Guillermo del Toro is basically the patron saint of monsters. Most people look at a creature from the black lagoon and see a nightmare, but he sees a lonely soul needing a hug—or in the case of The Shape of Water, a very intense romantic partner. Honestly, when the film first started making waves back in 2017, the internet was obsessed with the "fish sex" of it all. But looking back from 2026, it’s clear the movie was never really about the logistics of interspecies dating. It was a $19.5 million gamble on empathy.
The movie didn't just win Best Picture; it broke a massive glass ceiling for the fantasy genre. Before this, you had to be The Lord of the Rings to get that kind of Academy respect.
What Everyone Gets Wrong About the Inspiration
You’ve probably heard that del Toro just wanted to "fix" the ending of Creature from the Black Lagoon. While it's true he’s been obsessed with that movie since he was six, the actual spark for The Shape of Water was way more collaborative and, frankly, a bit more random.
Back in 2011, Daniel Kraus—who co-wrote the Trollhunters books with del Toro—pitched a simple idea: a janitor at a government facility befriends an aquatic specimen and sneaks him home in a laundry cart. Del Toro didn't just like it; he bought the idea on the spot. He spent over $200,000 of his own money just on the "look" of the creature before the movie even had a green light.
Then there's the Sally Hawkins story. Guillermo was famously tipsy at a Golden Globes party when he cornered her and blurted out, "I'm writing a movie for you! You fall in love with a fish man!" Luckily, she didn't call security. She actually ended up being the anchor that kept the whole thing from feeling like a weird B-movie.
The Secret Language of Color
If you watch the film closely, you’ll notice it’s basically an underwater movie even when they're on dry land. Cinematographer Dan Laustsen didn't just "light" the scenes; he drowned them.
- Cyan and Steel Blue: This is Elisa’s world. It’s the color of the "water" she mentally lives in.
- The "Rotten" Green: Look at Michael Shannon’s Cadillac or his office. It’s a sickly, artificial green. It represents the "future" and the rigidity of the 1960s.
- Red is Rare: You only see red when things get real. It’s the color of the pie, the headband Elisa wears when she gains confidence, and ultimately, blood and love.
The production was so tight on cash that they actually recycled sets from the TV show The Strain. They used "dry for wet" filming for the opening and closing—which basically means they filled a room with thick smoke, used fans to blow the actors' clothes, and shot at 48 frames per second to make it look like they were floating. It’s a classic old-school trick that looks better than most $200 million CGI fests.
The Doug Jones Factor
We need to talk about Doug Jones. He is the guy under the suit, but calling it a "suit" feels like an insult. It was a four-layered prosthetic masterpiece that took three hours to put on every single morning.
Doug didn't play the creature like a monster. He based his movement on a matador. Think about that: the posture, the "pelvis-first" walk, the fluid elegance. He also watched how dogs tilt their heads to understand human speech. When you see the Asset tilt his head at Elisa, that’s not "alien" behavior—it’s the behavior of a being trying to connect.
The suit was also incredibly difficult to manage. By the end of a shoot day, it would be filled with about 60 pounds of water and sweat. The crew had to literally wring him out like a sponge.
That Plagiarism Lawsuit (The Part Nobody Talks About)
For a while, the film’s legacy was threatened by a massive lawsuit from the estate of Paul Zindel. They claimed del Toro ripped off the 1969 play Let Me Hear You Whisper, which also featured a janitor trying to rescue a creature (a dolphin) from a lab.
It got messy. The case was dismissed in 2018, then revived by an appeals court in 2020, and finally settled in 2021. The estate eventually admitted the claims were "baseless" after seeing more evidence of the film's development process. Del Toro is a guy who keeps journals for decades; he had the receipts to show this idea had been cooking in his brain long before he ever heard of Zindel’s play.
Why the 1962 Setting Isn't Random
Del Toro chose 1962 for a very specific, somewhat cynical reason. To many, that era represents the "Great America"—the cars, the nuclear family, the white picket fences. But for everyone else—the "others"—it was a nightmare.
- Elisa: Mute, invisible.
- Zelda: Black woman in the Jim Crow era.
- Giles: Closeted gay man in a time when that was a career-killer.
- The Asset: Literally a god in his own home, but a "thing" to be dissected in America.
By setting The Shape of Water in 1962, del Toro was commenting on the modern day. He was showing that the people who "don't fit" are the ones who actually have the capacity for true connection.
How to Appreciate the Film Today
If you’re planning a rewatch, don’t just look at the romance. Look at the shadows. Here is how to spot the "Expert Mode" details:
- Check the Calendar: There’s a shot of a calendar on October 9th. That’s Guillermo’s birthday. The "Big Rain" happens on October 10th.
- The Voice: Elisa’s name is a nod to My Fair Lady (Eliza Doolittle). Both characters are "voiceless" people who find their power through a transformation.
- The Movie Theater: The Elgin Theatre in Toronto, where they filmed the cinema scenes, is actually the same theater where the movie had its world premiere.
- The Sound of Water: Alexandre Desplat used flutes and a whistling track to create the score. There are almost no "heavy" instruments; he wanted the music to feel like it was vibrating through liquid.
The real takeaway? Guillermo del Toro didn't make a movie about a woman falling in love with a fish. He made a movie about how the world tries to categorize and kill anything it doesn't understand. In a world that keeps getting more divided, the idea that "unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me" feels less like a fairy tale and more like a necessity.
Next time you watch it, pay attention to Michael Shannon's fingers. The way they slowly rot throughout the movie is a perfect metaphor for the toxic masculinity his character represents—it’s a small, gross detail that tells you everything you need to know about who the real monster is.