Charlotte Troy
In 2017, renowned Mexican filmmaker Guillermo Del Toro released The Shape of Water, asking his audience to find comfort in his sympathetic monsters and further question the slippery boundary that separates the natural from the unnatural. Arguably, Del Toro’s filmography has been largely defined by his fascination with mythological and fantastical creatures including everything from vampire slaying half-vamps attired in leather trenchcoats (Blade trilogy) to cigar-smoking half-demons with an adoration for kittens (Hellboy franchise). In both literary and cinematic form, monsters act as the “patron saints of otherness” (Del Toro, “At Home with Monsters”) who are condemned, alienated and even killed “because their physical existence defies our expectations of normality in ways that offend us” and in turn threaten our social reality (Davies 29). Admittedly, monsters appear in Del Toro films as both protagonists and antagonists, but I argue that their central role as unlikely, sympathetic heroes raises questions about how true monstrosity is not synonymous with the nonhuman.
