SYNOPSIS: A gripping movie about grief and loss, “Bring Her Back,” now playing in theatres, stars two-time Oscar nominee Sally Hawkins as a foster mother of two young people who hides a sinister plan behind her sunny smile.
CAST: Sally Hawkins, Billy Barratt, Sora Wong, Jonah Wren Phillips. Directed by Danny and Michael Philippou.
REVIEW: “Bring Her Back” is a horror film with some very disturbing images. Think self-cannibalization and you’ll get the idea, but it isn’t only the visuals that pack a punch. Co-directors Danny and Michael Philippou bring a tragic sense of loss and grief that hangs over every frame like a shroud. That dark sense of haunting embeds itself like a hook in a bass’s mouth in the viewer’s consciousness and will not let go until long after the end credits have rolled.
It’s a slow burn, squirmy watch filled with surprises and unsettling performances.
Set in current day Australia, the story of stepsiblings Andy (Billy Barratt) and Piper (Sora Wong) begins with the death of their father. The two are close, with Andy helping the strong-willed Piper navigate the world as a sightless person. Forced into foster care—Andy is just three months away from turning 18, the legal age when he can apply to become Piper’s guardian—they are welcomed into Laura’s (Sally Hawkins) home. A mother still grieving the loss of her daughter, there’s something sinister lurking behind Laura’s sunny disposition.
If Andy is to become Piper’s guardian, he must prove to Laura that he is “safe and reliable.” But first Andy must decide, before it’s too late, if Laura, and the odd, seemingly feral child Ollie (Jonah Wren Phillips) who lives with her, are eccentric or dangerous.
From the opening frames “Bring Her Back” has a sense of anxiety, like everything is tilted 180 degrees. It builds over time, before exploding in a climax so twisted (NO SPOILERS HERE) it leaves one horrified as it explores the extremes that grief and loss can push a person.
Hawkins is remarkable as Laura, a woman whose deep wounds make her a tragic figure, but one capable of great menace. She is unpredictable, able to change from dangerous to doting with just the flick of an eyebrow.
Fine work from Barratt and Wong delves deep into the psychological aspect of the horror. Andy earnestly tries to do what is best for Piper, but his secrets, once revealed, erode the trust his stepsister once had for him. That heartbreaking rupture in their relationship, manipulated by Laura, is key that opens the door to the horror. Once ajar, any sense of normalcy that may have existed goes out the window, leading up to an unforgettable climax.
“Bring Her Back” has graphic moments, but it doesn’t rely on jump scares to make its point. It is the psychological horror, the very core of the film’s exploration of grief, that disturbs and devastates.
Everyone from Hannibal Lecter and Darth Vader to The Ghostbusters and the Godfather have been given the origin story treatment, so why not Wille Wonka, the mysterious and mischievous chocolatier created by Roald Dahl? That’s the premise of “Wonka,” a new musical now playing in theatres.
Timothée Chalamet plays the title character, the young version of the Wonka seen in 1971s “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” and 2005s “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” but his sartorial style is already in place. Decked out in a top hat, purple waistcoat and flamboyant scarves, Wonka arrives in town with the dream of opening the greatest chocolate shop the world has ever seen.
“I’ve spent the past seven years travelling the world,” the magician, inventor and chocolate maker announces, “perfecting my craft. You see I’m something of a magician, inventor, and chocolate maker. So quiet up, and listen down. Nope. Scratch that, reverse it.”
His original idea was to make chocolates his mother (Sally Hawkins) would love, and after years of study he learned to concoct delicious, unusual candies. His caramels are salted with the tears of a Russian clown. His cherries come from the Imperial Gardens in Japan and his marshmallows are harvested from the mallow marshes of Peru, and some of them, like the Hoverchoc, have magical, gravity defying side effects.
Trouble is, the city is under the thumb of the Chocolate Cartel, sweet treat tycoons Mr. Prodnose (Matt Lucas), Mr. Fickelgruber (Mathew Baynton) and Mr. Slugworth (Paterson Joseph). They don’t like Wonka or the threats his chocolates pose to their businesses. “He’s good,” snarls Fickelgruber. “Too good.” But they really hate his idea of making affordable chocolate for the working class.
“Send Wonka a message,” says the sinister Slugworth.
Nothing is going Wonka’s way. The local Chief-of-Police (Keegan-Michael Key) threatens to bonk him on the head, the Cartel is out to ruin him, he’s indebted to work house owners Mrs. Scrubbit (Olivia Colman) and Bleacher (Tom Davis) and a small orange Oompa-Loompa (Hugh Grant) accuses him of stealing cocoa beans.
Despite the odds, with the help of an orphan named Noodle (Calah Lane), the optimistic Wonka is certain he can make his dreams come true and make his mother proud.
Directed by “Paddington’s” Paul King, “Wonka” replaces the weirdness of past film adaptations with whimsey. From the fanciful set and costume design to the heightened performances and relentlessly upbeat tone, it is as sweet as any of Wonka’s magical confections. A celebration of the power of dreams, it’s satisfying and delicious, and tonally feels like a companion piece to the others rather than a revisit or a nostalgic look back.
Chalamet’s Wonka has little to do with the reclusive, narcissistic, judgmental character as played by Gene Wilder and Johnny Depp. He is still an eccentric outsider, but in this version he’s also the emotional core. King and co-writer Simon Farnaby flesh out his story, adding in a backstory that includes a strong connection to his mother and huge dollops of earnestness. That light and airy feel is balanced, somewhat, by the addition of nasty capitalists who want to crush Wonka’s dreams for their own benefit. But make no mistake, this is all chocolate and charm.
Chalamet plays Wonka as a charismatic oddball but without the cynicism that colors other portrayals of the character. The “Dune” star replaces cynicism with a delightfully clever naiveté, anchoring the film’s light and breezy tone. His Wonka pays tribute to, but isn’t an impression of Wilder or Depp. It fresh and fun work, with credible singing and dancing, even if the songs aren’t exactly earworms.
In their handful of scenes, Chalamet cedes the screen to Grant. In what is easily his silliest role ever, Grant finds the fun, playing a testy Oompa Loompa on a mission.
“Wonka” is a scrumdiddlyumptious family film for the holidays. A lavish movie, powered by pure imagination, it is life affirming, with a sense of wonder. It doesn’t enthrall in the same, off-the-charts measure that King’s “Paddington” movies do, but really, what other film does?
“The Lost King” is not the alternate title for Prince Harry’s recent tell-all book or a “Where’s Waldo” style game. It is the mostly true story of amateur historian Philippa Langley and her quest—some would call it an obsession—to find the remains of the last English king to die in battle, Richard “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!” the III.
A lowkey dramedy, now playing in theatres, “The Lost King” stars Sally Hawkins as Langley, a divorced sufferer of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, who, becomes inspired to research the much-maligned monarch’s life and death after taking in a stage production of Shakespeare’s royal tragedy.
She reads everything there is on his life, joins a group of eccentric Ricardians, argues with historians and even converses with a vision of the King himself (Harry Lloyd). She feels he was judged unfairly in life, and is determined to find his remains and give him a proper burial.
In the course of tireless study, she determines that the King’s resting place is in a nondescript carpark in Leicester, once the home of a Franciscan Friary. Through sheer force of will (and considerable fund-raising ability) she manages to convince the naysayers, including the Deputy Registrar of the local university, to OK an excavation.
In September 2012 Langley’s theories were proved correct and the remains of the long-lost king were uncovered. “He was right where I said he’d be,” she says with amazement as the university experts scramble to take credit for her work.
“The Lost King” is a lowkey “National Treasure” style movie. Langley’s quest to rehabilitate King Richard’s dastardly reputation isn’t nearly as action packed as the Nic Cage movies, but her deep dive into history brings with it a determination that makes up for the lack of thrills.
Instead, it’s a personal story about an underdog, who, despite her intelligence, is passed over for promotions at work and treated like an outsider by academia. Langley’s journey to expose the truth about a misunderstood monarch is a lightweight human tale of empathy given heft by a compelling performance from Hawkins. Her work is grounded in reality, even during the magic realism scenes when she turns to King Richard for guidance.
“The Lost King” is the kind of Brit pic that is a little too black-and-white in its portrayal of the condescending bullies who tried to derail the plucky Langley, but as a portrait of a person who refused to be trampled on, who finds her voice, it is a warm and often funny feel-good flick.
“Life is not an oyster,” says Maurice Flitcroft in “The Phantom of the Open,” a new feel-good film starring Mark Rylance and now playing in theatres. “It’s a barnacle.” It’s a rare moment of despair for the endlessly optimist man who followed his passions, in an unlikely journey to becoming a British folk hero.
Flitcroft, a 46-year-old crane operator I the same shipyard in Barrow-in-Furness, England, where his father and grandfather worked, but after dabbling in painting, music and even stunt driving, he adopted the Oscar Wilde quote, “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars,” as his mantra.
He encourages his wife Jean (Sally Hawkins), his stepson Michael (Jake Davies) and twins Gene and James (Christian and Jonah Lees) to go for it and live their dreams.
In 1976, facing unemployment, Flitcroft takes up golf with an eye toward playing in the oldest golf tournament in the world, the British Open. He’s never played before, but has determination, heart and a belief, “an open championship should be open to everyone.”
Unbelievably (although this is a true story) he qualifies and in the qualifying round scores a catastrophic 121, 49 over par, a record for worst score that has yet to be broken. British Open organizer Keith Mackenzie (Rhys Ifans) is outraged—”I want him banned from every club in the country!”— but the press love the plucky golfer’s underdog story and the public, both at home and abroad, embrace him as an inspiration. “Practice is the road to perfection,” he says.
“The Phantom of the Open” is as sweet as Flitcroft’s tea. He takes six sugars in every cuppa, and that sugar rush keeps him and the movie moving forward.
Falling in line with Brit, true-to-lie-feel-good movies like “Fisherman’s Friends,” “Eddie the Eagle” and “Calendar Girls,” or jovial television shows like “Ted Lasso,” this one is kept aloft by masterfully amiable performances from the cast led by Rylance and Hawkins.
Rylance practically beams light as the upbeat dreamer. What could have been a caricature of a whimsical fantasist is tempered by the actor’s considerable comedic skill as well as his ability to find the core of humanity in every character he plays. It would have been easy to play Flitcroft as a broad character with a head full of dreams and nothing more, but Rylance sees to it that we see the person not the farce.
“The Phantom of the Open” is kind of old fashioned, but contains solid laughs and dives deep to reveal the class prejudices the crane operator suffered as he pursued bis dream. Most importantly, it is about the importance of following your heart, no matter where it takes you, to find happiness.
Kristen Stewart may always be best known for playing Bella Swan, the young woman who fell in love with a vampire, in the “Twilight” series but if that lifestyle choice seemed scary, it has nothing on the atmosphere of dread in her new movie. “Spencer,” a new impressionistic biopic of Lady Diana (born Diana Spencer) and now playing in theatres, sees her embroiled in a tale of real-life Gothic horror.
It’s Christmas, 1991 at Sandringham House, one of Queen Elizabeth’s country homes. The Royal Family has assembled for their annual holiday celebrations, complete with protocols, paparazzi, strange Royal traditions, disapproving looks, a ghost and the prying eyes of as Equerry Major Alistair Gregory (Timothy Spall). Despite being surrounded by people, including husband Prince Charles (Jack Farthing) and sons William (Jack Nielen) and Harry (Freddie Spry), she feels alone except for her lone confidant is Maggie (Sally Hawkins), her tailor and best friend.
It is, as a title card tells us, a “fable based on a real tragedy,” and over the course of almost two hours we experience Diana’s life years after the fairy tale wedding. Her marriage is crumbling, a she’s battling an eating disorder and the gap between perception of her private life and public persona is widening.
That Sandringham is located next to Park House, the home she grew up in and harbors many happy memories about, only deepens the wellspring of sorrow she feels as her life spins out of control.
“Spencer” is a portrait of the Princess of Wales at her most vulnerable and isolated but it never feels as though it is exploiting Diana. The director, Chilean auteur Pablo Larraín, working from a script by “Eastern Promises” writer Steven Knight, doesn’t turn her life into a pity party. The character is having a rough time equating her life, and the future of her children, with the reality of her situation and yet she perseveres. In the moments away from the protocols of royal life—mommy time with William and Harry or on a trip to the beach with Maggie—the veil lifts and she becomes Diana Spencer, able to leave the titles and tradition in the dust.
Stewart nails the voice and mannerisms but doesn’t try to imitate Diana, one of the world’s best-known people. Instead, she reaches deep to delicately create a portrait of a person riddled with anxiety at a crossroads in her life. Stewart, whose own experiences with an intrusive press and paparazzi have been well documented, brings that lived experience to the film. Stewart’s face during a photocall scene outside a church says it all, expertly showing the mix of duty and terror Diana must have felt toward the press who hounded her.
“Spencer” is a heightened look at Diana’s life, but it’s not all Sturm und Drang. The script is laced with Diana’s sarcastic sense of humour and the beautiful cinematography provides a somewhat serene backdrop to the cooly chaotic action. But make no mistake, the story’s underlying tension, despite a rather joyous finale, has more to do with a psychological horror film than a traditional biopic.
If Blue Öyster Cult were to write the hit song “Godzilla” today they’d have to change the lyrics. In 1977 they sang, “Oh, no, there goes Tokyo.” Today the prehistoric sea monster has expanded his worldview beyond Asia and is now concerned with the entire planet.
The action in “Godzilla: King of the Monsters” begins when paleo-biologist Dr. Emma Russell (Vera Farmiga) and her daughter Madison (Millie Bobby Brown) are kidnapped by terrorists. What would these bad people want with this Emma and Madison? Turns out Emma belongs to the crypto-zoological agency Monarch, a scientific watchdog group who study the Titans, creatures long believed to be myths. Along with her ex-husband Dr. Mark Russell (Kyle Chandler) Emma invented “the Orca,” a device that allows communication with these mysterious beasts. More importantly, for the bad guys at least, it can also “control them using their bioacoustics on a sonar level.”
As reluctant hero Mark teams with Dr. Serizawa (Ken Watanabe) and Dr. Graham (Sally Hawkins) to save Emma and Madison from the kidnappers the Titans, Mothra, Rodan, the three-headed King Ghidorah and others, rise, threatening to destroy the earth. It’s the ultimate clash of the Titans as Godzilla (who now appears to have a beer belly) stomps in to level the playing field. Cue the Blue Öyster Cult: “Go, go, Godzilla (yeah).”
“Godzilla: King of the Monsters” is a remarkable achievement. It’s one of the most incomprehensible movies in the “Godzilla” franchise and that is really saying something. This story of restoring harmony to the world by releasing these angry monsters is pure codswallop and remember, this is the series that once devoted an entire movie to the king of the monsters teaching his dim-witted son how to how to control his atomic breath.
I’ll start with the script, and I only call it that because it contains words and was presumably written by people and not some kind of Kaiju-Auto-Cliché generating device. Ripe with pop psychology (“Moments of crisis can become moments of faith.” #Deep), horrible dialogue (“We’ve opened Pandora’s Box and there is no closing it!” #howmanytimeshaveweheardthat?) and several big emotional moments you won’t care about because the characters are walking, talking b-movie stereotypes, the movie is as clumsy as the script is dumb.
But you don’t go to a Godzilla movie for the human content; you go to see Titans battling it out and on that score “Godzilla: King of the Monsters” delivers. Unlike the 2014 Gareth Edwards reboot the new film wastes no time in introducing the radioactive monsters. We then sit through a bunch of pseudo-scientific pontification until the main event, the cage match between G-zil and his three-headed foe. In those moments the film improves, mostly because these characters don’t spout endless exposition about saving the world. They simply fight. It’s WrestleMania with fire-breathers and when they’re wreaking havoc it’s a good, fist-pumping time.
“Godzilla: King of the Monsters” is in 3D—Death, Destruction and Decibels—and has a certain kind of cheesy appeal. Watching the cast of good international actors try and play it straight as they muddle through the nonsense leading up to the climax is fun for a short time but next time I hope we get more actual monsters and less monstrous scripting.
The last time we saw Paddington, the cuddly, orphaned teddy bear voiced by Ben Whishaw, left Peru armed only with a “worrying marmalade problem” and his distinctive red hat. Arriving at Paddington Station in London he was adopted by the Brown family after an uncomfortably close scrap with a crazed taxidermist.
“Paddington 2” finds the bear settled in to a comfortable life with the Browns—Mary (Sally Hawkins), Henry (Hugh Bonneville) and kids Judy (Madeline Harris) and Jonathan (Samuel Joslin)—and trying to save money to buy his Aunt Lucy (voice of Imelda Staunton) an antique pop up book of London for her birthday. When the book is stolen from Samuel Gruber’s antique shop Paddington is accused of the crime, wrongfully convicted and jailed. While the bear languishes in prison the Browns attempt to prove Paddington’s innocence. “Paddington wouldn’t hesitate if any of us needed help,” says Henry. “He looks for the good in all of us.” One jailbreak later Paddington is also on the case, convinced he knows who took the book but can he solve the case before Aunt Lucy’s centenary celebration?
With his red hat and blue duffle coat Paddington is almost un-bear-ably cute. Gentle and good-natured, he’s at the very heart of the movie. Instead, it’s a good old-fashioned romp with larger-than-life characters supplied by Hugh Grant, in a fun pantomime performance and Brendan Gleeson as Knuckles McGinty, a hardened criminal whose bluster disguises his warm heart.
Mostly though, it about the bear. With soulful eyes, good manners and large doses of slapstick—he’s a furry little Charlie Chaplin, excelling in physical humour with lots of heart—he’s a joyful presence. Without an ounce of cynicism “Paddington 2” transmits messages of tolerance, friendship and loyalty but never at the expense of the story. Those characteristics are so central to Paddington’s character that the movie positively drips with not only the sticky sweet smell of delicious marmalade (the bear’s favourite snack) but emotional depth as well.
Add to that a delightful ode to Chaplin’s trip through a factory machine’s cogs in “Modern Times,” some expertly delivered belly laughs and you have one of the most entertaining films likely to be released this year.
“Paddington 2” isn’t just a kid’s flick, it’s a film for the whole family; it’s one of those rare movies for children it doesn’t just feel like an excuse to sell toys. #paddingtonpower
Baby Driver: Although it contains more music than most tuneful of movies “Baby Driver,” the new film from director Edgar Wright, isn’t a musical in the “West Side Story,” “Sound of Music” sense. Wallpapered with 35 rock ‘n roll songs on the soundtrack it’s a hard driving heist flick that can best be called an action musical.
The Big Sick: Even when “The Big Sick” is making jokes about terrorism and the “X-Files” it is all heart, a crowd-pleaser that still feels personal and intimate.
Call Me By Your Name: This is a movie of small details that speak to larger truths. Director Luca Guadagnino keeps the story simple relying on the minutiae to add depth and beauty to the story. The idyllic countryside, the quaint town, the music of the Psychedelic Furs and the languid pace of a long Italian summer combine to create the sensual backdrop against which the romance between the two blossoms. Guadagnino’s camera captures it all, avoiding the pitfalls of melodrama to present a story that is pure emotion. It feels real and raw, haunted by the ghosts of loves gone by.
Darkest Hour: This is a historical drama with all the trappings of “Masterpiece Theatre.” You can expect photography, costumes and period details are sumptuous. What you may not expect is the light-hearted tone of much of the goings on. While this isn’t “Carry On Churchill,” it has a lighter touch that might be expected. Gary Oldman, not an actor known for his comedic flourishes, embraces the sly humour. When Churchill becomes Prime Minister his wife, Clementine (Kristin Scott Thomas) makes an impassioned speech about the importance of the work he is about to take on. He raises a glass and, cutting through the emotion of the moment, says, “Here’s to not buggering it up!” It shows a side of Churchill not often revealed in wartime biopics.
The Disaster Artist: The key to pulling off “The Disaster Artist” is not recreating “The Room” beat for beat, although they do that, it’s actually about treating Wiseau as a person and not an object of fun. He’s an outrageous character and Franco commits to it 100%. From the marble-mouthed speech pattern that’s part Valley Girl and part Beaker from The Muppets to the wild clothes and stringy hair, he’s equal parts creepy and lovable but underneath his bravado are real human frailties. Depending on your point of view he’s either delusional or aspirational but in Franco’s hands he’s never also never less than memorable. It’s a broad, strange performance but it may also be one of the actor’s best.
Dunkirk: This is an intense movie but it is not an overly emotional one. The cumulative effect of the vivid images and sounds will stir the soul but despite great performances the movie doesn’t necessarily make you feel for one character or another. Instead its strength is in how it displays the overwhelming sense of scope of the Dunkirk mission. With 400,000 men on the ground with more in the air and at sea, the sheer scope of the operation overpowers individuality, turning the focus on the collective. Director Christopher Nolan’s sweeping camera takes it all in, epic and intimate moments alike.
The Florida Project: This is, hands down, one of the best films of the year. Low-budget and naturalistic, it packs more punch than any superhero. Director Sean Baker defies expectations. He’s made a film about kids for adults that finds joy in rocky places. What could have been a bleak experience or an earnest message movie is brought to vivid life by characters that feel real. It’s a story about poverty that neither celebrates or condemns its characters. Mooney’s exploits are entertaining and yet an air of jeopardy hangs heavy over every minute of the movie. Baker knows that Halley and Moonie’s well being hangs by a thread but he also understands they exist in the real world and never allows their story to fall into cliché.
Get Out: This is the weirdest and most original mainstream psychodrama to come along since “The Babadook.” The basic premise harkens back to the Sidney Poitier’s classic “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.” In that film parents, played by Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, have their attitudes challenged when their daughter introduces them to her African American fiancé. The uncomfortable situation of meeting in-laws for the first time is universal. It’s the added layers of paranoia and skewered white liberalism that propels the main character’s (Daniel Kaluuya) situation into full-fledged horror. In this setting he is the other, the stranger and as his anxiety grows the social commentary regarding attitudes about race in America grows sharper and more focussed.
Lady Bird: Greta Gerwig’s skilful handling of the story of Lady Bird’s busy senior year works not just because it’s unvarnished and honest in its look at becoming an adult but also, in a large degree, to Saoirse Ronan’s performance. I have long called her ‘Lil Meryl. She’s an actor of unusual depth, a young person (born in 1994) with an old soul. Lady Bird is almost crushed by the weight of uncertainty that greets her with every turn—will her parents divorce, will there be money for school, will Kyle be the boy of her dreams, will she ever make enough cash to repay her parents for her upbringing?—but Ronan keeps her nimble, sidestepping teen ennui with a complicated mix of snappy one liners, hard earned wisdom and a well of emotion. It’s tremendous, Academy Award worthy work.
The Post: Steven Spielberg film is a fist-pump-in-the-air look at the integrity and importance of a free press. It’s a little heavy-handed but these are heavy-handed times. Director Spielberg and stars Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep are entertainers first and foremost, and they do entertain here, but they also shine a light on a historical era whose reverberations are being felt today stronger than ever.
The Shape of Water: A dreamy slice of pure cinema. Director Guillermo del Toro uses the stark Cold War as a canvas to draw warm and vivid portraits of his characters. It’s a beautiful creature feature ripe with romance, thrills and, above all, empathy for everyone. This is the kind of movie that reminds us of why we fell in love with movies in the first place.
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: The story of a mother’s unconventional war with the world is simple enough, it’s the complexity of the characters that elevates the it to the level of great art.
Wonder Woman: Equal parts Amazon sword and sandal epic, mad scientist flick, war movie and rom com, it’s a crowd pleaser that places the popular character front and centre. As played by Gal Gadot, Diana is charismatic and kick ass, a superhero who is both truly super and heroic. Like Superman she is firmly on the side of good, not a tortured soul à la Batman. Naïve to the ways of the world, she runs headfirst into trouble. Whether she’s throwing a German tank across a battlefield, defying gravity to leap to the top of a bell tower, tolerating Trevor’s occasional mansplaining or deflecting bullets with her indestructible Bracelets of Submission, she proves in scene after scene to be both a formidable warrior and a genuine, profoundly empathic character.
Set in Cold War-era Baltimore, The Shape of Water sees Sally Hawkins as Elisa, a woman rendered mute by childhood abuse. A cleaner in a military laboratory and storage facility, she communicates through sign language with co-worker Zelda (Octavia Spencer) and best friend and neighbour Giles (Richard Jenkins). When a mysterious Gill Man, held captive in a giant water-filled iron lung, is brought in the cleaners are told to keep their distance.
Elisa, however, bonds with the beast. After hours, when everyone else has gone home, she stays behind, playing music for the creature, performing dance moves learned from old movies and feeding him her special hard-boiled eggs. They click. She relates to him being unable to speak. “He doesn’t know what I lack,” she signs to Giles. “He sees me for what I am. As I am. He’s happy to see me.” He responds to her gentle nature.
His captors feel differently. They see him — “The Asset” they call him — as a case study, ripe for vivisection so they can discover how he can breathe on land and underwater. Everyone except for Elisa, it seems, wants The Asset dead.
When Elisa discovers a hard-nosed coiled-ball-of-rage named Colonel Strickland (Michael Shannon) is torturing the beast, she hatches a catch-and-release plan. Steal the creature, hide him until the next rainstorm fills a nearby canal and set him free.
The tale of intrigue takes a romantic turn when Elisa begins to regard The Asset as more man than monster.
The Shape of Water is a dreamy slice of pure cinema. Director Guillermo del Toro uses the stark Cold War backdrop as a canvas to draw warm and vivid portraits of his characters. Elisa and Giles are an unconventional family, outsiders in a world that values conformity.
Zelda is a feisty and funny presence — “I can handle pee,” she says, mop in hand cleaning up one of The Asset’s messes. “I can handle poo. But blood? That does something awful to me.” — while the creature is an empathic being with soulful eyes who glows with blue light when he is happy.
The combination of characters and del Toro’s flights of fancy is not only a love letter to the movies — Giles and Elisa live above a movie theatre, watch old musicals on TV and there’s even an Old Hollywood fantasy sequence inside the story — but a Valentine to why we fell in love with the movies in the first place. It’s a feast for the eyes and the heart.
At the centre of it all are Hawkins and Doug Jones as The Asset. Both, one nakedly emotional, the other hidden away under layers of makeup, wouldn’t be out of place in a silent movie. The fantasy elements of the story swirl around but Hawkins’ delicate but steely presence (aided by Jenkins’ heartfelt and occasionally heartbreaking loyalty) grounds the story in reality. Jones, though covered in scales and gills, uses his physicality to project the character’s power and vulnerability.
In the story’s thriller section, Shannon provides a villain whose gangrenous fingers are a metaphor for the rot in his soul. In the actor’s hands, Strickland is as cold as the blood that runs through the creature’s veins.
Wound tightly together these elements combine to form a beautiful creature-feature ripe with romance, thrills and, above all, empathy for all.
