I’m Yet To See ‘The Shape Of Water’ And It’s Been Difficult

Everyone seems to have watched this film already, and i'm not ok with it...

I’m yet to see ‘The Shape of Water’ and it’s been difficult

The act of seeing a film in the cinema has always been a shared joy to me, a secrecy or pain explained in public. Watching at home however is a secret way to encounter the mysteries, to feel the feelings and to unpick them, to maybe spread the remnants around the living room and over myself. Regardless, I search for a lesson in everything I plan to watch like a pre-planned sermon, or morals I expect sleep in anecdotes or at the end of an epic film maybe.

I predict that there are many lessons to be learned from ‘The Shape of Water’. I guessed as soon as I saw the trailer, and heard ‘‘no, she’s mute’’. As soon as I dropped a soggy popcorn back in the bag because my mouth had swung open. I knew because the characters story had touched me – the goose bumps were well and truly alive and well. I was actually in the cinema that day due to watch ‘The Florida Project’, and I recall telling my partner that we had to see this film, this obvious masterpiece. We agreed that we’d see it when he got back from travelling, but he’s still away. During this time, I’ve been itching to see it, nervous the way I get when the world cup final is on – I’ve been pacing.

The trailer reminded me of the word vintage straightaway; of the past. I could literally see my older sister and I, eating crisps and watching 1963’s Nutty Professor on TV on a hot Sunday afternoon. My mother in the kitchen making lunch, and we don’t speak because there’s something about creatures and labs in movies that grips our attention so firmly. I think that it’s this. Despite the great lengths a person/creature may go through, a physical change will never change someone entirely. Think about Beauty and the Beast or Freaky Friday. That's why we love films about body swaps so much, because we're predicting and waiting for the ending that we know is coming. An ending filled with realization of loving oneself, loving each other. The trailer of ‘The Shape of Water’ had the same effect on me. I know where the film is going and inevitably where it will end, but I’m still absorbed in the process and the characters journey; I’m in love with love and I’m an advocate for the unusual, the extraordinary.

A few weeks ago, I overheard my colleagues discussing how badly they wanted to watch 'The Shape of Water' too. They reverted to discussing a film called HellBoy as they looked through a large colorful book-documenting director Guillermo del Toro’s artwork. I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘‘He’s not tryna be a monster, he’s just tryna be a guy’’ said Giovanni. I was perched, listening intently. It's funny, the perception that monsters don't want to be monsters. It's funny too, that most films about a beast and a lady are centered on the male being the beast, the woman rendered to be flawed and limited, broken even.

Sometimes the movies we haven’t watched, are as appetizing as films we love, and decide to re-watch. When people describe these films, the stories sound like something I may have once felt, something I could care about and then I’m completely sold on the idea. Listening to my colleague describe David Lynch’s Mullholland Drive (2001) made me think of a skewed version of ‘‘I Know What You Did Last Summer’’, one that was on drugs. Then, listening to my university lecturer describe the first scene of Tarantino’s ‘‘Reservoir Dogs’’ during a writing workshop, had me momentarily arrested in thoughts of first scenes, brutal openings and the art of creating shock in film.

I find that I return more frequently to films that don't open with a bang because I feel I know what’s coming around the corner. I’ve been there and bought the t-shirt, I'm not held captive by what I'm seeing. It’s the openings and storylines that are subtle, that we miss like a friend, that we come back to like food to nourish us, that become timeless and build a home in our memories.

We look for story-lines in films that dislocate us, ones that create a temporary forgetfulness of who we are or the opposite, ones that we can relate and connect with. When we’re enjoying a film like ‘The Shape of Water, the earth is outside and it’s tired. The city moves with a cause for concern and it’s like finding something rotten in your fridge. The joie de vivre of the times seems to be dying in a place meant to preserve it. In film though, exuberance seems alive through form. Or, the groan of life is able to seek refuge at least in untangling itself through character, through tales of indifference. I already know that ‘The Shape of Water’ will become one of those films I will not be able to forget. My eyes won’t let me. It will reach my memories for sure.

I read an article about ‘The Shape of Water’ that had me momentarily frozen. The writer Cole Cohen spoke of her own invisible disability and how she felt affiliated with the mute woman in this tale. The protagonist is said to be ‘‘incomplete’’ and in love with the sea monster, the common factor here is a symptom of difference; the running theme—monstrosity. The halt in my mind came from Cohen’s talk of humanity and desire, of the woman’s abilities but more so of the sea creature and the woman as an entity.

I’m completely in love with the idea of diverse love, of creature and woman, beast and lady. I'm attracted to the forbidden love here, and of the soft approach to an uncommon pairing that the mute woman and the creature man represent— oppression. They’re both labelled as subhuman even before we watch this movie and that’s the clincher. That’s why we swipe our cards to book a ticket, and that’s why I’ll probably cry when I go to see it. That’s why it hurts so bad that I still haven’t seen it yet. I'm the indifferent one now, the weirdo.

A great movie can set alight tremors in me reserved for just that — a remarkable film. It’s because films are about seeing rather than watching. A film is a snow globe and you’re covered in white. You’re left cold by the end and your lips have become purple but it’s okay, because you’re now thinking of how trees breathe, and if the moon is offended by the sun dodging it, maybe even the shape of water.