The Shape of Representation
- Eddie Losoya
- Mar 6, 2018
- 3 min read
Kudos to the Academy Awards for bringing out some of the most in-depth conversations the Narrativity crew has had in a while. The backlash to The Shape of Water’s win is partly cached in this notion that it is built for Hollywood. That it is a safer choice. A partial love-letter to classic cinema and a more palatable story of inclusion. While this would seem true on its face, I think director Guillermo del Toro did something more subversive than just give Academy voters a self-congratulatory pat on the back.
Del Toro made a movie where he gave an Oscar to himself.
There are a ton of themes running through The Shape of Water, including loneliness and fear of the other. The fact that all of our heroes are “others” in a 1960s America is pretty apparent: a disabled woman, a gay man, a black woman, a foreigner betraying his country. The villain, Strickland, played by the incredible Michael Shannon, is such a personification of toxic masculinity that said toxicity manifests in the literal corrosion of his fingers, revealing Strickland as the true monster of the story. But on top of that, Strickland also serves another, more metaphorical purpose in the film's story: his chauvinistic, predatory behavior wrapped in false American righteousness marks him as the apparent face of Hollywood.
Del Toro is a cinema historian and savant among the likes of Quentin Tarantino and Edgar Wright. Watch interviews with Guillermo and you’ll quickly realize how deep his knowledge goes. In his Oscar speech, he even speaks to how it felt watching Hollywood growing up as a foreigner. It follows that The Shape of Water explores this, but from a domestic point of view. Eliza and Giles share Guillermo’s reverence for Hollywood even while it tells them they don’t belong.
We first see this in Giles’ job: He draws advertisements for contemporary America, displaying nuclear, Aryan families. To wit, the family he draws is exactly Strickland’s family. The blonde wife, the two children, the suburban family table, the gaudy car. All that’s missing is the family dog Spot. Giles cannot have a family of his own without admitting his own truth, one he finds easier hiding. Easier for fear of pain and ostracization, the same ostracization and condemnation he later finds in the diner with the cute young waiter. He uses his talents instead to draw a life he won’t have, until that job is taken from him as well.
Eliza’s desire for acceptance is much easier to see. Her favorite time of day (after bath time), seems to be watching variety shows with Giles. She watches as perfect women sing and dance in a way she can’t. She still tries in her own way, as seen in the adorable two-step couch dance scene. Giles and Eliza don’t see themselves on the television, so instead they dance in the safety of their own home. Or in an empty room at work. Unless the room isn’t empty.
The Amphibian God-Man doesn’t connect with much of the world, but he does connect with Eliza’s dancing. He connects with her expression of art. In fact, he seems to connect with art in general. He escapes Eliza’s apartment and stands in awe of a movie screen. This is where the supposed Hollywood worship rears its head. But what if del Toro is saying that he reveres Hollywood because he has no other choice. Even if he doesn’t see himself on screen yet, he will fight for that day in the future.
The Shape of Water is about representation. Don’t believe me? Don’t worry, del Toro has a dance number to prove it.
This dance number is the culmination of a lot of things, including their love. But more importantly, the dance number is Eliza finally seeing herself the perfect star who can sing and dance. Its the foreign Amphibian Monster from Latin America (!) dancing on screen in a way that elicits laughter. A weird monster waltzing? How cute, we say! That dance scene is del Toro stealing Hollywood for himself.
The argument that The Shape of Water is more appealing to the Academy makes del Toro’s subversion of it all the more sweet. The Academy, knowingly or not, picked a movie about how excluded they often made him feel growing up. They picked a movie about what it feels like to not see yourself represented onscreen when you’re not a perfect white, heterosexual star.
The Academy awarded The Shape of Water its highest honor, Best Picture. But they didn’t need to, because Guillermo del Toro had already given it to himself, and to everyone who doesn’t regularly see themselves and the ones they love on the big screen. We’ve already won; the Academy is just catching up.
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