thoughts on THE SHAPE OF WATER

SPOILER ALERT

The Shape of Water is a visually beautiful film; the colors vibrant yet somehow muted--a watercolor painting pulsing with life. It’s a film that almost looks as if it could’ve been made in the period in which it's set--almost. 

The cast is superb. 

Sally Hawkins is amazing as Elisa, giving me so much without saying a word (!!!). Octavia Spencer is as strong as always, breathing life into Zelda and creating yet another woman I would like to have the pleasure of knowing.

I didn’t know much about the story other than what the preview dictated, which seemed to prepare me for a romance between a mute cleaning woman and the sea creature she discovers in the lab she cleans. But it’s so much more. 

I didn’t know about the military presence (maybe the lab should have been a tip off) with Michael Shannon its representative bully. His Richard Strickland is a rigid, unflinching man unable to waiver from his goals, unwilling to compromise; a harsh antidote to the romance and the humaneness at the story’s center. And don’t get me started on his desire for silence while fucking his wife (I know what you're doing) or his stagnant love for his favorite childhood candy. He’s intolerant; stuck in time; unwilling to change. (He's on the Straight & Narrow and god damn those curves.) #TimesUp

Nor did I know of the Russian storyline centered on Michael Stuhlbarg's (so good in Call Me By Your Name as well as here) Dr. Robert Hoffstetler. Dr. Hoffstetler not only has his own secret to protect but an urgent objective to protect the creature. With empathy and a desire to understand different, but not at the expense of life, he betrays those who could do him the most harm.

Then there’s Elisa's gay neighbor, Giles, so beautifully yet quietly played by Richard Jenkins. His change of heart toward the creature is in itself a representation of the acceptance and tolerance he himself desires. 

When Elisa points out to Giles her similarity to the creature, questioning if HE is a monster then isn’t SHE, I began to question humanity and who has the right to define what constitutes the connection we feel with another person. And if the creature has a soul is he less of a person because he’s not “human?” And isn’t Elisa actually just like him? She was found on the river bank. Washed up, perhaps? Spat out? Rejected? The scars on her neck the remnants of the gills that sealed as she adapted to her new surroundings?

The Shape of Water is fantasy, so the romance is plausible. It’s also magic because the romance blossoms into something more when Elisa has the courage to let herself be seen and then gives herself over to what she’s feeling. But to that mix I must add horror because there are people in the world, much like Mr. Strickland, who wish to humiliate, belittle, and destroy anything--or anyone--different from what they perceive as right; normal. He sees the hurting of the creature as his right since he sees the creature as nothing more than a thing.

Shouldn’t we all be so lucky to be able to look beyond what we see in front of us, like Elisa, and embrace the differences that might, just might, change our lives forever? 

The creature (imbued with more than enough courage, vulnerability, desire, and yes, humanity by Doug Jones) will show Elisa a whole new world. One I believe she was born to know. But without her vulnerability, acceptance, and tolerance that would never have happened.

Wanted Versus Needed

I kept waiting. I kept waiting and watching for something I could latch onto; something that would make me want to write. It never came. At least not in the guise of the spiritual journey I was craving. I’m speaking of watching Life of Pi, the new film directed by Ang Lee. A friend’s response to my disappointment helped me see that maybe what I needed to write about was that disappointment.

I read the novel Life of Pi by Yann Martel many years ago. I remembered enjoying it and from the first moment I saw the trailer for the film version I knew it would be visually stunning. In that department it didn’t let me down. What I’d hoped was that my heart would be filled with some kind of joy at Pi’s spiritual journey on the sea. I wanted to watch his journey because I’m on one of my own and I wanted to see how his played out. Unable to fully remember much more than the essence of the novel, I was prepared to be enlightened on how he saw God.

The thing is: I wanted to take his journey because I don’t know what my journey is. My quest is not like taking the ring to Mordor. I don’t know where I’m going. I was hoping to use this fictional character’s journey as an example, a road map, inspiration.

I’m afraid of God. I always have been. Growing up, God was always presented as a father figure; one that would punish you, like your human father, for your wrong doings--you know...your sins. The punishment from an omnipotent life force, however, is much more daunting than getting spanked or grounded. The punishment from God could be extreme loss (i.e. a job, a loved one, your home). Punishments that carry greater weight and teach a vital lesson of the importance of towing the line, living a good life.

To paraphrase something my father used to say to my sister and me from the front seat of the car as we argued in the back, “If you two don’t stop it God’s going to take one of you away from the other.” Holy shit!! That’s a scary thought. How mean and vengeful is this God I’m supposed to love and serve but can’t help being afraid of? I realize that what he was saying falls into the same category as, “Don’t make me pull this car over.” Both are threats to achieve the ultimate goal of calming the arguing children, but the choice of words used in his threat (more than once on me) helps one understand some of the fear I have of God.

There is a part of me that still believes God will take away my health, job, happiness, life, family member’s lives, etc., if I don’t tow his line.

The ultimate punishment is Hell. I’m terrified of Hell and of spending eternity there. There is a part of me that has not fully accepted the idea that my being gay is not an eternal sentence to the lake of fire. I can’t imagine a God who would allow people to be born with inherent feelings that are already wrong and then punish us for the feelings he allowed us to be born with. I can’t believe that’s true, but at the same time because of my religious past I can’t turn my back on it either. These conflicting feeling are constantly duking it out in my heart. It makes for a disquieting life to be sure.

I want to be able to find my own personal relationship with God--the creator, the universe, etc. I feel like I’m turning my back on God by turning my back on the teachings I learned as a child, though.

I have to find a way to integrate my belief in God--the creator of all life and love--with who I am, separating out the human element of organized religion and how God’s words to us through the Bible have been clouded and made murky by the humans who interpret them the way they see fit.

Back to Life of Pi. Piscine Molitor “Pi” Patel, believes everything is possible instead of believing in one thing. Maybe that is the way to believe. That would mean I have to be open to the possibilities that all teachings regarding the God figure have some truth and that no one knows the full extent of what that truth is.

In going to the film, I wanted to gain some kind of incite into Pi’s ability to survive his dilemma. I wanted to gain incite into his belief in a higher power helping him through his days lost at sea. What I took away was imagery that was more beautiful than some of the most beautiful images in Avatar, but I wanted more than imagery. I didn’t take away a feeling of recommendation. I enjoyed myself and was glad I had seen the film, but I didn’t feel the need to rush out and tell my friends and family they must see it. Argo, on the other hand, I couldn’t stop talking about and have recommended many times.

Maybe I need to see Life of Pi again. Maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe a second viewing would open my eyes to possibilities of faith and believing that I missed the first time because I was searching too hard.

I struggle with faith--in God, in myself, in my friends, in my coworkers. I don’t trust that I might actually be good at my job and that making the wrong choice one day doesn’t mean I’m not making 100 right ones the next. It doesn’t mean that I’m not good at my job. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. Questioning my life in respect to God and how I perceive him and the relationship I have with him is not wrong either. Humans are wired to question. I started questioning when I left home for college in 1989 and nearly 24 years later, I still wonder if I’m doing the wrong thing by questioning even though I know I would be a fool not to question. 

Change doesn’t happen if we just let people tell us what to do without standing up and saying, “I don’t believe that’s the right course for me.” 

I have to find my faith. I have to believe it’s okay to question. I have to develop a relationship with God that is mine and no one else’s. I have to be strong enough to let no one stand in my way with said relationship, and I have to be strong enough in my faith that it can be questioned by someone else and I can know that my choice was the right one for me no matter what any one else thinks. (Validation rears its head)

I’m not there yet. I’ve been trying to get there for a long time. I think there’s still a certain amount of fear of disappointing my parents where all things religious are concerned. Imagine a boy who leaves home at 18 and at 41 is still struggling with disappointing his parents over the way he believes in God versus the way he thinks they want him to believe in God.

It should be as simple as I believe in God. Enough said. But in my head it’s not enough.

Pi was strong. He believed what he believed as a child and carried that with him into adulthood. He believed. He survived.

It’s interesting how a movie that I thought I got nothing spiritual from actually opened the door for me to admit my own spiritual desires and fears. I guess I did get something important from Life of Pi after all. Something more important than the copper-colored clouds hiding the sun beautifully reflected on the bluest of seas. 

I didn’t sit in the darkened movie theater crying and finding my heart overwhelmed with faith beyond my own. What I got, after the fact, was the questioning of why I struggle so hard with my faith and the desire to create my own personal relationship with God.

It is true: sometimes you get what you need instead of what you want. The trick is to see what it is that’s being presented and use it to your advantage. 

The journey continues...

R GO FCK URSELF

It started with a text.

Me: Any interest in seeing a movie this afternoon? Life of Pi, Lincoln, and Argo are all playing at Lincoln Square.

Matt: I’d love to see Lincoln or Argo.

Me: Argo @ 4. Meet you inside the lobby.

Fast forward to 3:30pm. The lobby of the Lincoln Square cineplex was crowded. Two out of every four ticket kiosks: broken. The line for the ticket counter was snaking almost to the end of the stanchion dividers. I was nervous. I hate going to the movies in NYC. The hotter the ticket the more possible the theater will be filled with those inconsiderate movie goers who think nothing of texting, talking on their phones, or talking to each other. 

Picture me in a lobby full of people when I got to the front of my ticket kiosk line to print my pre-purchased tickets and saw that the movie I’d purchased tickets for was sold out. It was less than 30 minutes to showtime, Matt wasn’t there, my kiosk was one of the broken ones; I had to join new line. My brain was forming a picture of the crowd of people who were already filling seats to the 4pm showing of Argo. I wasn’t planning on getting a snack, but the fact that time was ticking away took the option away from me. I’m not one of those people who will wait in line for snacks while the previews are playing then sneak in just as the movie starts. No, I want to watch the previews. That’s part of my movie going experience.

At 3:40pm I had made it to the front of a working ticket kiosk line and had my tickets in hand. Matt was still no where to be found. I called him. He answered with the voice of someone in movement. He was on his way. I was standing in a prime location. One that would ensure I saw him and that he saw me. I doubted I would be missed. I mean I was wearing my gray coat with my blue scarf thrown fashionably around my neck and my Coach bag was draped over my arm. Even if you weren’t looking for me, I was hard to miss. What can I say? Sometimes I stand out in a crowd. It happens.

People were walking past or splitting up to stand it two kiosk lines determined to waste no moment in purchasing or retrieving their tickets. Others were riding up escalators, laughing with their friends. Shouts of joy erupted as one of the split pair reached the front of their line first, the other jumping out of line to join them. My friend wasn’t there. Time wasn’t slowing it was actively moving forward. I was checking the time on my phone. I was still standing fashionably ensembled in my prime location. The last I looked there were no texts or voicemails. I was no nearer to getting a seat in the sold out showing of Argo.

Then I pulled my phone out of my pocket to check again. Two missed calls. Of course with all the hustle and bustle of the crowded lobby I didn’t hear it ring. I called Matt back. As obviously visible as I thought I was, he had missed me and I him. He was upstairs looking for me when he’d called and failed to reach me. I called him back as he was riding the escalator back down. He was asking me where I was when I caught sight of him. We laughed, said our hellos, and headed back up the escalator.

Argo was showing in one of Lincoln Square’s smaller movie theaters. It made since. The film had been playing for a few weeks. Smaller theater means less seats to sell before sold out. Sold out means crowded. We ended up in the second row.

That’s normally a groaner of a seat location for me, but you know what, this time it wasn’t. I was okay with sitting that close. I asked Matt if he wanted to split up to get seats further back, but the choice was made to stick together. So we had the aisle of the second row. Scooting way down in the seat provided a good viewing angle and the perfect head rest. I won’t lie. As okay as I was with sitting in the second row, my 40 year old eyes wished they’d been a little further back. Eyesight in your 40s starts to suck. I can’t believe I need a little distance now for clarity, but that’s another story. I’m not saying the images on the screen were blurry or anything, they just would have been less strain on the eyes with a little distance.

What can I say about Argo? I don’t want to give anything away, but that film was wound tighter than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs rocking at full tilt. Seriously! If I was a nail biter I would have no more nails. I went along for this ride and forgot to buckle my seat belt. I couldn’t have been more excited to by flying by the seat of my pants. I don’t know if it’s the directing or the editing or the way it all works together combined with just the right music, but this story was taut and I was terrified the high wire was going to snap. That’s an amazing feat considering it’s based on a true story, and we know how it turned out. Amidst the riveting scenario, the screenplay was laced with comedic lines, like that of the title of this blog, to help break the tension. Moments of much needed respite for the heart to stop its agitated pounding and calm down to a resting pulse only to speed up again. Who knew watching Argo was also a way to burn calories?
When I saw the musical 1776 for the first time, my friend, James, saw how anxious I was about whether or not they would sign The Declaration of Independence. He leaned over to me and whispered, “You know they sign it.” History. I know it was signed, but the tension was palpable. Sometimes when I watch Titanic I think maybe this time it won’t sink. To me both of the above references are examples of good storytelling. We know the outcome, but are so engrossed in the story that we aren’t sure it’s going to be what we know.

I was 8 years old when the hostage crises depicted in Argo happened. My sister wasn’t even a year old yet. I don’t remember much about it except there were hostages. What I do remember are the yellow ribbons tied around trees, lamp posts, electricity poles, etc. I remember that. Seeing those yellow ribbons in the film was an immediate connector to the time. Images of Ted Koppel, Walter Cronkite, and Diane Sawyer reporting were priceless -- real life history on display. The Star Wars memorabilia took me to my cousin Kevin’s house. He lived just down the street from me. He had all of those figurines as well as the Millennium Falcon. Memories of my youth were before my eyes on screen. The glasses, the hair styles, the clothes. I was a child of the 80s. I would bet the only event more talked about during that time was Who Shot J.R.?, which happened four months after the hostage crisis began. That phrase is still in the lexicon today.

As my 40 year old eyes watched history’s denouement play out from the second row on a 20 foot high screen (#secondrowsarcasm), I cried. There was nothing I could do about it. I had to release. I was finally able to breathe along with the characters on the screen. I was filled with joy. The pressure I’d been feeling in my chest had welled up into my eyes, rolled down my cheeks and suddenly been replaced with joy and happiness. That joy and happiness was for the characters as well as for the fact that I had just witnessed a damn good film. Oscar viewing season, for me, was officially in swing.

You know what follows a great movie? An amazing burger. Matt suggested we go A.G. Kitchen. I’d never been and was game for the new experience. That burger was of the holla-praise-to-Jesus variety; so juicy that you’ve either got to forget about wiping you hands each time you take a bite or get over yourself and not be embarrassed if you need to ask for another napkin. I didn’t ask for another napkin, by the way, but the one I had was filthy with goodness. Our dinner conversation ran the gambit of what we’d done over the past two days, to work, to food, to drinks, and then turned to twitter. I talked to Matt about setting up a twitter account to promote his business. While he didn’t do that, he did set up a personal twitter account. I showed him how to tweet, follow, retweet, discover. Then I tweeted Ben Affleck about Argo. Why not? He’s on twitter and I had something to say.

After the film and after dinner, Matt and I walked seven blocks in the direction of his apartment and my train. It was a crisp autumn night. I felt like I was right where I belonged. I was walking down the sidewalk in New York City having seen a fantastic film with an audience too engaged to talk. I had what might possibly be the best burger of my life at a restaurant I’d never been to before. I was with one of my two best friends, feeling lighter than air, not a care in the world. It was a good night. “Argo fuck yourself.” Smile.

Hope Ben Affleck reads my tweet.