Some movies you go into knowing exactly what to expect. The Shape of Water is most definitely not one of these. This film’s dazzling aesthetic, captivating cast, and unique approach to the fantasy-romance genre have left audiences leaving cinemas stunned and slightly conflicted. The sort of conflict you might expect to feel after realising that for the past two hours you have been shipping an interspecies relationship.
At the centre of this fantasy is the love story that unfolds between Elisa and the amphibian man, and there is no trace of exaggeration in saying that they share a love like no other. Elisa’s muteness becomes an absolutely crucial element upon which their relationship built. By teaching him sign language she bridges the gap between the species, consequently setting off a chain of events that changes her life and the lives of those around her.
It is no coincidence that the only other characters who have any empathy for the happy couple are social outcasts of the suspicious, fearful culture that defined USA in the 1960’s. Having snagged three separate Oscar nominations for acting alone, this ensemble of ragtag misfits is indeed one of The Shape of Water’s strongest fields. Elisa, Zelda and Giles make up this assortment of outsiders who each suffer different forms of discrimination in their daily lives. There is no pretension that they perfectly understand each other’s struggles; there is just simple compassion and a genuine desire to help each other out where they can.
When the amphibian man is thrown into the mix, their instinct to help the underdog is challenged. Elisa is the first to see how they are both trapped in a world that refuses to accept them, while Giles and Zelda both take a little longer to come round. Giles begins to recognise how Elisa’s unusual attraction to the amphibian man mirrors his own taboo sexuality, whereas Zelda realises how her unfair judgement of the creature’s physical appearance is no different to the racism she constantly suffers. Even though they still cannot fully comprehend the amphibian man’s pain, their acceptance and compassion ultimately come out on top.
Director Guillermo del Toro is also at his best in The Shape of Water, adding to his repertoire of beautifully grim fantasies and dark romances such as Pan’s Labyrinth and Crimson Peak. The blue and green colours of the film create a murky, uneasy atmosphere that reflects American culture in the midst of the Cold War. Fear of the unknown prevailed in this time period, and so the water imagery echoes this by concealing what lies within it.
However, as the relationship between Elisa and the amphibian man develops, we stop looking at the water from the outside and start to delve beneath its surface. We discover a whole new underwater world – one that is liberated from the flaws of humanity. Once we can see what lies in the water, we recognise its nourishing, life-giving power, and our fears quickly dissipate. Accordingly, the water comes to represent the goodness of humanity; a part of our lives we are afraid to embrace, and yet one that holds the key to finding peace with the world around us.
When it comes down the bare bones of it, The Shape of Water does actually follow all the tropes of a classic love story. Man and woman meet, fall in love, struggle against a force keeping them apart, and overcome said force. But outside of these clichés, it is more than just a story about love; it is a story about displaying empathy and acceptance even when complete understanding isn’t possible. Like Zelda and Giles, we don’t need to comprehend exactly why Elisa and the amphibian man are attracted to each other. There is just a simple peacefulness in seeing other people find their own happiness.
