The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things: Review By Bryan Yentz

If there was ever an argument against independent filmmaking, Asia Argento's dissonant ode to childhood corruption is it. Based upon the hoax that was J.T. Leroy's "autobiographical" book of the same name, "The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things" is a cinematic experience akin to going down a slide made from a cheese-grater, whose base is that of vinegar. Climbing the handlebars you think, "Boy, slides are fun and interesting!" (because that's what we all stated in our youth), but at the top, you realize the pain that lies ahead--and there's no turning back. Alas, I took the plunge, and now, my ass and legs sting and bleed--always forcing me to remember the journey I reluctantly took... Damn you Argento and your sh*tty subterfuge of filmmaking.

As I already mentioned, The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things (which I'm now going to deem as "THIDAAT " because it's just too damn long of a title) is based upon the f*cked-up writings of J.T. Leroy... Who's actually been discovered as a Laura Albert who completely fabricated all of the book's events as her own childhood. In fact, aside from the fact that she manipulated these events into a pity-party, it's believed that every point of physical and mental trauma were taken from actual accounts. Thus, in many ways, these horrific circ*mstances forced on real children, have been exploited by Albert as her own upbringing. While this extremely odd-looking/odd-dressing individual has been pointed out for the fraud she is, it's still sad that any of the manuscript's content was thought to be cinema-worthy as it all amounts to an experience and a film which I can honestly say should never have been created.

To be blunt, there is no significance or overall meaning to the film--maybe it's that you can't escape fate? Or your crazy-ass mother? I don't know. To find depth to this film is like picking through sh*t thinking you'll find a diamond. It's pretentious and outright stupid. Anyways, I say there's no reason for this movie's existence because it's really not a movie; it's a sequence of disturbing events all revolving around a boy named Jeremiah (which pertains to the book of the Bible where the film's title can be found--deep huh?). Ripped from the caring arms of his foster parents, Jeremiah (whose played by Jimmy Bennett--as the "Young Jeremiah" and twin brothers, Dylan and Cole Sprouse for his older incarnations) is taken by his desp*cable mother (played by Asia Argento--who also directed this travesty). Now, his young life is a downward spiral as his mother pulls him along a destructive path rife with rape, pedophilia, drug and alcohol abuse and so on. That's the "story". Not once does the film deviate from this material--it simply rearranges its order.

Scene after scene is simply a different location in which the audience must feel a newfound pity for the boy. During the first fifteen minutes of the film, Jeremiah is forced to sleep in a tub while his mother screws a man in the other room. When he wets himself during the night, Argento's character instigates until the man belt-whips the boy, even going as far as stuffing a sock in his mouth to silence him. Minutes later, the boy is raped by Jeremy Renner (didn't see Mr. Hurt Locker doing that did ya?). The entire film is comprised in this way as each portion wants to up the ante on young Jeremiah's tribulations. It's as if both Albert and Argento are cackling at viewers, "You thought that was awful?! Wait till you see what happens next!" During some of these molestations (be it mental or psychological), Jeremiah briefly escapes to a world of brief, stop-motion animation. Rose petals flutter, red birds choppily fly and squawk, rocks cry and bleed. While I've always had a soft-spot for stop-motion, it's used for about two minutes of the entire run time, rendering it just like everything else--pointless. Had the film focused on this point of surreal escapism, then this would have been a far different (and better) film. Alas, Argento can only focus on the depravity--none of the hope. And so...

If the movie is guilty of anything , it's that it tries too hard. It tries too hard to be audacious. It tries too hard to be deep. It tries too hard to be independent. The film wants the medal of controversy so much that it completely overlooks every facet of storytelling and even the most base of film techniques. Taking the reins of director, Asia Argento executes the film with the panache of an experimental filmmaker in college. It looks and sounds cheap, empty, and soulless. It's unremarkable; forgettable (then again, most experimental projects fall into these brackets...). Argento's obvious steadicam maneuvers and stereotypically positioned shots add nothing but a reinforced ugliness to the whole thing. And while this is the point--to make the grime and disgust something malleable,--Argento doesn't have any of the talent needed to pull it off. Anyone can stack a bunch of televisions in a corner and pull a trash bag across a carpet, but few can actually make it compelling to watch. There's such a thing as beautiful-ugliness, but Argento hasn't found it. It's as if every scene were shot in a motel room after the camera had just been plopped in a corner. Along with the absence of underlying themes, the visuals offer no thought, creativity, or ingenuity.

If there's one thing that THIDAAT confirmed for me, it's that Asia Argento is the cinematic equivalent of Courtney Love. Much like her previous projects, Argento picks a character in which she is completely unkempt, unshaven, and a grotesquerie to watch. Like other roles of hers, it doesn't even appear as though she had to prepare--just showed up and jumped into frame. So, on this note, I guess you can say it worked. At many a moment she looks like a depressed, drug-infused being, so it most likely wasn't difficult to get into character here. The children (all three actors) all do commendable jobs as well, but they aren't asked much other than to appear disinterested. The youngest of the three gets the most props, however, as he properly showcase a naïve boy presented with numerous events of escalating cruelty. What's truly surprising, however, is the ensemble cast they were able to pull in for this rubbish. Winona Ryder, Marilyn Manson, Peter Fonda, Ben Foster (say it ain't so, man!), Michael Pitt, Jeremy Sisto, etc... I have absolutely no idea how Argento and co. were able to trick everyone into this, but dammit, I wanna learn how... Never know when I might need a lot of well-known actors for a sh*tty film. Seriously, I cannot fathom what was going through each of these actor's heads, other than hoping that they'd be "taken seriously" for how morally awry the film is.

Much like her father, I don't see the big hubbub about Asia and this piece of lexiphanic vomit spilled onto a book and seeped onto a screenplay. Cinematically naïve, or simply unlearned viewers might love to think that this film has some profound significance because it "bravely" displays the constant violation of a child, but I find it weak. There is no merit to a piece simply designed to press buttons. This is the recourse of someone with no filmmaking ability; a cinematic coward. Much like a movie by Harmony Korine or Todd Solondz, THIDAAT tries to present its reprehensible content in a shoulder-shrugging way as it tries to be edgy, audacious, significant and deep in order to cover up the desperate ugliness that it truly is. I've not sheltered by any means, but in fact have come back from the pit and its edge, so that I might urge you not to follow.