The Shape of Water: From Celebrating Imagination to Winning Best Picture Oscar

Guillermo del Toro, the Mexican filmmaker, is known for his beautiful imaginary world; a place where fairy tales intertwine with the violence of our surroundings, resulting in a colorful and vibrant universe that triumphs over the darkness of reality and takes us to a world unrelated to our own, born solely from an extraordinarily capable imagination that can translate a fantasy world—perhaps even a childlike one—into the language of cinema. "The Shape of Water" is precisely a continuation of the world of "Pan's Labyrinth"; with the same characteristics and features where its diverse characters seek refuge from the prevailing brutality of the world in a beautiful imaginary realm where it is evident that love always prevails. This time, del Toro has chosen a story to tell that seems fundamentally unbelievable (a mute janitor working in a military laboratory during the Cold War falls in love with a monster), but thanks to del Toro's directorial power, "The Shape of Water" narrates one of the most believable stories of the year in cinema; a story that viewers can fall in love with and shed tears over. The film "The Shape of Water" won four Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director for Guillermo del Toro. Although the roots of the story can be traced back to "Beauty and the Beast," "The Shape of Water" is more than just borrowing from previous tales; it is a strong narrative of a unique filmmaker whose myths and ancient stories contribute to the formation of his world, yet he always shares his own distinct narrative with us, which, aside from his personal signature, does not remind us of another world. The film challenges predetermined concepts and swaps the roles of human and monster. The main character's belief in the purity of the essence and "human" behavior of a monster transforms him into a "human" who stands in contrast to Colonel Strickland's (who appears human) behavior. This boundary is emphasized in various dialogues of the film; where the Colonel speaks of a "good human" or where Eliza (the mute janitor) responds to her lonely neighbor Jill, who is upset about the plan to rescue the monster ("For someone who isn't even human!") with: "If we don't save him, we aren't human either." Apart from the usual good versus evil narrative—which is beautifully and charmingly told here—the film attempts to question and escape from the false beliefs and values of society through dreams and dream-making: the film mocks the entire concept of the "American Dream" (having a peaceful life with a wife and child, owning a home and car in America). When the Colonel (the symbol of the American Dream) first enters his home, the image inside his house—especially the way his wife dresses and styles her hair, along with the way the children sit and behave—strongly resembles the familiar image of the American Dream, which, however, quickly shatters. The Colonel's severed fingers are the first sign that soon spreads the stench of this dream, and his brand-new Cadillac (which first reminds us that we are in 1962) soon breaks down, destroyed by those who have no place in this dream and build another world: a woman who cannot speak and is thus "defective" and presumably has no place in this dream, and a man who is gay and naturally does not fit into the stereotypical image of this dream (as in the café scene, where the owner reminds Jill after expelling the Black patrons that she too must leave the café due to her homosexuality, "because this is a family place."). However, there exists a higher dream that beautifies the world; the dream of the creator of the work, the dream of a cinema lover who shapes his story in the small rooms above a cinema hall, and the classic musicals (which essentially narrate a kinder world where everyone speaks to each other through dance and song) become an important part of the film. The initial dream of the film—where water floods everywhere and the main character beautifully flows within it—gradually merges with reality, and the world of the filmmaker/narrator/main character, with the key of love, kicks aside all the ugliness around us and narrates a place where one can even fall in love with a monster and—as in the scene of the initial dream—fill the entire room with water for a romantic encounter with a being that needs water—even if it shakes the weak foundations of an old building—and ultimately, in a sense, rebuild the world; a world without fear.