It hands you a corpse with a notebook and dares you not to get attached. Watson keeps Friday stitched together and scribbling because he cannot accept that the thing walking beside him is just meat with borrowed motion, and the entire hunt for Victor Frankenstein's lost notes is one man refusing to let his friend stay dead. Wit Studio renders this like a gaslight fever dream, brass analytical engines, corpse laborers hauling freight through an industrial revolution built on reanimated bodies, all of it gorgeous and quietly obscene. Burnaby's soldier pragmatism keeps grinding against Watson's obsession, and the film never lets the science-versus-soul argument resolve into something comfortable. This is Project Itoh, so expect the philosophy to get denser than the plot can carry and expect to be fine with that. The last thing you remember isn't the spectacle, it's the handwriting.
Victorian-era Europe runs on corpses. Literal ones. Dead bodies are reanimated with artificial souls and put to work as tireless laborers, driving industrial progress while the living enjoy the spoils. It's efficient. It's profitable. It's deeply wrong. John Watson gets pulled into this machinery when a government agency recruits him as a secret agent. But Watson carries his own darkness: he's already lost someone he loved, and the prospect of bringing back the dead through scientific resurrection cuts too close to his grief. As he investigates what lurks beneath the empire's corpse-fueled prosperity, he uncovers something far worse than moral compromise. Something that questions whether the line between life and death even matters anymore. The film balances psychological horror with steampunk spectacle, asking uncomfortable questions about progress, grief, and what we're willing to sacrifice for convenience. Watson's mission becomes a descent into a world where the dead have more rights than the living, and nobody seems to care about fixing it.