Water Divine, or Life with Gill

The Shape of Water, a film directed by Guillermo del Toro, is truly fantastic, in every sense of the word.   There are other films I've liked as much, but I wanted to write about Water because I felt as if it spoke to me personally, and its subject and themes suit this little web of mine perfectly. 
Guillermo didn't just write the film for me, he wrote it about me.  He doesn't know that, of course, but writing this blurb is my way of putting it out there so that maybe he'll get the message on some wyrd, unconscious, quantum level.  I like to imagine there's some entanglement going on.
The Shape of Water is about my universe and how I live in it.  I live my life through signs, symbols, archetypes, and metaphors.  The Shape of Water is chock full of them.  That's because it's a myth, as ancient as it is modern.  I felt the same way when I saw James Cameron's film Avatar, but didn't have a blog (ugh! ugly word) back then.  When I recently learned that Jim and Gill are good friends, I was thrilled, although not really surprised, because they both care about this planet and make fabulous films about it.
(N.B. Before you read any further, if you haven't seen The Shape of Water, consider this a "spoiler alert.")
Although I hadn't even heard of the film, I knew I'd love it when I saw a fascinating picture on its "coming soon" poster at a theatre.  It shows an otherworldly couple in a loving embrace, weightless and free floating in deep water.  Even the title captured my attention.  How exactly does one describe the shape of an element that's so amorphous and fluid?  The beautiful image and evocative title got me hooked.  I felt certain I was in for a treat, and I wasn't disappointed.
The Shape of Water is a mythic story set against the backdrop of the Cold War in the early sixties.  The heroine, Elisa, portrayed by the awesome Sally Hawkins, is a mute cleaning lady who works at a top secret government laboratory.  One day an amphibious creature is brought to the facility in a water tank, and eventually our heroine forms a close bond with him. 
Both characters are outsiders.  In fact, most of the "good guys" in the film are outsiders of some kind.  Her closest friends are Zelda, a black co-worker, and Giles, a middle-aged, closeted gay artist.  Being a black woman or gay man still connotes some sense of outsider status, but in the early sixties it was way out there.   That's one of the many reasons I enjoyed the film so much, because I tend to favour oddballs and fringy types, something I write about frequently.
The fish-out-of-water theme is established very early in the film.  The first scene shows Elisa performing her morning ablutions in her bathroom.  As she inspects herself in the mirror we see three long, straight scars on the side of her neck.  The enigmatic poster that drew me to the film already hinted at her origins, but upon seeing the scars I knew that they were vestigial gills, and that our heroine was a mermaid.  Her inability to speak confirmed that, because mermaids are traditionally mute in myth and folklore, and fish don't have vocal chords.  Further evidence of her watery background was revealed in the same scene when she pleasured herself in the bathtub - all part of her ritual to get the day started. 
Most of the sex in the film, whether it's do-it-yourself or let's-get-it-on, is in water, which is where fish and sea mammals do it.  And if that weren't enough to indicate her fishy past (and future), she was abandoned as a baby by a river.  Shades of Moses found in the reeds of the Nile.
The more prosaic of you might say so what if I figured out she was a mermaid right from the start?  Why should that make it a good film?  Okay, maybe that doesn't make it a good film (although I happen to think it's a great one), but it makes it my film and my story and my world.
True, I have a thing for mermaids.  In fact, I have a thing for otherworldly beings of all kinds.  No wonder I recognised Elisa for who she was right away. And no wonder Elisa was immediately drawn to the amphibious creature from the Amazon, revered by the natives as a god, but regarded by his captors as a monster.  And no wonder the creature/god saw a kindred spirit in her.  And no wonder I flashed unto communing with Grandmother Ayahuasca, who's one of the most venerated plant spirits of the Amazon rainforest. 
I had recently returned from a transformative spiritual retreat in the Amazon jungle of Peru when I saw the film.  Finding out that the creature/god came from the Amazon got my it's a sign! radar  bleeping loudly, only this time it sounded more like sonar. 
It wasn't a random choice on Gill's part to have the Amazon rainforest as the creature's habitat.  The Amazon is home to the world's widest variety of plant life, which means it's the lungs of the planet.  The creature/god, who originated in the primordial waters of the Amazon, represents all of Mother Earth's flora and fauna.  He represents Life itself, all life.  
Natural resources should be protected and preserved for the sake of all humankind; not pillaged and exploited for power and greed.  That's exactly what's happening in the pristine jungles of Peru right now.  Roads are being built to gain easy access into the rainforest for logging and mining, threatening  indigenous people's land and  lives, as well as the health of the entire world.  The seizure and abduction of the creature/god from the Amazon jungle is emblematic of what's currently being done to the environment.
It's obvious to me that Gill and I are on the same wavelength - we ripple at the same frequency.  So how could I not resonate with this film?  And how come I wasn't called to work as an extra on it?  They had all kinds of extras in it.  Surely I'm worthy enough to at least have hovered somewhere in the background.  After all, I'm an actress.  I'm fairy-friendly.  And the film was shot in and around my home town of my childhood, which is less than an hour from where I live now.  Everything was aligned to create a serendipitous event.  Being a part of that film should have been a slam dunk.  But alas and alack, it was not.
But I digress.... sort of.
The fact that The Shape of Water was filmed on my childhood stomping grounds is another of the many ways I feel connected to the film.  The narrative revolves around Elisa and her friends helping the creature escape so that he can return to his watery home in the jungle.  Elisa's inner journey is essentially the same.  It's the story of discovering her origins and finding her true home.
One of the first important symbols is the seemingly ordinary egg, which plays a role in revealing Elisa's history.  The expository scene with Elisa features a bowl of white eggs that appear almost  luminous set against the backdrop of her dingy flat.  Elisa's fondness for eggs isn't just because they're something to eat; she loves to fondle and caress them as well.

To gain the creature's trust, Elisa places eggs by the side of the pool where he's kept, because she intuitively knows he will be drawn to them.  Their strange, mutual fascination with eggs is no doubt because they're both amphibians, and like fish, they're hatched from eggs.  I thought the scene was charming.  The quirky, amphibious couple looked as if they were playing with small children, full of tenderness and care.
In a subsequent scene we see Elisa gazing at a pair of red high heels in a shop window.  A short time later Elisa is striding down a city sidewalk, proudly sporting her flashy, brand new red shoes.  So what's with the red shoes?  Why make a point of showing Elisa's desire to own them?  It wasn't until after I'd seen the film that I figured out what the red shoes signified.
Shoes are worn on the feet, and feet make direct contact with the earth.  Red is the colour of the root chakra, which is located at the base of the spine.  It's the chakra that grounds us, and connects us to the earth.  (That's easier to envision if you're sitting squarely on the floor in a meditative posture.)  Thanks to my yoga practise I was finally able to connect the dots...  Shoes - Earth - Red - Root Chakra - Bingo!  She was yearning to connect with her roots. 
(I wonder if Gill practises yoga.)

So far I've only discussed the metaphors that related me to the good guys.  The collective group of bad guys in the film is one big, fat metaphor as well.  They're a secret government agency spying on Russians, and performing torturous "scientific" tests on a being they consider subhuman.  In other words, the bad guys in The Shape of Water represent patriarchy at its worst; the kind of patriarchy that radicalised my feminism lo these many years ago.  The biggest bad guy of them all is Colonel Strickland, the man responsible for capturing the putative monster.  (And lest I be accused of making waves, please know that I don't think patriarchy is all bad, just as I don't regard matriarchy as perfect.  It's only when both systems work together equally that balance is created.) 
The nameless monster/god is all that patriarchy fears and abhors.  He's a creature of nature who comes from a land of myriad plant and animal life, fed by waters of the jungle, things patriarchy feels it must control and exploit.  It's a culture of domination and power over, rather than power from within; power over the earth, animals, and women. 
Earth and water are feminine elements, as opposed to the male elements of fire and air.  Even though the monster/god is identified as male, he embodies the feminine principle, which is a large part of the reason the Amazonian natives recognise his divinity.  The amphibious creature/god is a  harmonious balance of the masculine and feminine. 
One of the ways to oppress people is to deprive them of a voice.  Strickland finds Elisa's inability to speak a turn-on; her muteness gives him more power over her.  As much as he'd like to, he can't act out his dominator fantasies with Elisa, so he brings them home to his wife, where he insists that she remain completely quiet while he rudely and roughly "ploughs" her like fallow ground.  It's the shut up and do what I say method of taking control. 
All depiction of tender love-making is saved for the scenes between the creature/god and Elisa, which happen in life-giving and life-sustaining water.  The watery, expressive poster of Elisa and the creature/god embracing is similar to The Lovers card of the Tarot.  The first and most obvious meaning of the card is romantic and sexual union between a woman and a man, and indeed, Elisa and her creature/god consort are lovers in the truest sense.  But the image of The Lovers in the Tarot denotes much more than that.  It represents balance and harmony between the animus and anima of Jungian archetypes - the marriage of body and mind, earth and sky, water and fire.
On a purely personal note  (as if this blurb isn't personal enough already) allow me to point out that The Lovers card represents my personal life path.  (Now is not the time to explain that bit of esoterica.)  Anyway, I'm just going to come out and say it...  It's a sign!  Yet another reason I was so mesmerised by the poster.
The predominant element of the film is obviously water, which is the element that represents the unconscious.  All the outdoor scenes are set at night - evoking dark, watery depths, while daytime action takes place in dimly lit interiors.  The darkness and shadows of the film aren't necessarily depressing; they are meant to conjure the depths of the unconscious - the realm of dreams, buried memories, secret longing, and mystery.

As Strickland is dying he finally recognises the creature/god's divinity.  When Strickland sees the creature/god rise up from the dead he utters his final words, "You are a god."  Resurrection is the sort of miracle that would make even the most cynical person believe.  But the miracle of our nameless hero's return to life isn't a lame literary device like some deus ex machina at the end of a Greek play.  It's the miracle of life itself, and the healing power of water.  The Amazonian god brings Elisa back to life as well, through the power of Love, while restoring her to her true nature.  It's a story about going home.  And wouldn't you know, that's another big theme in my life.
Finally, what exactly is the shape of water?  Realistically, there is no shape to water, and yet it is all shapes.  It's a formless, mutable substance.  The many dark, fluid scenes of the film reflect its inchoate and embryonic nature.  Water fits whatever shape contains it, and the very first container that humans know is the womb. We all spend our first nine months on this plane floating in amniotic fluid.  The Shape of Water is a love story on a grand scale - love for Mother Earth, and all the life she harbours, no matter what shape or size.
The story of Elisa and the creature/god is about things that matter deeply to me, and I write about them often.  Then along comes Gill and splashes them out there on a movie screen as if to say this is for you, Gossamer P.  Okay, he doesn't know me personally, but he virtually knows me better than a lot of the people who really know me -  if you know what I mean. 
So how about it, Gill?  Next time you make a film about me, why not give me some screen time?  Even if it's just as some fly speck in the background?  If you ever end up reading this, then you know how to find me.  But please know I'm not under any delusions about the chances of that happening, so I'm not holding my breath.  Unless I'm under water.
g.p.

Winter Blows - Big Time

It's hard to be happy when it's so friggin' cold.  An Arctic front has been visiting my part of the world for more than two weeks now, and it's taking the piss right out of me.  I've written about my aversion to cold a few times in winters past, so my faithful followers already know how I feel about being a denizen of the true north strong and freezing during the winter.  I  suppose I should have my citizenship revoked.
Last week, on my first day back after Christmas at the bookstore where I work, I inexplicably began to weep copious tears for my late, lamented kitty, Lulu.  I hid behind bookshelves when I couldn't keep my feelings contained, all the while wondering what had suddenly triggered such depth of grief three months after her passing.  By the end of my shift I finally figured it out.
The store is heated of course, but it's so large that even proper heating can't keep the frigid cold completely out. So even inside I'm always cold and scared, huddling and shivering like a homeless, frightened 
waif straight out of a Hans Christian Andersen story. 
Feeling fear when it's cold isn't uncommon - it's the body/mind thing.  Shivering is a physical reaction to both cold and fear, so sometimes the brain will fire up fear responses when the body sends a message that it's cold.  But that doesn't explain why I felt grief as well.  The answer came to me when I passed the "Religion" section of the store.  I noticed C.S. Lewis's book A Grief  Observed on one of the shelves.  It's a personal account of his deep mourning after the death of his wife, Joy.  Upon seeing the book I remembered what is probably its most famous quote - No one told me that grief felt so like fear.  Suddenly I understood how the physical and emotional feelings of cold and fear are so easily entangled with grief. 
The body and mind talk back and forth to each other all the time.  Even as I write this I still feel cold just looking out the window, and afraid for all the small birds and animals that must endure this wretched weather.  Many of them die during such a winter as the one we're having now, which saddens me even more.  And so goes the mind/body loop.
Dante had it right when he described the deepest level of hell as a land of ice and snow, completely devoid of life.  The Devil is trapped in ice up to his waist, while his huge bat wings continually flap up a frigid, deadly wind.  It's the worst kind of hell because there's no hope for life of any kind.  There's neither growth nor decay, nor the combustion of the better known fiery levels of Dante's hell.  The true heart of hell holds no possibility for change.  It's a hopeless, frightening land of icy, eternal stasis.  Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. 

Dante's description of hell very poetically explains why I often feel sadness and fear during the coldest months of the year.  Fortunately, unlike Dante's ice-bound hell, the cycle of the seasons keeps on rolling, and light and warmth eventually return.  I'm also truly grateful to have shelter that includes a working furnace.
As I write this the late afternoon sun shines so brightly it makes the bitterly cold scene outside my window positively sparkle, adding to the beauty of the intricate, lacy patterns the frost makes as it creeps up the window pane.  The present onslaught of harsh weather will surely pass, and I'll get through it, difficult though it may be.  And that makes me happy.
g.p.