BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD

The Emotional Myth of Fiercely Tough and Never Sad

Photo from Fandango.com 

As I watched Benh Zeitlin’s poetic, gorgeously filmed movie, I kept asking myself: who are these Beasts of The Southern Wild?  Of course, they are prehistoric Aurochs, encased in Ice Age glaciers, set free by the same storm that threatens Hushpuppy’s (Quenzhané Wallis) home. But, as a psychoanalyst, I can’t help but reflect on the mythical Beasts in Hushpuppy’s mind. After all, they appear and re–appear, at crucial points in the film, when storms of feeling threaten to overwhelm a little girl who, in spite of her resilience, is quite alone. There is a mother who ‘swam away’, an erratically loving, angry, and dying father (Dwight Henry) - teaching Hushpuppy to be “The Man”, fiercely tough and, especially, never, never sad. 

When a mother leaves, and a father is dying, a child too frequently blames herself. Her need, her anger, her hurt – those (misinterpreted to be beastly) feelings - must have done it.  She constructs a tough wall against her feelings and love’s unreliability; like when Hushpuppy lashes out at her dad: “I hope you die and when you do, I’ll go to your grave and eat birthday cake all by myself” - as if she doesn’t care. When he disappears from the place he has suddenly fallen, she’s terrified: “I’ve broken everything”. Did her angry wishes turn him into a tree, or maybe a bug?  Will he ever come back? 

“The whole universe depends on things fitting together just right. If one piece falls apart, the entire universe would get busted”.  Hushpuppy’s world is falling apart; an internal voice, in voice over, is trying to sort out her fear that she’s the one who’s done the busting. That’s hard, though, with no help. When the film pans to an Ice Age scene with the world frozen over, we know Hushpuppy’s trying to toughen up; to be “The Man”.

Toughness is her dad’s way, too, and keeping those Beasts (of feelings) encased in ice is what he wants. If there is any tender kind of “girl stuff”, he aggressively yells: “Beast it, Hushpuppy…. Beast it, Beast it, Beast it.” A litany. A chorus; until Hushpuppy is showing her muscle-guns: “No time to sit around crying like a bunch of pussies”. Feelings of sadness, love, and need won’t be quieted, though, and the Beasts burst through at every turn - with Hurricane Katrina, a backdrop for the storms of a little girl’s troubling emotions. 

“Sometimes you can break something so bad you can’t get it put back together again.” Hushpuppy’s fear: that she’s “eaten her own Mommy and Daddy” - as all children do, in their understandably greedy need for love and security, to stave off the fear of loss. Hushpuppy, too adult, tries to face what she must: “Everyone loses the thing that made them. The brave must stay and watch it happen. They don’t run”. 

This little brave one finds her Mama and brings back Mama-cooked fried alligator; a last- meal love offering for her dad. The Beasts chase her, close behind. These Beasts are her Beasts - feelings of sadness, loss, and fear that must be felt. As Hushpuppy fiercely turns to face them, one of the Beasts kneels before her. Softening, she says: “You’re my friend, kind of”; not sure how safe her feelings are quite yet. As her dad holds her and they finally share a tearful goodbye, Hushpuppy’s Ice Age wall of toughness begins to melt: “When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see everything that made me . . . all the pieces are there”.  Yet, that wall, like the levee, needs time to deconstruct. There is still a lot of mourning to do.

This post was originally published on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's blog, Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy

AMOUR

An Insufferable Sadness

Photo from www.sonyclassics.com

No one can watch, or remember, Michael Haneke’s ‘Amour’, without being suddenly awash in horror at the way Georges (Jean-LouisTrintignant) frees Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) from her suffering. Does he do it for himself? For her?  Or for them both?  His choice of methods - shockingly violent, and a disorienting contrast to their gentle singing together - is, of course, disturbing. Yet, in it we see the abrupt turn of Georges’ quietly escalating desperation; the trap he’s increasingly suffocated by.

This movie belongs to Georges.  It is his story; the story of a man forced to stand on the sidelines helplessly watching, with slow agony, his beloved leaving him. Although he seems to be managing quite well, he’s not. With Haneke’s infusion of memories from Georges’ childhood; his nightmare – we see the shadows of Georges real trap take shape: his inability to cry; to be comforted; to share his loss with his daughter, Eva (Isabelle Huppert); to let Anne go; to mourn.

Georges’ memories, as memories can do, take us to the heart of his current struggles.  In the first, Georges as a young boy, returns from a sad movie only to have an older boy callously walk away, as a crying Georges tries to retell the story. Georges’ second memory is at camp, separated from his mother. When a cruel counselor makes him stay at the table until he finishes what’s on his plate, Georges sits. Crying. Alone. If a child has no place for sadness; no one to hear it; what does he do?  He sets up the same cold barriers inside (and later towards Eva), as George’s nightmare shows:

The stairs are blocked. A big wooden X – bars any exit. The floors of the hallway are flooding. Georges wakes with a scream. A panic; yes, from the terror of the nightmare; but even more from what the nightmare means: coming face to face with the rising waters of feelings he has done his best to deny. Sadness he can’t allow or escape from; resentment towards Death itself. For it is Death he wants to control and can’t. Yet, in his final desperately frustrated and angry act, he does. But, then, a horrible irony leaves him with what he fears the most. Being alone. And since Georges can’t even let his own daughter in to share their loss – he has barricaded himself in an unendurable forever kind of aloneness.

And then we have the pigeons. Haneke may say he doesn’t like symbols and ‘the pigeon’ means nothing to him; but, to me, the pigeons dropping in unexpectedly twice in the film hold the key. The first pigeon’s entrance is a sudden invasion; as Anne’s illness has forced its way into their lives. Pigeons if allowed, mate for life, and they are a symbol of hope. Georges’ hope and plan to be uninterruptedly with Anne are now steeped in his doomed effort to protect his beloved wife.  

When the pigeon appears for the second time, Anne is dead. Georges catches the pigeon in a blanket, and we hold our breath expecting a second suffocation. Yet, just as suddenly, Georges cradles the wrapped, caught pigeon tenderly in his arms; then - releases it. Powerless to keep Anne stilled in his love; Georges can’t live with the unspeakable hours, days, months, and (perhaps) years he’s condemned to be without her. Unable to free his sadness from the distant prison he’s locked it in; to mourn his loss - Georges can do nothing else but follow.

First posted as a guest post on Dr. Jennifer Kunst's Psychology Today blog, "Headshrinker's Guide To The Galaxy"

ALMODOVAR'S "THE SKIN I LIVE IN"

From IMBd Website for "The Skin I Live In"

Controlling Loss

Being separate from the one you love can seem like losing everything. And, if a loss has already happened – you just might want to do everything possible to make sure it never happens again. There are many complex emotional methods for dealing with such fears – and Almodovar’s film, “The Skin I Live In” gives us a disturbing window into some. 

Dr. Robert Ledgard (Antonio Banderas) uses the most extreme of measures not to feel hurt, need, or loss (as well as to express his bitterness and revenge). He kidnaps Vicente (Jan Cornet); controls and torments him; robs him of his identity; and makes him over in the image he wants - that of the dead wife he lost; naming him 'Vera' (Elena Anaya). In my last post (‘Gay Rights and Soul Murder’), I discussed one aspect of soul murder.  In Ledgard’s actions, Almodovar shows us another. 

Let’s backtrack a moment to the plot summary on IMDb: “A brilliant plastic surgeon, haunted by past tragedies, creates a type of synthetic skin that withstands any kind of damage.” Maybe Ledgard thought he was creating this skin for burn victims, like his wife. But, really, this was a skin he created for himself. A skin so hard, he could no longer feel. Or love.  

This kind of ‘skin’ is not unfamiliar.  Love can feel dangerous.  There’s the risk of being left.  Do you toughen yourself up?  Turn away?  Do you let your guard down?  Or don’t you? Ledgard fights this battle.  Mostly he keeps his feelings locked up as tightly as 'Vera'. But, he isn’t entirely immune. In spite of himself, he begins to fall in love with his creation. Is he capable of real love? No. He’s too scared. His is a love by possession; a love that suffocates.  

What about Vicente? He’s mostly an innocent victim; kidnapped, changed, and imprisoned. But, we’ve seen his insecurities; his desperation and need to be wanted. What if you’re a real life ‘Vicente’? Man or woman. If not for the actual locked door in the film - isn’t there some temptation to give yourself completely to a ‘love’ that masquerades as a singular togetherness; that says: “I want and desire only you”?  

If you’ve been taken in by your insecurities – you can escape. Vicente did - to “a place inside. A place that no one can destroy.” Robert Ledgard sealed himself into a hardened skin. Vicente took shelter in a different way - by holding on to who he really was; refusing to accept his ‘new identity’. Yes, he plotted his escape; played his part so subtly we thought he might be in love.  But, love is not a game.  Nor does it rob you of who you are. 

In the end – real love is about separateness. The words of poet, Ranier Maria Rilke describe it best: “A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and before an immense sky.”