Beasts of the Southern Wild

Beasts of the Southern Wild is a refreshing, thought provoking, and wholly original film. 

Hushpuppy is six.  She lives in a place called The Bathtub, which I took to be a postapocalyptic community somewhere in the bayous of Louisiana (Its true nature is revealed later in the film, but I’ll leave that for you to discover.).  She lives in a shack about fifty feet from the shack of her father, Wink, who is definitely an alcoholic and possibly insane.  The whole place is just one big storm away from disappearing under the brackish waters of the bayou, never to return.  Legend has it that the ice caps are melting and, when they do, giant beasts called aurochs will emerge from their long sleep and consume everything in their path.

This may not sound like the setup for a beautiful and moving picture.  Yet, there it is.  Beasts of the Southern Wild is shot beautifully, even when it’s shooting scenes of squalor and fear.  The Bathtub and its population have their own shoddy dignity, and Hushpuppy carries the resourcefulness and self-possession of backwoods royalty.  She’s only six years old, and she thinks and acts like a six-year-old, but she’s a leader.

The film itself unfolds in its own time, in its own way.  There is a three-act story here, but you have to look for it.  Beasts of the Southern Wild feels more like a chronicle of time, place, and person than a plot.  As I burrowed into The Bathtub and came to understand its denizens, I came to feel at home.  As events played out in reasonable succession, I came to care about Hushpuppy and the people around her.  As the film concluded, I was almost sorry it was over.  This doesn’t imply that Beasts of the Southern Wild is a feel-good movie or that it shrinks from despair.  It’s just that the film feels true, and worthwhile, and beautiful.  Time with Beasts of the Southern Wild is time well spent.