Friday, February 1, 2013

Beasts of the Southern Wild (Movie Review)



                   (1 hr & 33 min, color, 2012)

The mixture of reality and fantasy is nothing new in modern cinema.  The fun sometimes is trying to discern where one leaves off and the other begins.  Sometimes the surreal portions of a film are quite obvious, due to a change in the color palette or in the rate of perceived motion or in a sudden shift in the photographic style of a scene or sequence, maybe a change of lighting.  In other instances the fantasy sneaks up on the viewer.  You think you are in authentic time, when something happens to explode that illusion, something shocking or incredible or off the charts of possibility.  No signal warning or foreshadowing has prepared you for it.  In most cases movie fantasy brings with it at the very least a sense of foreboding and unsettlement.  In “Beasts of the Southern Wild,” a recent release that has won an Oscar nomination for Best Picture in the upcoming competition, the fantastic is part of the landscape.  It does not intervene; it is itself the shape of the characters’  world and their expectations.

The main character is Hushpuppy, a six-year-old dark skinned child who resides in a backwater community somewhere in the Mississippi Delta country, portrayed by a scrappy little child actress named Quvenzhane Wallis (and do not ask me to pronounce that first name).  She lives in a ramshackle house that is barely more than a hut, and in her narration of her story she talks of things you and I would only imagine, as if they were native to the only existence she has ever known, chiefly an ancient, almost extinct animal called the aurochs.  Her life is almost under water, the soggy marshland constantly puttering at her bare feet and right up to her door, so that it only takes a massive flood to put her and her people under it.  The area in which she dwells has been named The Bathtub by its inhabitants.  She and her neighbors live with the constant expectation that the ice caps will melt, that the aurochs will be turned loose from their primeval graves to roam the earth and threaten human life and that the Delta dwellers will be called upon to use techniques of survival that are unheard of.  They all interpret the flood that comes upon them as the apocalyptic arrival of that Arctic meltdown.  For all we are told, it might be.  No one is driven mad; no one evidences any surprise. 

This child is really tuned in to her watery world.  She even listens to heartbeats, not just of humans but those of animals, and living up to its title the film has plenty of them to fill the scenery – a dog, birds, chickens, pigs, fish in plentiful abundance, alligators, goats, sheep, a shark (albeit a dead one), even an owl and a caterpillar.  But of course the heartbeat of the screenplay is the relationship between her and her fatherWink (Dwight Henry).  The language they speak to each other is something you are likely never to have heard or witnessed before, however much of a movie buff you are. 

Hushpuppy must face down many things – the flood itself, the father’s life threatening illness, the absence of her mother who mysteriously disappeared at the time of Hushpuppy’s birth, the bleak landscape left in the storm’s wake, the death of some of her neighbors, and ultimately the aurochs itself.  At what would be a tender age for any ordinary child she must demonstrate a mettle that prepares her for being on her own in an uncertain migratory future.  Yes, at only six years old!     

Her narration is not the droppings of some unseen savant forced into a child’s mouth.  She needs no one to speak for her.  She uses her own patois and succeeds in sounding just as poetic and profound as an adult orator.  Her basic belief she sums up quite well: “The whole universe depends upon everything fitting together just right.  If one piece busts, even the smallest piece, the entire universe will get busted.”  But “if you can fix the broken piece, everything can go right back.”  And in a moment of lonely, desperate decision-making she declares, “When you’re small, you gotta fix what you can.”  Upon her entrance into a flood shelter after a forced evacuation, she remarks that it is nothing like the prison she expected.  It “looks like a fish tank with no water.”  You get the feeling that her “universe” is her own little neck of the woods, the only one she knows, and her words derive from what her father has drilled into her.  His creeping cancer, however, is for her the bad fit that turns everything upside down as well as his pathetically fanatical refusal to leave The Bathtub or accept medical help, after his home is destroyed.  Slowly Hushpuppy comes to realize that this man she has always regarded as her protector is really something of a prison keeper for her.  Understandably she begins to think that her long gone mother is somewhere over the horizon and she goes in search of her. 

How despite his stormy stubbornness Wink tries to prepare Hushpuppy for his departure is phenomenal.  Theirs is a world within the world within the universe, one none of us is likely ever to have visited.  The folks in this small community may be isolated and unable to think outside their little box, but they are not pagan savages; real communal, humane love and affection show up in several touching scenes.   There are powerful dramatic moments all through the film under the shrewd direction of Benh Zeitlin, scripted by him and Lucy Aliber, author of the play “Juicy and Delicious” on which the screenplay is based.  I cannot begin to imagine how challenging it must have been for art direction and cinematography.  There is nothing neat about any set on which things are staged.  I doubt if any film ever made has ever required more water for its realization.  Afterward you may feel at least psychologically waterlogged.  You may need to look around you to make sure terra firma is still firmly under your feet.  However mythic and fabled it may be, metaphorically it is the age old crisis of one generation handing things off to another, and of a child beginning to outgrow the world view of the parent.  If you can focus on that very human struggle beneath the fantasy, you have got the strange, uncanny thing well in hand.   


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