The Shape of Water (Feminist Film Reviews)
By: Rachel Wayne
Tags: Film, Film Criticism, Movies, Fantasy, Film Reviews

The Shape of Water (Feminist Film Reviews)

Windows to the Soul in a Watery World

“Never trust a man. Even when he looks flat down there,” Zelda (Octavia Spencer) advises Eliza (Sally Hawkins). There’s much to be said about The Shape of Water, a remarkable and beautiful film about love and friendship in the face of neurotic self-mutilating bureaucracy, but the primary narrative of the film is precisely what it sounds like: a romantic and eventually sexual relationship between Eliza, a kind, mute custodian at a mysterious government facility, and an amphibious man, not unlike the Creature from the Black Lagoon, held at said facility for not-so-kind Cold War purposes.

The relationship might be a hard pill to swallow; if it helps, the never-named “gill-man” is clearly intelligent and a consenting partner in the relationship, and both the exposition and several narrative clues suggest that Eliza isn’t quite human herself.

Despite all that, or perhaps because of it, Eliza’s sexuality permeates the film. It’s refreshing to see a film that prioritizes a woman’s desire, and indeed, self-empowering and seductive behavior from a woman who day-to-day presents as sheltered and conservative — one might even say frumpy. Yet there is more than meets the eye to Eliza. I’m always reluctant to characterize a mostly silent female character as well-fleshed out for any feminist standard for non-sexy lamp characters, but as many have commented, Hawkins’ soulful eyes and exquisite non-dialogue acting speak volumes. Her “disability” is no handicap to her character. Similarly, Doug Jones, who has played multiple makeup-clad fantastical characters in del Toro’s body of work, exudes such personality that one fully identifies with him. And yet his performance doesn’t have to rely upon an overt humanity to create this connection. We understand that he is not human, and yet we sympathize deeply with both his plight and his love.

Unable to avoid an opposites-attract pairing, writer/director Guillermo del Toro has Eliza’s coworker and companion Zelda talks enough for the both of them, and Spencer’s portrayal is typically, and unfortunately, classic Spencer: the sassy, quick-talking black woman who rarely delves into nuances and relies upon zippy one-liners, such as the one that begins this review, and mm-hmms to progress the plot. It’s disappointing that del Toro could not give Zelda the level of complexity that even the gill-man, completely devoid of human language, exhibits, and also that Spencer seems to only portray the same character again and again.

Rather than Zelda, it’s Giles, portrayed with the extraordinary wit and emotional depths that Richard Jenkins did so well in Six Feet Under and The Visitor, who threatens to steal the show. Giles too is a bit of a stereotype: a closeted, lonely artist with an apartment full of cats. One might forgive del Toro for his by-the-numbers gay stereotype by way of his casting Jenkins, who like Hawkins, says so much with a glance, a smile, a simple move of his head or hand. Giles is the completion of the silent triad of lost and lonely souls, all swimming through profound change as their dreams die and are reborn, as their bodies are bruised and broken, then sexually and spiritually reawakened. As the riveting plot approaches its watery climax, the triad’s journeys realize their common ties.

What del Toro does so spectacularly here, as in Pan’s Labyrinth, is finding the deepest and most intangible desires of human and spirit alike and bringing them into tandem with the Big Questions: who are we? why are we here? who are we meant to love? In The Shape of Water, the latter is unequivocally: the one who you indeed love.