The Shape of Water review

Mexican born filmmaker Guillermo Del Toro is fascinated by the idea that people are often drawn to what initially scares them, usually only because they fundamentally misunderstand themselves and the greater context of their own fears. As such, his films--both indie darlings like “Pan’s Labyrinth” and “The Devil’s Backbone,” as well as studio blockbusters like “Pacific Rim” and “Hellboy"--are chock full of interesting and intricately designed monsters. As a visual artist and a storyteller Del Toro loves his monsters and for him, they always represent a complex emotional truth about the nature of humanity. With his latest film, “The Shape of Water,” the balance between his directorial compassion and his genre obsessions is blended delicately into a contemporary “Beauty and Beast” style narrative, with a central focus on diversity, tolerance, and equality.

The story is set in the cold-war 1960s at the height of the red scare. Sally Hawkins plays Elisa Esposito, a mute janitor who cleans a secret government science compound. Things get interesting when an amphibious humanoid merman is captured from his underwater home in South America and brought into the facility to be studied. Some of the scientists wish to keep him alive to understand his capability to learn, and others, like the stone-faced, military-minded Richard Strickland (Michael Shannon), plan to dissect the creature to develop new science to use against their Russian enemies. Hawkins secret friendship and eventual romance with the amphibious man leads to a rescue effort that involves co-worker Zelda (Octavia Spencer), the sympathetic Dr. Hoffstetler (Michael Stuhlbarg), and her graphic designer neighbor Giles (Richard Jenkins).

Given the time period this movie is set and the basic structure of the plot, it would have been easy to allow a story of this kind of coast of genre expectations alone. What makes the film stand out from being yet another high-concept take on “E.T” or “Free Willy” is Del Toro’s willingness to dig deep into a psychology of his characters and their worldview. The film's theme of what it is to be ostracized as a minority dominates and naturalizes the fantasy.  Hawkins’ character is mute, Spencer is black, and they both work as women in a government-industry dominated by white men. Likewise, Jenkins plays a closeted gay man, and it’s the unified ‘other-ness’ of this grouping of minorities that is manifested through the struggle of this abused and imprisoned merman. As we see the civil rights struggle in the background of this story, it becomes all the more evident that the creature's rescue becomes their rescue. 

The central love story between Elisa and this mysterious being, played with wonderful physicality by Doug Jones, takes risks and goes beyond the usual slow build to acceptance and eventual affection. Hawkins’ wordless performance strips away the possibility for coyness or coded language when it comes to all of her emotions and as the story progresses their love is expressed both emotionally and physically. This, along with Guillermo’s biting sense of humor, and the occasional jolts of visceral violence may alienate some audience members, but even if this is too weird for you to swallow, it’s difficult to deny the movie’s bold commitment to its premise.

Everyone already knows that Del Toro is Hollywood's current king of creature design and art direction. “The Shape of Water” is no exception. However, by putting his focus on one central creature, instead of a smorgasbord of weird looking monsters we are usually treated to in one of his previous films, he is able to dig deeper into the wider human world his characters inhabit. The 60s sets are well lit and creatively designed and the “Creature From The Black Lagoon” inspired look of Jones’ costume is textured and utterly believable, but it's Del Toro’s capacity to empathize with these characters and ground this world into an emotional reality that elevates this movie beyond its fairytale tropes and trappings.

Grade: A

Originally Published in the Idaho State Journal/Dec-2017

Listen to this episode of Jabber and the Drone to hear more conversation about "The Shape of Water"

Crimson Peak review

Guillermo del Toro’s “Crimson Peak” was released in October to attract an audience looking for some chills on their way out of the mall, and given that there are fewer and fewer scary-movie options, outside of the realms of direct-to-second-run shlock and/or “Paranormal Activity” clones, it’s nice to a see a large-budget, effects-driven period-horror that’s trying to compete in the mainstream. In fact, del Toro treats this project just as he would any of his other features, combining the gloss and bombast of his 2013 giant-robot spectacle “Pacific Rim” and the gothic elegance of his Spanish-language fantasy-thrillers” and “The Devil’s Backbone” and “Pan’s Labyrinth.”

Visually and conceptually “Crimson Peak” is a dense genre-hybrid that marries the traditional narrative structure of nineteenth century, Victorian romantic literature with a blockbuster update of a Hammer-Studio styled haunted house ride—it bares mentioning del Toro was once attached to direct a “Haunted Mansion” reboot for Disney. What results is an uneven and some-what rigid film that, while ambitious and handsome in terms of its production, is rather empty and tepid as a story.

Mia Wasikowska plays Edith, the daughter of a wealthy American industrialist. Though she wishes to one day be a successful writer, after meeting a fledgling British inventor named Thomas Sharpe played by Tom Hiddleston, and his disapproving sister played by Jessica Chastain, Edith decides, against her father’s wishes, to marry the struggling aristocrat and follow him to his decaying mansion in England. the newly-wed Edith begins to feel less and less welcomed by the creaking house as the months goes by, and her marriage begins to strain under the constant supervision of her overbearing sister in law.

To the movie’s detriment, the most interesting character here is the mansion itself. As the plot slogs from scene to scene it’s clear to see that this living, breathing set seems to be the only thing in the film that del Toro bothered to give any real dimension. The production of this multi-segmented mansion is fully realized and designed with many swirling arches, ornate moldings, and antique trinkets filling every consciously arranged shot. This decorative flair is then brought to life though many practical and CGI effects, including walls that bleed crimson clay and moving shadows that cast down long hallways. And yet, the production is so costumed and ornamental that it often overwhelms the performances and constipates the drama. 

Many of the special effects are unsupported by the weak and conventional script and thus left with a surprising lack of tension within the traditionally set-up sequences of horror. CGI ghosts are rarely scary and even less so when, by the end of the film, you realize their inclusion in the plot is mostly superfluous. This might also have to do with the overall tonal problems the film suffers by wanting to appeal to the masses as too many things at once, a Victorian costume drama, a gothic fairy-tale, and a perverse murder mystery—all of which are wrapped up in a slick, over-lit production that’s far more concerned with its surfaces than it is with its emotional or psychological connection with the audience.

Struggling to find a balance between chaste and polite and guarded and mysterious, Wasikowska and Hiddleston’s performances come off somewhat bland and stagey. The same or worse could be said about “Sons of Anarchy” actor Charlie Hunnam who conveniently drifts in and out of the movie as a plot device.  Chastain, on the hand, revels in her character’s complete lack of subtext and subtlety and instead leans into a knowing sense of camp as the film escalates into face-stabbing hysteria, mixing into her performance two parts Mrs. Danvers from Hitchcock’s “Rebecca” and one part “Mommy Dearest.”

Despite mostly failing as an involving story or as an effective thriller, nobody can fault the film for its lack of trying. Del Toro deserves to be commended for his creativity and his willingness to take risks, even when working from a script as predictable and tired as this one. His love for the genre is undeniably contagious and like a familiar theme-park adventure, there’s always something interesting to look at and admire as you pass through the plodding set-pieces.

Grade: C

Originally published in the Idaho State Journal/Oct-2015