Sometimes, fairy tales don’t need a handsome prince or a towering castle; Guillermo del Toro's "The Shape of Water" gives us a love story that unfolds in the shadowy corridors of a government lab during the Cold War. Released in 2017 and set in the 1960s, it’s a world where an introverted woman named Elisa Esposito, who is voiceless yet vibrant, finds herself entangled in a mythical romance. The breathtaking tale unfolds when Elisa, a janitor at a top-secret research facility in Baltimore, discovers a mysterious aquatic creature held captive for experimentation. Why did del Toro choose such an improbable setting for what is essentially a love story? Because, at its core, this film is about finding connection in an alienated world.
In this world of espionage and secrets, Elisa’s routine life sees an odd turn with this newfound connection. Elisa, played beautifully by Sally Hawkins, communicates through sign language, and the film does brilliantly in making us feel that silence can be loud. Her unique relationship with the creature—a curious being with humanoid traits but with gills and scales—dares to echo the message of seeing beyond differences, acknowledging 'otherness' not as a barrier, but a bridge. The cold halls of Elisa's workplace become a canvas for the warming colors of emotion, dreams, and desires.
Why does a film set in the Cold War focus on such themes? The era itself was ripe with political tension and societal changes. Del Toro's narrative masterfully layers these historical undercurrents with storytelling that challenges societal norms. It’s like the fish out of water tale where the norms are the fish, and the water is suddenly rendered immemorable. You see, "The Shape of Water" dives into profound conversations around diversity, acceptance, and love. The Cold War, a period often perceived through the lens of conflict and paranoia, is juxtaposed with themes of intimacy, understanding, and compassion. Through this fantastical narrative, del Toro sheds light on issues that, to this day, resonate with audiences worldwide.
Some film enthusiasts argue that "The Shape of Water" presents fantasies that mask harsher realities. They contend that it creates an idealized perspective on acceptance and diversity, perhaps lessening the impact of these societal issues in the real world. But isn’t it the purpose of art to challenge our perceptions and fuel our dreams? The film's ability to transform a bizarre premise into something as familiar as a love story is its triumph. Critics may highlight the impracticalities; yet, in the cracks of this unconventional framework, it’s possible to glimpse reflections of our own yearnings for safety and a rightful place in society.
The supporting characters in the film are vivid, adding to its meaning and depth. Richard Jenkins plays Giles, a lonely artist battling his own demons of discrimination due to his sexuality, adding a heartfelt layer to the story. Octavia Spencer's charismatic portrayal of Zelda, Elisa’s spirited interpreter, reinforces the essence of human solidarity. Michael Shannon as Strickland, the antagonist, brings a cold, menacing aspect, creating a stark contrast to the warmth of Elisa and the creature's bond.
Visual storytelling plays an extraordinary role in this film. The imagery is lush and poetic, reminiscent of del Toro’s other works like "Pan’s Labyrinth". The visual palette shifts from cool, shadowy blues to rich, warm hues, mirroring the transformation in the narrative itself. Alexandre Desplat’s haunting score further enriches the experience, capturing the fluidity of water, both literal and metaphorical. It’s this mastery of mood and music that helps the audience navigate through the film’s fantastical yet deeply moving waters.
Moreover, "The Shape of Water" asks us to reevaluate who the true monster is. Is it the creature captured from the Amazon or the humans whose fears drive cruelty? Del Toro intentionally blurs lines between man and monster, victim and villain, urging introspection on societal perceptions of normality and monstrosity. The reality is, fears tend to mold our actions sometimes in monstrous ways.
Film buffs and casual viewers alike might agree: stories like "The Shape of Water" uncover the heart's secret desires under societal facades. Its merit lies not just in thrilling visuals or captivating narratives, but in the way it gently nudges audiences toward introspection. While opinions about its narrative power can diverge, its empathy and artistry are hard to ignore.
If you haven’t watched "The Shape of Water", consider it more than just time spent watching a film. It's a journey into feelings, a meditation on connections, and a sympathetic nod to the marginalized. Merging fantastical elements with social discourse, this film begs us to broaden our views and deepen our understandings of love and acceptance.