The Shape of Water

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The Shape of Water

      As reported by Dollyforme

 

This is a totally wonderful movie – Guillermo del Toro’s creature feature “The Shape of Water,” a grotesquely gorgeous fairy tale, just might be the most epically romantic monster movie ever.

Del Toro makes films that straddle the line between horror and beauty, fascinated by attraction to the unexpected and the weird.

The film, co-written with Vanessa Taylor, is a delightfully subversive and heart-rending love story; deeply original, boundary-pushing and genuinely emotional and moving.

It’s the age of time capsules and the Space Race, of turquoise Cadillacs and Jell-O pie. It’s the Cold War in the ’60s, and paranoia governs the States. 

War sets the stage for many of del Toro’s narratives, and “The Shape of Water” is no exception. Wartime gives his films a mood of menace, one in which monsters make sense. Here, though, there is one important shift. The war is cold, and a threatening atmosphere hangs on locker room posters over everyone’s heads: “Loose lips might sink ships.”

Film noir, ’60s household labor and advertisements transitioning to photography all create a setting that both welcomes and repulses you. 

The thematic ties to “Pan’s Labyrinth,” del Toro’s most notable movie to date, are strong: a curious, childlike protagonist, overlooked by those around her builds relationship with monster underground, meanwhile the egos of militant authorities wreak havoc on the lives of common citizens. As Elisa’s friend Zelda (Octavia Spencer) says, “Just how big or tall do they need to feel?”

But that’s true for most of del Toro's films. He focuses on characters that go unnoticed because they appear meek, but who are as far from helpless as any soldier.

The actors play the characters vividly: Sally Hawkins startles and charms as the mute Elisa, and Michael Shannon will make your skin crawl like you were dropped in a cesspool filled with algae.

“The Shape of Water” has tenderness uncommon to del Toro films. Usually in his work, the darkness absorbs us; the monsters are physical evidence that worldly evil dwells nearby. Here, the Creature from the Black Lagoon has a heart, and it opens quickly for Elisa. This deters from the eerie mystery his on-screen creatures usually create, because we communicate with the monster through Elisa.

Even in sentimentality, however, del Toro keeps hold of the reins. He uses quaint nostalgia without laying it on too thick. The film pulls you into its black-water world while the quiet main characters leave you speechless for a moment.

 “The Shape of Water,” set in the early 1960s, stars Sally Hawkins as Elisa, a mute woman who lives in a dank apartment above a glorious old movie palace in Baltimore. She leads a nocturnal life, caring for her neighbor Giles (Richard Jenkins), a closeted, struggling illustrator, before her graveyard shift cleaning a government facility, working with the brash and funny Zelda (Octavia Spencer), her translator and protector.

One night, the women witness a new “asset” being wheeled into the building in a rusty iron water tank, guarded by a menacing security director, Strickland (Michael Shannon). Intrigued by the flapping of fins, Elisa lingers in the lab whenever she can to catch a glimpse of the mysterious amphibian. In the murky waters, she discovers that the greenish-gold fish-man — powerfully strong, able to rip off a man’s fingers with a single swoop of a webbed hand — is as gentle as a lamb when she woos him with hard-boiled eggs and big-band records.

She forges a close bond with the strangely beautiful creature, which is masterfully communicated by del Toro, using visual storytelling for this couple who doesn’t speak. However, Hawkins’ performance is the linchpin — she’s mesmerizing in wordlessly expressing every corner and facet of her character’s emotional journey, like a starlet from the silent era.

It’s not easy for these two to be in love, especially when the violent, cattle prod-wielding Strickland has dark intentions. Locked in a Cold War-era space race, the U.S. government is convinced that the creature could be their “space dog,” thanks to his unique breathing system, and are racing the clock against the Russians.

The world that del Toro crafts in “The Shape of Water” is dreamy, dark and damp, and Alexander Desplat’s swooning score adds to the lyrical fantasy. The film takes place entirely at night, offering a quiet unreality, everything cast in an eerie blueish-green hue, from the uniforms and cars to the bright-green gelatin that quivers in a rather “sordid” key-lime pie.

“The Shape of Water” hits that sweet spot among lovely, dark, poignant and bloody. It is pure of heart but is a profoundly adult film, with sex, violence and serious themes about identity and politics. The extended climax feels prolonged, but del Toro uses that time to establish the characters and motivation so that the bloodshed is earned.

The heroes are outsiders — long discriminated against and ostracized by white patriarchy — who band together to save this vulnerable, curious creature, far from home. In the face of terror, they champion love against hate, acceptance against destruction.

It’s an old story with a creative spin. While “The Shape of Water” isn’t groundbreaking, it is elegant and mesmerizing. The Shape of Water has simple but powerfully resonant message. A movie well worth watching – both in the theatre and as a rental.