NYFF: Misunderstood

Misunderstood (Incompresa)

2014

103 minutes

Written and Directed by Asia Argento

Starring Giulia Salerno, Charlotte Gainsburg, Gabriel Garko, Alice Pea

 

It's difficult to talk about Aria Argento without mentioning her cult-icon father, Dario, master of technicolor massacre and progenitor of giallo. I don't want to always talk about Dario when I'm talking about Asia--as with Sofia Coppola, certain bitter parties will always use accusations of nepotism to knock a young, ambitious female filmmaker down a peg or two, and that's definitely not what I''m trying to do here; but diiscussing Dario, however briefly, is pretty much necessary with Misunderstood. It's a film about Asia and her father, or rather a film about Asia's memories of childhood. Asia Argento transcribes her youth with lyrical energy, and a welcome disregard for realism; we experience a world of barbarous adults and drug-addled parties via the precocious Aria (Giulia Salerno, who has the innocent stare thing down to a science), a 9-year-old whose parents couldn't care less about her, and whose siblings only acknowledge Aria when they're blaming her for something or tormenting her. Aria finds solace in her black cat, which she names Dac, though he often appears to be plotting his eventual escape (the cat doesn't run away, alas, the film can only heave so many emotional trauma upon poor Aria). When Aria writes an award-winning essay about her cat being her only friend, her parents don't show up for the ceremony.

Misunderstood, while highly stylized and feverish in its depiction of neglectful adults, feels like creative non-fiction. With brazen passion and a deft display of tonal mania, Aria Argento conjures a fleeting, fiery fantasy of emotional abuse and loneliness in the form of a young girl and her awful life: her father (Gabriel Gerko, who certainly appears to be having fun), a rich and famous actor (he looks more like a sexy young Val Kilmer than Dario Argento), and her mother (Charlotte Gainsburg, always enthralling), whose penchant for inebriation is apparently only equaled by her penchant for men. Aria's father is highly superstitious and puts his career so far before his family it's beyond comical. Instead of creating characters who have running jokes, Argento creates characters that are defined by their running joke, boiling them down to the essence that a 9-year-old would most likely remember. Argento threads every obscene moment of filial abuse with dry, tar-black humor. Every time you think the father is the worse parent, you''re reminded that the mother is similarly awful: she does little to alleviate Aria's swelling emotional anxiety, and a constantly revolving cast of men of varying ages, appearances, and cultural identities weave in and out of her house (the interior decorations change aptly with each new ephemeral partner). 

Everything and everyone here is a caricature save for Aria, but there are moments of searing beauty strewn about like so many discarded toys or garments in a messy room: Aria offers her own understanding of love and sex with Barbie dolls in a scene stricken with youthful ignorance. Aided by sharp editing and creative use of practical effects, she shows the dolls meeting, courting, and making love, the latter of which swiftly turns into a rape fantasy consorted by lighting flashes and ominous music. It takes less than a minute total, but the scene so wonderfully captures Aria's long-corrupted innocence, and juxtaposes with the horrors of her reality. There's arguably more love present in the doll rape scene than any moment in Aria's life.

It's not for all tastes and it suffers from lapses in identity, but Misunderstood has an an abundance of passion. Like last year's little-seen NYFF selection My Name is Hmmm... the film is an unflinching and stylish look at childhood malaise. But Misunderstood is also a far less insufferable film than My Name is Hmmm..., more self-aware, if similarly unrestrained. Argento certainly has a distinct, discernible vision here, as well as the aesthetic tastes to match: colors erupt on screen (the one undeniable stylistic similarity she shares with her father), and the score, a surging selection of New Wave and punk-inflicted rock, is stellar. The squalor of distorted guitars and the steady pulse of '80s-derived synth lines work well with the post-punk attitude in which Argento steeps her film. Misunderstood is hip and sultry, a manic display of childhood terror filtered through the desperately lonely eyes of youth, and it doesn't really hit a false note until the final moment, when Aria stares the viewer straight in the face and asks us to be nicer. It's a poor-me scene that would send Livia Soprano into hysterics. Just try to ignore that final minute.   

3.5 / 5

Misunderstood has its North American premiere at the New York Film Festival Saturday, Sept 27, 12 p.m.