I finally obtained a dvd copy of del Toro's The Shape of Water, and I feel like sharing my thoughts. First of all I think this film is a gorgeous fairy tale that flips the traditional creature feature on its head. I posted a review on Letterboxd too, but this is the continuation of it (I don't want to write an entire article on it)
Instead of giving us a creature to fear, del Toro introduces the Asset (a captured amphibian god, who subverts the classic monster archetype entirely. He isn't a mindless beast meant to be hunted. He's a sentient, feeling being. Visually, the appearance of the beast is breathtaking. With shimmering, translucent scales, expressive eyes and bioluminescent skin that glows in the dark — which is insanely cool if you ask me — his look commands awe rather than horror. He felt ancient and majestic rather than scary.
The heart of the film is the profound connection between two isolated souls who society has pushed to the margins. Elisa, who is mute, and the Asset who cannot speak human language. Their lack of spoken words becomes their greates strenght. Because neither of them can speak, they see each other free from the biases and expectations of a rigid world.
Their romance doesn't feel forced. To me it felt more symbolic, deeply intimate and passionate. They find a sanctuary in each other from a world that treats them broken and disposable.
Music in the work serves as the voice for the voiceless. The main characters lush, accordion-laced score and heavy reliance off classical and Golden Age American melodies act as her emotional syntax. Songs like "Chica Chica Boom Chica" or standard romantic music provide a vibrant counterweight to the bleak, concrete subterranean lab. The classical and jazz tracks playing from Giles' record player represent a longing for a romanticised past, a refuge of some kind from the harsh reality. When Elisa tries to articulate the sheer scale of the her feelings for the creature, the film breaks entirely into a black-and-white musical fantasy sequence. Words fail her, so she borrows the grand cinematic language of timeless romance to express boundless nature of her humanity.
To truly understand the emotional core of work, one must confront Guillermo del Toro’s most famous, unabashed artistic signature: his deeply earnest "monster fucker" ethos. Far from a surface-level gimmick or shock-value kink, del Toro’s lifelong obsession with non-human romance is practically a spiritual worldview. Even in his early works he has rejected the idea that the "Other" must be feared, tamed, or destroyed.
By leaning fully into the physical, intimate reality of Elisa and the Asset's relationship, del Toro elevates what could have been a b-movie joke into a radical act of empathy. He doesn't sanitise the romance by turning the creature into a handsome prince at the end; he insists that the creature is worthy of love, and sexual intimacy exactly as he is, claws and all. For del Toro, monsters are the "patron saints of imperfection". By showing a love that is unashamedly physical, passionate, and transcendent, he shifts the gaze entirely. He shows how the sex isn't a perversion, but a beautiful, natural bridge between two marginalised outcasts finding refuge in a cruel world. In del Toro’s universe, the ultimate salvation isn’t conforming to fit into society and instead it’s finding someone who embraces your wildness.
While technically set in 1962, the film heavily incorporates the geopolitical paranoia born out of World War II and the subsequent of atomic age. The Cold War is not the background detail, but the engine for the plot's cruelty. The laboratory is a meat grinder driven by the desperate race for scientific superiority over the Soviet Union. The film highlights how wartime trauma and ongoing tension transform human beings into disposable tools.
Strickland's willingness to dissect the creature reflects a utilitarian madness, a direct echo of the WWII era scientific atrocities disguised as national defence. By introducing a sympathetic Russian Spy, Dr. Robert Hoffstetler, del Toro further deconstructs the state-sponsored narrative of "us versus them". Hoffstetler chooses his identity as a scientist and humane being over his duty to the state, proving that decency can exist even within the machinery of the enemy.
Ultimately, del Toro uses this unconventional love story to hold up a mirror to our own humanity. The film gently but firmly reminds us that the real monsters aren't the ones with claws and scales. The true monsters are the people like the character of Colonel Strickland, men consumed by cruelty, and in a need of control. The film argues that humanity is like water, shapeless and capable of filling any vessel and powerful enough to erode the most rigid walls of hatred. It's a reminder that our humanity is not defined by our perfection, but our capacity to love and see ourselves in the "other".
I'll always recommend del Toro's work, but I think people need to watch this film at least once in their life. :)
