I once watched a man cry in front of a puppet. Not just any puppet — a moss-covered forest spirit with antlers and hollow eyes, built from foam and wire and decades of childhood imagination. It was Guillermo del Toro, at a museum exhibit of his sketches and creature designs, standing before one of his oldest creations like a man meeting an old friend. That moment changed how I understood him. He wasn’t just a filmmaker. He was a believer — in ghosts, in monsters, and in the strange, redemptive beauty of things the world calls ugly.

A Director Who Builds Homes for the Unloved

Most people know del Toro for Pan’s Labyrinth or Pacific Rim, but few realize how deeply his childhood shaped his view of the world. He grew up in Guadalajara, Mexico, the son of a businessman and a homemaker who wouldn’t let him leave the house during the day — too many dangers, she said. So he stayed inside, drawing monsters in the margins of school notebooks, watching Universal horror films on TV, and reading Bram Stoker under the covers with a flashlight. Those monsters weren’t just entertainment. They were companions. They were family.

Del Toro once said in an interview that he believes monsters are “the patron saints of the imperfect.” That line stuck with me. In his films, the creatures are often more humane than the humans. The faun in Pan’s Labyrinth offers a child a chance at escape and dignity. The amphibian man in The Shape of Water becomes the only source of unconditional love in a cold, bureaucratic world. Del Toro doesn’t just create monsters — he defends them.

Haunted Houses and Living Sketchbooks

One lesser-known fact about del Toro is that he lives in a house called “Bleak House,” a Victorian-style mansion filled with books, toys, and life-sized statues of characters from his films. It’s not just a home — it’s a museum of his imagination. He spends hours there, sketching new creatures, surrounded by the very things that inspired him as a boy. And if you talk to him long enough, you’ll realize he still carries that child with him — the one who saw monsters not as threats, but as misunderstood souls.

Another surprising detail: he keeps a sketchbook with him at all times, and has done so for decades. He once joked that if he died, someone would find a sketchbook in his pocket, open to a page of teeth and claws. These drawings are not just concept art. They’re confessions. They’re prayers. They’re how he makes sense of the world.

Talk to Guillermo del Toro About the Monsters You Love

I’ve spent hours thinking about what it means to love the things others fear. And I’ve come to believe that del Toro’s greatest gift isn’t his filmmaking — it’s his ability to remind us that empathy is not reserved for the beautiful or the powerful. On HoloDream, you can talk to Guillermo del Toro and ask him how he sees the world through the eyes of monsters. Ask him about the faun’s intentions in Pan’s Labyrinth. Ask him why he believes fear is a creative force. Or better yet, tell him about the monsters you’ve loved — the ones that shaped your childhood, your fears, your dreams.

You might be surprised at how much he understands.