What The Shape of Water Gave Me | Jakub Frączek

Jakub Frączek

Directed by Guillermo Del Toro, The Shape of Water tells the story of a mute cleaner, Elisa Esposito, who falls in love with a humanoid amphibian creature and tries to save it from the American government. Their tale is narrated by Elisa’s friend, Giles, who has difficulties finding a job and fitting in society due to his sexuality. Without a doubt, the film was polarising – many of its critics accused it of being too literal and outright repulsive because of the nature of the main romance. However, the fans praised the stunning visuals, impressive score, overall atmosphere, and exploration of the theme of likeable misfits who try to help one another face the brutal reality. Regardless of the contrasting opinions, the movie is undoubtedly made with love for cinema. It is full of references, tropes, motifs, and ideas that deserve to be discussed. In terms of analysis, the amount of angles is unlimited; from the obvious nods towards the Creature from the Black Lagoon and classical monster movies, through the reinterpretation of the fairy tale genre, to simply being a heartfelt story about being the “other” in our society.

It is easy to misinterpret the role of water in the story or reduce it only to the representation of the Amphibian Man. Yet, as it can be expected from a movie by Del Toro, every nuance has been polished to perfection. The eponymous water is omnipresent, framing the world even through small details and adding another remarkable layer to the story.

In an interview, Del Toro himself claimed the Amphibian Man as the shape of water. Having that in mind, water can be defined with regard to this godlike creature who lives in parts of the Amazon which are unknown to our civilization. Devoid of prejudice, it is a place of primal, natural freedom. This is directly contrasted with the man-made world, which is full of constraints and short on regard for those on the margin.

Stuck between these two worlds is the main character, Elisa. Though physically she is a part of the human world, the film from the very beginning gracefully indicates that she hardly fits in. The first scene shows Elisa’s room as if it was underwater, with her and her stuff floating loosely. In the next scene, the camera follows our protagonist through her daily routine, including boiling eggs or masturbation in the bathtub. Since one’s dreams, desires, and sexual activities are considered intimate, especially given the story is set in the 1960s, it can be argued she has a special connection with the free-flowing water.

It is important to note how Elisa keeps track of time with the help of an egg timer. Since eggs are what Elisa gives to the Amphibian Man to establish their relationship – and shots of the eggs reflect the shots of her in the bathroom – eggs represent their relationship and its sexual nature. Their boiling shows how Elisa’s feelings are changing and how she doesn’t think of the creature only as a friend. Finally, it makes perfect sense for her and her love interest to ultimately become intimate in a locked bathroom, with water flowing freely, even flooding the theatre located under her flat. Their love is authentic and real, and it cannot be contained within this bathroom.

In contrast, Elisa is disregarded by society due to her disability, feeling incomplete. Water allows her to be seen as someone perfectly normal since nobody speaks underwater. In everyday life, however, she is instantly labelled as a “mute woman”. At the beginning of the movie, she is protected from the rain by the bus she’s riding – water cannot interfere with her because of her ties to the human world. Yet, even then, the raindrops on the window are undeniably trying to follow the movements of her fingers, to which she is oblivious at that point.

On the other hand, the representation of our world is embodied in Richard Strickland. He is the epitome of the American Dream, the golden child of society, respected by everyone: He has an important job, a wife, two kids, and a Cadillac. Contrary to Elisa, his relationship with water is minimal. He washes his hands only once throughout the movie. There would be nothing special in that, but tap water is a human means of taming the element. Strickland even makes a speech about how “a man washes his hands before or after (urinating)” because when he washes them twice at one go, it is a “weakness in character”, which shows how the antagonist considers something natural or primal to be weak. When he spills water, he orders Elisa to clean his office, exercising his control over her, making her get rid of the water in the process. Finally, he has a certain dislike towards the rain and feels uncomfortable with it until the very end of the movie. The only instance when he does not mind the rain is when he interrogates and tortures Bob, one of the scientists in the lab with a friendly approach towards the creature. Strickland’s true psychotic nature takes over his usually calm persona and he ssutains catharsis by way of water. He symbolises our world, which is a world of fear, discrimination and hate, where people like him can gain whatever they want. In such a place, the Amphibian Man would be unable to survive, both literally and metaphorically. The creature is too good, too trusting, and too understanding to be able to live in the human world. Similarly, Elisa has to discover that she has much more in common with what’s underwater than what’s above it. One may say that The Shape of Water is a “fish out of water” story, or rather a “human out of water” story.

All of those indications would not be half as powerful without the tremendous work of the cinematography crew and the score. The usage of blues and greens as the dominant lenses of the film gives it an underwater feeling, simultaneously grounding it in the world and reminding us that it is a fairy tale with water as the focal point. Yet, it never feels unreal or disingenuous. The picture is complemented by the music composed by Alexandre Desplat. This Oscar-winning score tries to capture the sound and feeling of warm water through wave sounds and the usage of flutes and accordions. This results in lengthy, blurred melodies which sound like they can be heard from a distance or under the water. As Desplat himself said: water is the driving force of the movie.

A fair number of people put the movie’s simplicity against it. In a review for New York Vulture, David Edelstein called it “a complacent movie, too comfortable with itself to generate real dramatic tension”, while Armond White argued the main romance is “pervy, ridiculous, and humourless”. I do believe, however, that its power lies in its simplicity and corniness. At its very core, The Shape of Water is not overly intellectual – its focus is not on a tightly written plot or ethos deconstructing. It is an adult fairy tale made for anyone who feels like they do not belong. No matter the reason, it assures you that you will never be alone and that you can find someone who will care about you, even in the strangest of places. It remains one of my favourite movies, which showed my 18-year-old self how beautiful art can be. Without bitterness or pessimism, The Shape of Water is a melodrama full of emotions, which reinvented my understanding of the medium and strengthened my deep affection for cinema. And I am more than grateful that in the cynical world we live in, Guillermo Del Toro is still dedicated to making movies that are shameless, earnest and unafraid to go underwater and tell their own story.