Beasts of the Southern Wild is narrated by a fully realized person who happens to be 6 years old. Her name is Hush Puppy (an extraordinary Quvenzhane Wallis, who gives a performance as complex as the spelling of her name). She listens to everything; animals, leaves, crabs, her father's heart. She is not precocious or saccharine or a victim. No one in this richly surprising film is a victim, despite many travails, least of all Hush Puppy, who is also known as both 'boss lady" and "the man".
Her voice is the film's voice, and also its vision. She is in nearly every frame, and so utterly believable that her perception becomes unquestionable. Not since Linda Manz in Days of Heaven has there been such a strong and unique young narrative voice.
Refreshingly, Beasts has no real bad guys, no cruelty except unavoidable mortality. Hush Puppy sees and tells all, and links local personal shifts to planetary changes in her open eyed and wild haired fashion. There are some minor issues: moments that strain too long, intermittent dialogue audibility, great music that sometimes intrudes too suddenly. Who cares, these are small quirks in a rapturous, informative plunge into something indescribable. This is magical realism not social commentary, much more Marquez than Steinbeck. Beasts flows between dreams, myths, quiet, moon-tinged lunatic life and inescapable death, all from Hush Puppy's steady, fierce self-aware gaze.
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