So I finally checked off something I had been longing to do all summer, just before the autumn equinox, as a bittersweet ending to a truly epic hiatus from work. I finally saw Beasts of the Southern Wild, which piqued my interest back in the spring, while it was being hailed as one of the best films to come out of the Sundance factory and even managed to sway the judges at Cannes. Also, with a sister-in-law whose roots belong in Louisiana, which now has become part of my beloved nephew's heritage, I felt a certain pride that the film took place in the bayou. ( Whereas I call my Kiran "A Bengali Babu," among other things, Katherine's mother calls him the Prince of the Bayou. He is so beautifully both.)
Anyhow, the film is poetry on film. There is definitely some of the folksy nostalgia which seems to gripped the hipster sensibilities, but it manages to transcend it by transforming the story into fable about life, where everything we see on screen is not literal but rather functions as a metaphor. The film resembles a T.S. Eliot poem, not a coming-of-age story of a little girl in poverty. In this film, the people of the Bathtub live on their own terms; what we see as poverty they see as freedom. When the world as we know it tries to save them, they kick and scream and incite rebellion.
Hushpuppy, in the film, is not just a little girl of color---she is meant to be everyone. As I always said, in some ways, the only person who really knows what it's like to be everybody is the person who has felt every bit of suffering---which is likely minority and a woman, not a male, not white. The world that will punish her, not matter how good she can be. In that way, Hushpuppy is literally the Everyperson. Her father understands that, so he brings her up with a lot of heart and love but with a harshness that comes from knowing this world will not be kind to her, so she must be strong, she must face it and conquer it the best she can, without ever flinching.
The film begins beautifully, lyrical and happy, admist a spiral of sparklers and smoke, it's as if the Bathtub manages to conjure an entire galaxy of energy and light into their dark, jungled neighborhood. With such a beginning, the film must inevitably falter into scenes that sometimes can be trying on one's patience, and this is where the film remains imperfect. I am not sure what they could've done differently---maybe some more editing, but even I, who has a notoriously good attention span, eyed my watch midway through the film. The scenes do ramble but they also set the stage for the last 30 minutes of the film, the real gold, where it fully embrace its more lyrical tendencies, the part of the film where it teeters on being a true opus. This is where the movie truly deserves its praise, it is also where you feel more fully immersed not only in the land, water, the filth and beauty of the Bathrub but also into the very soul of Hushpuppy and her love for her father. The film is inspirational.
It is a tragedy but also a triumph.
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