Beasts of the Southern Wild

USA. The emperor has no clothes.
This is a highly acclaimed, in the manner that film festivals give acclaim, movie. Critics love it, Sundance loved it. The theater was packed. We left early. I am the first to acknowledge that mine is the minority opinion and so I am probably wrong in my tastes and opinions. Remember “The Piano”? Holly Hunter playing a mute, the great Harvey Keitel,  set in Samoa. Never was a film more highly acclaimed by the art house types, as well as everyone else. The very model of a Great Movie. Took the Golden Palm at Cannes, and 3 Academy Awards. To me, that movie was sandpaper for the eyes. What…a…load…of…crap, says I.  So I ought to be ignored.

The first 40 minutes or so was, in my worms eye view, a paean to southern poverty and featured a fair amount of what in any other context would be called child abuse and neglect, for which I have no stomach. It was kind of a magical realist story so I suppose among the uptown swells who judge such things, that makes it OK. There were a lot of very tight shots with a jittery camera that showed various wild and magical realist type activity in a way that I, but only I,  consider to be just disorienting lazy film making. Had I stayed I am confident I could go on.