At first glance, Deep Water (2022) may appear to be a sleek erotic thriller with a familiar premise: a fractured marriage, open infidelity, and the possibility of murder. But beneath the surface, the film offers a compelling meditation on the nature of desire—not as simple lust, but as a complex and often destructive force that shapes identity, power, and intimacy.
Desire Without Restraint
Melinda Van Allen (Ana de Armas) embodies raw, unapologetic desire. She doesn’t conceal her affairs; she parades them. Her sexual freedom is not covert or ashamed—it’s flamboyant. This is not the stereotypical housewife driven to cheating by neglect. Melinda is not trying to escape Vic (Ben Affleck); she is testing him. Her behavior isn’t simply about gratification—it’s a form of power, perhaps even punishment.
She desires attention, excitement, and to be seen in a world where marriage can become a cocoon of routine. Her lovers aren’t just romantic diversions; they are props in a drama she orchestrates to provoke Vic into feeling something—anger, jealousy, passion, possession.
Vic’s Repressed Craving for Control
Vic’s response to Melinda’s behavior is telling. He plays the role of the silent sufferer, passive on the surface. He doesn’t confront her directly, at least not immediately. Instead, he internalizes his resentment and redirects his emotions into dark fantasies—or possibly actions. His desire is not as visible as Melinda’s, but it’s just as potent. It festers, controlled yet dangerous.
He isn’t just jealous. He is compelled to maintain a sense of control. When he jokingly tells one of Melinda’s lovers that he killed a previous boyfriend, it’s a bluff layered with threat and seduction. He inserts himself into the narrative of Melinda’s other relationships—not to stop them, but to possess them in some way.
Vic doesn't want Melinda to stop desiring others. He wants her desire to orbit around him—even when it's aimed at someone else. His power lies in his quiet omnipresence, the suggestion that he could do anything and that he knows everything. His ultimate craving isn't for love or fidelity, but for relevance in a relationship that constantly humiliates him.
Desire as Psychological Warfare
The film never frames their marriage as simply broken—it’s alive in its dysfunction. Their toxic loop is a mutual performance. Melinda tests limits. Vic retreats, then retaliates, subtly or violently. The suspense isn't driven by whether someone will die; it’s about what their next move will be. They are locked in a game where desire becomes a psychological weapon—both a seduction and a trap.
Melinda desires chaos because chaos provokes feeling. Vic desires control because control masks his insecurity. Each is using the other to define themselves. In this way, Deep Water isn't about a failing marriage—it's about the shifting battlefield of longing, the places we go to feel wanted, and the dark corners of intimacy where love and power blur.
Conclusion: Love Is Not the Opposite of Violence
What Deep Water explores, with unsettling calm, is that love is not necessarily the absence of violence. For some, love includes violence—emotional, psychological, and sometimes physical. Desire, when unbounded by trust or vulnerability, can become a force of dominance. And in Vic and Melinda’s case, desire is the last remaining thread in a marriage where everything else has unraveled.
They don't want peace. They want each other on the edge.
