“The Latin term monstrum essentially indicates a divine sign, a wonder, and derives from the theme of monere: to warn, to advise. The monster, in its original meaning, is the appearance, the manifestation, the sudden showing of something extraordinary, something divine, that violates nature and serves as a warning and an admonition to humans. The omen evokes a sense of wonder and amazement and can be auspicious or ominous, thereby generating reassurance or fear.”
The dual nature of the supernatural, of the fantastic, is a distinctive trait of del Toro’s filmography, but perhaps in this case the Mexican director brings this issue to sublimation. Both because, as is evident, the relationship the protagonist establishes with the creature is a romantic one, and because the overall setting of the film turns out to be among the most significant in the director's body of work. He stops mirroring himself and does not indulge in aestheticism for its own sake, creating, without delivering moralizing sermons, a network of references on the meaning of being different, on the inextricable coexistence of hatred and love for and among those who do not conform to society's preferred standards, perhaps inadvertently, involuntarily.
The strength of this work lies in saying many things without ever pausing to reflect, without giving the impression of wanting to impart a lesson to the viewer. A film of plot, precise, detailed, of characters, well-constructed, three-dimensional, often quirky, normally odd. A fertile narrative that knows how to take its time to build a believable scenario, simple but rich in important details. Del Toro’s cinema is delightful, and here even more so the love for a certain cinematic style oozes, creating small worlds full of meaningful nooks, corridors, stairways, hatches, and docks. A tangible cinema that emerges from the screen for its tactile evidence.
Obviously, this perception is further amplified in the vision of the monstrum, which magnificently unites the image of the beast with that of the god, because – as from the Latin etymology – he is both. He is beast and divinity, at the same time. And his realization is wonderful; the special effects are concrete and give the viewer the sensation of almost being able to touch those scales, to feel the hardness of the claws and the brackish odor of stagnant water on his body. And also to lose oneself in those frightened eyes yet full of humanity, in those incomprehensible sobs that express the sweetest feelings.
But del Toro does not rest on his little daydream, he does not indulge and constructs a balanced, entertaining plot, a caricature of Cold War spy films. A divertissement or just a bit more, that acts as a frame and protective screen to the heart of the story, which unfolds in a few decisive scenes, concentrating all the meaning of being different and the search for someone who accepts you for who you are.
However, the most beautiful aspect of the film is not this concept. It is the vision of two alterities merging, it is that sensation of repulsion and attraction, that fear and fascination for a being utterly unexplainable, definitively other compared to our standards. Its ontological definition is not possible and is not even important. Because any living form, even the most bizarre, can find a communicative channel to establish a connection with another, whether through gestures or shrill vocalizations. Love is the logical and simple consequence of communicative contact. To communicate is to love.
7.5/10
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