Guillermo del Toro carefully considers each element of mise en scene, for every frame in the scene of, ‘The Captain’s Feast.’ This enables him to create a dense network of meanings and connections around the characters, allowing him to improve and develop the narrative of the film. 

The dining room, or specifically the dinner table, is a popular choice of setting for many filmmakers, given how universally prominent it is in every global culture. Food is a human necessity; no matter the circumstances we must eat. This leads to the amalgamation of people from different classes and additionally, or perhaps therefore, people of different opinions. All of these egos are splashed together into a boiling pot of conflict, which typically grows to a climax throughout the scene. 

Additionally, the physical aspects of the dinner table provide del Toro with some excellent proxemic compositions: the characters gradually getting smaller and more inferior the further away from the Captain they sit, and vice versa when facing the Captain the leading lines created by the edges of the table, the characters, and even the cutlery in front of them clearly establish his self assigned central importance, and power. 

Within this scene there are two main climaxes. Firstly, del Toro uses the motif of the antibiotic vial to present the espionage-esque climax, being the revelation to the characters of the Doctor and Mercedes of the newly established danger they face of being discovered. This is partnered with the previously mentioned generic climax of dinner table interaction, between the character of Carmen and the twins. To increase the effect of these climaxes, del Toro throws us off their trail by juxtaposing the cold blue lighting and rain of the previous scene, with the warm colours which are practically lit by fires, giving us an initial false sense of security. This also helps to later increase the sense of vulnerability experienced by Mercedes’ character, when del Toro cross cuts to her dangerous mission of beaconing information to the rebels using her small lantern to cut through the darkness and rain.

Returning to the dinner table climax, the obnoxious and outspoken twins are a total generic convention of the dinner table scene. It is no coincidence that the actors cast to play these nosy, intrusive fiends both have especially prominent noses. Thus the twins wear plain undistracting clothes, and even their hair is shortened and gelled up to clear the stage for the prime exhibit. The choice of doubling up what could have just been one woman into identical twins further conveys the recurring theme of Carmen being powerless and outnumbered, and seems to almost comically exaggerate just how annoying they and their identical views are; it’s as if Carmen is duelling with a two headed monster.

As we reach the crux of the conversation between the twins and Carmen, the Captain is still sitting back and dining on this conflict being performed just for him, on his stage. In fact, the assortment of roasted meats, grapes, and wine create a semantic field which almost presents the Captain as an embodiment of an all powerful roman emperor, who adores exerting his power to make those beneath him squeal. But then all of a sudden he is approached and asked to give his opinion on the conversation between Carmen and the twins, suddenly the tables are turned and he finds himself in the spotlight of discomfort. Whilst he ends up siding with the twins, the lack of eye contact with Carmen seems to present some regret in his marital betrayal. 

This sparks a chain of vulnerable body language displayed by the Captain, and as he commands a standing of the guests to respect his wife’s departure, and the conclusion of the scene, we are left with the fleeting idea that perhaps beneath his brutal front the captain there is a small fragment of compassion for his wife. 

P.s I don’t quite understand how to use the word ‘proxemics’ yet, so it may be incorrectly placed.