by Zoe Pollock

Daniel Zalewski visits Guillermo del Toro, who was supposed to direct the Hobbit movies, in his lavish workspace:

He has said of his fetish for the macabre, “It’s as hard to explain as a sexual proclivity. Some guys like high-heeled shoes. I like horror.” The size of the collection was disconcerting; it was as if the 40-Year-Old Virgin had been handed a three-million-dollar decorating budget. Del Toro owned more than five thousand comic books and several puppets of Nosferatu. On a shelf, a posed plastic figurine of Leatherface, from “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” battled Edward Scissorhands. A life-size statue of Boris Karloff, in the guise of Frankenstein’s Creature, lurked in a corner of the dining room. At one point, del Toro issued the apt warning, “This is the room where I keep most of my aliens.”

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.