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Quvenzhane Wallis as Hushpuppy |
Beasts of the Southern Wild, the much-lauded, first-time feature by Ben Zeitlin, isn’t easy to describe. On the surface, it’s the story of a group of impoverished residents of the Mississippi delta, the struggles of their daily lives, and how they attempt to persevere and recover in the wake of havoc wrought by a ferocious storm recalling hurricane Katrina. But it’s also a fiercely intimate father/daughter-story, about the difficulties of growing up. It’s about a little girl’s search for her beloved, but now lost, mother. Beneath all this, it’s a fable about the connections (seen and unseen) shared by its characters. The entire time, giant, menacing, pre-historic wild boars (who’ve been frozen in arctic ice, but recently thawed) charge towards civilization. With them they bring what? And why?
Along with various other locals who might euphemistically be
described as “eccentric” or “colorful,” the father (“Wink,” played impressively
by first-timer Dwight Henry) and daughter (“Hushpuppy,” played by 9-year old Oscar-nominee
Quvenzhane Wallis) live in “the Bathtub,” an almost impossibly-rural, destitute
swamp, located below a series of levees. At the film’s open, the carefree locals
are celebrate, despite their poverty. These aren’t the kinds of people who feel
sorry for theyselves. Their lives seem to suit them just fine. They drink from
the bottle, eat off paper plates, play music too loud and too late on the front
porch, shoot off fireworks, race infants on picnic blankets, and talk about the
people above the levee in disparaging tones. Though every day is a struggle, they
seem, if not entirely happy, not overtly unhappy, either.
Wink and Hushpuppy share a fierce, loyal, intense, but at
times combative, bond. Perhaps that’s why they live (curiously) in separate
homes? She resides in a dilapidated trailer, oddly standing on stilts, that’s in
a forest so remote I wondered how it had gas and electricity. The place is cluttered,
claustrophobic, dingy, riddled with holes, and overrun by squalor. Along with its
human inhabitant, the house is also host to pigs, chickens, and a few scraggly
dogs. Her father lives in even more desperate conditions: a ramshackle hut
constructed of little more than a few sheets of corrugated metal, with a tarp
for a roof. The two structures are connected by a long clothing line with a
bell at one end, which Wink rings to call Hushpuppy for meals. The family pets
get the leftovers straight off the plate.
There is no physical sign of a mom, though Hushpuppy talks
to her frequently.
The little girl is wide-eyed, wild-haired, observing
everything, rarely taken aback by what she sees. Almost angelic in her innocence,
she is also independent, stubborn and tough. She shows kindness towards her
pets, but also remarks matter-of-factly that, after having gone several days
without food, she might have to start eating them.
Wink is far from an ideal dad. He drinks too much, values
his privacy more than he should, and probably doesn’t know where his daughter
is most of the time. When forced to share a room, he tapes a line down the
middle, telling Hushpuppy in no uncertain terms to stay on her side. After
going missing for several days, he returns in a daze, without explanation,
wearing a hospital gown.
However, in his peculiar way, Wink does care deeply and
desperately about his daughter. During these fleeting moments, he fiercely
tries to instill pride, courage and resilience in her, through harsh instruction
and life lessons. Instead of having the requisite ball-catch with her, he
teaches her to fish with her bare hands. When she throws a tantrum, he responds
in kind. “Never cry,” he admonishes.
I’m not sure I could describe the film’s story in a way that
would be entirely accurate. It primarily follows the travails of Hushpuppy and
Wink, and traces how they regroup each time. The plot kind of seeps from their
journey, and from the interactions with those they meet along the way. It
doesn’t result from a traditional story arc. None of the characters does
anything that feels false, or simply necessary to push the story along. Though
I’m loath to describe it this way, the film’s progression feels “organic.” It unfolds
in an unhurried way, which evokes its deep-southern setting. The picture lacks
dialogue in long stretches, and has an hallucinatory, fantastical, magic-realism
quality throughout, (similar to, though not to the same degree as, Terrence Malick’s
2011 “Tree of Life”). I learn from IMDB that the film lacked a formal script. The
filmmakers use poetic, almost hypnotic shots of water, fireworks, mud, trees,
storm clouds, collapsing glaciers, and close-ups of writhing marine animals,
instead.
Where there is dialogue, Hushpuppy often speaks in
voice-over, observing facts about life that are more wise and insightful than
any elementary-school aged child could ever know. She says things like “The
whole universe depends on everything fitting together just right. If one piece
busts, even the smallest piece... the entire universe will get busted.” Without
context, this might seem like a hokey, writer’s contrivance. In this film,
however, given these characters’ uncommon existence, it feels believable. In
her short life, Hushpuppy’s been through a lot.
Not a traditional narrative by any stretch, “Beasts of the
Southern Wild” is meditative, thought-provoking film. It stayed with me after I
saw it, and I have thought of it often since. I enjoyed its performances,
visual imagery, and message, but would not argue too strongly with those who prefer
something more conventional. It possesses a quiet nobility, which I admire. Ultimately,
it’s about (I think) summoning the strength and courage to believe in oneself, and
pursue happiness, in a world where life can be startlingly arbitrary, unusually
cruel and unimaginably difficult. My expectations where high going in, and I’m
not sure it entirely lived up to them. That said, I’m glad I saw “Beasts.” It
is unusual, creative, and likely unlike anything else you’ll see soon.
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