By Kim Morgan
March 13, 2006
THE HEART IS CERTAINLY DECEITFUL: The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things
Whether in memoirs, fiction or film, "reality" is oftentimes a blurry, embellished concoction. A "Painted Bird" of truth.
Which is what makes the recent unmasking and "scandal" of novelist "JT LeRoy" so interesting and telling.
Unless you've been solely obsessed over the James Frey debacle, you've probably heard the story. LeRoy, whose debut novel, the semi-autobiographical Sarah made him a literary icon at age 20, was, in fact the invention of writer Laura Albert, a Brooklyn-born woman in her 30's.
Those who admired LeRoy, the ex-foster kid/ex drug addict whose life of truck stop hooking and abuse inspired his books Sarah (named for his prostitute "mother") and The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things, were incensed and in some cases disgusted by the ruse. And it was elaborate. Albert not only wrote LeRoy's flowery grubby prose but made close personal friends with actors, writers and musician. Winona Ryder was a friend, Dennis Cooper was a mentor and Gus Van Sant was a collaborator. LeRoy co-wrote Van Sant's Cannes-winning Elephant and contributed to the audio track of My Own Private Idaho.
Others, however, had to admit they were somewhat impressed, especially when the hoax became fantastically involved. When rumor spread that this unseen author only available by phone, fax or email might not exist, Albert recruited a LeRoy double-a young woman donning sunglasses, wig and hat. This subterfuge moved beyond the deviousness of Frey and into the realm of Alfred Hitchcock.
The heart is not only deceitful; it's also elaborate, calculated, bizarre and cinematic.
So with perfect (or imperfect) timing, filmmaker and Italian siren/actress Asia Argento's adaption of LeRoy's The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things hits theaters with outrageous scandal firmly attached.
Basking in outrageousness, there's not much plot to describe within this arty explosion of "truth" but here's the sketchy details. A young kid, Jeremiah (played by Jimmy Bennett at 8 and Cole & Dylan Sprouse at 11) is removed from his foster home and returned to his birthmother, Sarah (Argento) a hooker, stripper and general extremist nut-job. We watch as Jeremiah endures a sucession of Sarah's boyfriends who belt him, stepfathers who rape him and playmates who blow up meth labs. We also witness his back and forth life-from abuse counselor to Mama to yep, insane fundamentalist Christian grandparents.
To paraphrase the song, "it's hard out here" for a kid.
And it's hard to take seriously. Even if LeRoy hadn't been revealed as a phony, Argento's movie isn't working some gritty angle a la Monster or Henry:Portrait of a Serial Killer-two movies that show how depressing and scary life becomes for the neglected, abused and opressed.
But then, realism isn't entirely Argento's point. Understanding the very essence of LeRoy, she knows the authors depravity looks, well, cool. LeRoy's novels and Argento's movie comes from the hipster perspective of elevated "white trash" culture-a term re-claimed with pride in the '90s, after punk rock, Goth, modern primitive and Satanism had been exhausted by the transgressive pack. Like white kids wanting to be black, envious of the aggressive intensity and lifestyle of rap music and gangs, scenesters (and this sounds almost crazy) wanted to be white, secretly (or not so secretly) in awe of those hard drinking, country music listening, Boone County-living "misfits."And since most of these people were, indeed, Caucasian, they could even claim their own "roots."
Not that there's little merit in such findings. And not that some of these kids didn't come from troubled or Southern or trashy backgrounds (look at Courtney Love's colorful past). And, really without those curious for authentic weirdness, people like the inspired rockabilly lunatic and genuine, backwoods, Southern character Hasil Adkins wouldn't have been re-discovered.
But, again, Adkins is a real Southern character, and, Leroy, a 30-ish Jewish woman from Brooklyn is not. And Argento, the daughter of horror director Dario Argento, is Italian. Not surprisingly, however, these disparities bode perfectly when adapting LeRoy, especially through Argento's performance. Mirroring LeRoy's hyperbolic prose (a third rate melding of Dennis Cooper with the brilliant Carson McCullers), Argento is so scene chewing, so brazenly naughty that you can't take your eyes off her. She's transfixing. Moreso than LeRoy's fiction.
But to the film's expense. The actress overwhelms, almost obliterating the endangered child, telling a story that flips its pages so quickly, we're never allowed to care about these people. It's all a lot of show and shock.
And a lot of fashion. Like LeRoy's novels, the movie finds something hep about degradation and neglect and eating out of dumpsters. Like the Zoolander joke in which a fashion line, "Derelict" is inspired by crack whores and hoboes-pain is stylish. It's a photo spread you'd gander in Nylon Magazine complete with clothes and music (Sonic Youth contributes to the movie) and hipster celebrity endorsement.
Show a pivotal moment in which Jeremiah seduces his mother's boyfriend? Have Marilyn Manson play the boyfriend. Who cares if the viewer is going to think, "Hey that's Marilyn Manson and he's not wearing any makeup" during the sordid scenario. And after the child's raped by a stepfather? Make sure his counselor is none other than a saucer-eyed Winona Ryder attempting a faux Southern white-trash-like accent. And if you're gonna drive around with a trucker, make sure he's not listening to Garth Brooks or Kenny Chesney. No sir. He's listening to the great, subversive country outlaw David Allan Coe. And if that's not enough, Argento tosses (yep) Hasil Adkins into the mix.
But then, these elements don't mar the film per se. There's nothing wrong with spicing your movie with good music that originated from our wonderful, crazy culture. And there's nothing faulty about painting a surrealistic portrait of life among the lounge lizards. There's even moments of lyrical beauty amidst all the acid wash and fishnets. But there's nothing especially thoughtful here either.
The Heart is Deceitful relies mostly on attempts to rattle/engage viewers with "disturbing" images and events, some, with credit to cinematographer Eric Edwards and Argento, are beautifully shot. Argento has talent and she's certainly fun to watch. But the more disturbing the movie gets, the more our shock rarely registers. Instead, we're entertained by Asia's new sexy getup her newest celebrity cameo and finally, her spectacularly over-the-top, eminently watch-able spiral into madness.
The movie, in its finer moments, reminded me of another filmmaker-one who covered (and still covers) this kind of degeneracy with a gusto, humanity and spirit all his own-John Waters. Only Waters is a lot less pretentious, a lot more sincere and much, much funnier.
And, strangely, a lot more realistic.
