. On an afternoon alone with his sickly grandmother, the frightened child gradually realizes that the imposing old woman has been waiting for an opportunity to cast a spell that will extend her own life by possessing his body.
Alex finds himself similarly tortured by his aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan), a garish witch who orchestrates a desperate plot to sustain her own strength. Transforming humans into mindless weapons, Gladys has taken over Alex’s family home and lured his classmates to the basement. Holding them in a comatose state, she syphons off their energy to extend her own supernatural life.
Vastly different in many ways, both “Gramma” and Weapons hinge on a sinister witch who uses horrific magical spells to sacrifice the bodies of her vulnerable prey.
Hokum Echoes The Shining and 1408
It’s nearly impossible to watch a film about a haunted hotel without thinking of King’s third novel, The Shining. This icy story follows Jack Torrance, an angry writer struggling with his sobriety and a shameful incident haunting his past. Accompanied by his wife and young son, Jack has taken a job as the winter caretaker for the Overlook, a haunted hotel situated high in the Rocky Mountains. Snowed in, Jack finds himself tormented by dangerous ghosts who amplify his greatest fears.
Damian McCarthy’s Hokum follows a similarly troubled figure. Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) is a surly writer who travels to the Bilberry Woods Hotel in rural Ireland to spread his parents’ ashes. Haunted by his own tragic past, Ohm finds himself trapped in the honeymoon suite, a decaying room that’s been permanently closed to protect visitors from a dangerous witch trapped within its walls. Visual nods to King’s text abound with woodcut figurines and an animated clock, mirroring ominous descriptions found in King’s text.
Another terrifying sequence sees Ohm staring with horror at a closed door, the only thing separating him from the approaching witch. As the door knob slowly turns, Constant Readers remember Jack’s narrow escape from the ghostly woman in room 217. And Ohm’s popular Conquistador books directly reference King’s long-running fantasy series The Dark Tower which follows a gunslinger named Roland Deschain tasked with protecting the nexus of the universe.
In addition to these thematic comparisons, Hokum bears striking resemblance to King’s terrifying short story “1408.” Collected in 2002’s Everything’s Eventual, the terrifying story follows Mike Enslin, a dejected writer who’s risen to fame penning essays about his adventures in haunted locations. Mike arrives at the Hotel Dolphin and bullies his way into the titular room, despite the manager’s dire warnings. McCarthy nods to this story with an ominously misplaced hotel room door, reminiscent of King’s entry to 1408, an unsuspecting portal that appears to move each time Mike looks away.
However, McCarthy’s most direct reference lies in a minicorder Ohm uses to capture notes. Trapped inside the dreaded honeymoon suite, this device offers well-timed messages while sitting next to a decomposing corpse. Mike records his time in 1408 with his own trusty minicorder. Described for the reader, his tape has captured the man’s slow descent into madness as the room prepares to swallow him whole. With conclusions that differ wildly in tone, both Ohm and Mike find their lives irrevocably changed by encounters with the supernatural realm.
Widow’s Bay Builds Its Own Version of Castle Rock
Katie Dippold’s Widow’s Bay has taken the idea of an unofficial King adaptation and turned it into an art form. The Apple TV series sees the residents of the titular island plagued by a curse that dates back centuries. Not only does the picturesque hamlet not accommodate wifi connections, those born on the island face certain death should they ever try to leave. Desperate to modernize the tiny town, Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) draws in waves of tourists just as a new cycle of terror begins.
Blending horror with deft comedy, Dippold makes cheeky references to King’s body of work. Tom warns that, “there’s something in the fog,” reminding readers of King’s 1980 novella The Mist. And Loftis’ own stay in the town’s haunted hotel sees him tormented by the ghost of a murderous clown. We even spy a vintage King hardback peeking out of a local book trade box.
In many ways Widow’s Bay feels like a new iteration of the author’s Little Tall Island, a tiny village off the coast of Maine. In addition to the 1992 novel Dolores Claiborne and a handful of harrowing short stories, this quaint fishing village is also the setting for King’s 1999 teleplay Storm of the Century. Premiering on ABC primetime, this tragic tale follows a terrified group of islanders who batten down the hatches for a dangerous Nor’easter only to find a more sinister threat lurking within.
Constant Readers may also be reminded of Castle Rock, the author’s favorite fictional town.
First introduced in the 1981 novel Cujo, the charming village becomes the star of Needful Things, King’s satire about consumerism. After several Castle Rock stories, we’re reintroduced to its residents as they gossip about the arrival of Leland Gaunt and the grand opening of his curio shop. Anything their hearts desire can be found in his varied inventory, so long as they’re willing to pay the price. Pitting cantankerous neighbors against each other, Gaunt ignites a wave of grisly violence by exploiting long-held resentments and feuds.
The town’s only defense against this supernatural threat is beleaguered sheriff Alan Pangborn. Still grieving the deaths of his wife and younger son, Alan struggles to connect with his older child and pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Also a widower, Loftis struggles to raise his own restless son and explain the strange details of his wife’s tragic death. Attempting to unravel the island’s dark secrets, Tom is aided by quirky residents including a surly fisherman named Wyck (Stephen Root) and Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), an earnest Town Hall employee. King’s own novels feature many of these proactive alliances with disparate characters combining their strengths to overcome insurmountable odds.
With Widow’s Bay renewed for a second season and Mike Flanagan’s Carrie series on the horizon, the future seems bright for new King adaptations, both spiritual and directly pulled from his catalogue. The prolific author also shows no signs of slowing down with two publications nearing release. His upcoming novel, Other Worlds Than These, is the long-awaited third Talisman book which teases direct ties to his Dark Tower world. Holly Forever will be a new installment of his crime series, offering a different kind of genre fare.
This embarrassment of riches spawning multiple worlds seems ripe for spiritual adaptation and will likely inspire horror creators for decades to come.
Kate O’Flynn, Stephen Root and Matthew Rhys in “Widow’s Bay,” now streaming on Apple TV.
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