Of monsters and men

Rating: 7/10 (1 March 2018)

It's the space race and Cold War crazed 60's again, with America being at its finest: gloomy underground facilities, "mission above humanity" ethics and slightly covered racist undertones. And huge glorious metal beasts on four wheels of course.
And among those cold monstrosities live regular people, some big and self-important, some little, alone and confused. Elisa Esposito is a shy mute janitor girl working in some secret lab, whose life is a repetitive chore with the only refreshment being her dreams of something bigger and brighter, something we can only guess about from her gestures and the words of two people who understand her - a black co-worker and a older sexually confused painter with whom she shares a shabby but stylish apartment above a cinema.
What comes next may be viewed as yet another take on the "beauty and the beast" story, this time told mostly without words and taking place inside a dark rusty bunker instead of a palace. But it's more than just love between a woman who feels out of place around her own kind and a creature taken from its natural habitat. It's a story about all the rejects of this world who don't know where they belong or, even if they do, hardly receive any acceptance in return. About those who dare to dream, to stay true to themselves and to do what they believe in, even if the risk is high and the consequences may be severe.
In fact, this whole film feels like Guillermo del Toro's profession of love towards all those bizarre worlds filled with bizarre creatures that he's been creating for as long as we know him. The amphibian creature from The Shape of Water may not be directly connected to Abe Sapien from Hellboy, but it does feel like a homage to del Toro's roots, and to the gentle and sensitive side we rarely get to see in the monstrously looking things.
This film is much more sentimental than you could expect from a movie with Michael Shannon playing a violent creep with two zombie fingers sewn to his hand. So sentimental that one could suspect del Toro was putting some personal reflections on his life into it. Yet, just like the creatures his imagination brought to life aren't a pleasant view for some, so is the subtle mix of erotic fantasies and yearning for a kind touch displayed through bodily movements and pantomime not a fail-proof key to everyone's hearts. I, for one, can easily admire the creative brilliance of the entourage and its aesthetics, but when it comes to letting the main characters inside your own head and seeing the world through their eyes, The Shape of Water is as effective and eloquent as talking to a fish. I guess the 60% of my body that is water is not in shape enough for this trick to fully work.