Once the opening credits of Misunderstood (1966) have finished—a series of static shots of lovingly-maintained pastoral paintings, indicative of the bourgeois Florentine home much of the film is set in—we find our perspective locked to the side of a black car as it rolls up a lengthy driveway. The man inside, UK Consul General John Duncombe (Anthony Quayle), is returning from the funeral of his wife, a fact we learn after the car stops and our perspective switches to outside the car looking in, his face full of barely-restrained misery as he talks to the other passenger, a pastor. Holding on a close-up, the camera circles the car, prying, invasive, ignoring the open doors and windows obstructing the view to zero in on his grief. And yet it's not his pain that we spend the rest of the film attempting to parse (and likely misunderstanding, as the title suggests). It's that of his two sons—particularly his eldest, 12-year-old Andrea (Stefano Colagrande).
Most known for his contributions to the commedia all'italiana genre—literally, “comedy in the Italian way”—director Luigi Comencini gained renown for subverting the trends of hard-nosed Italian neorealism with bitterly ironic works about the post-war condition of Italy. By contrast, Misunderstood is a far more traditional melodrama, albeit one that has the patience and cynicism to draw a more grounded picture of children's inner lives; prone to lies and malicious acts as often as sweet smiles and wonderment. Shot through with rich, evocative colours—the deep red of a sea of school uniforms that rush to meet the scarlet leather interiors of their parent's cars, or the luscious greens of the grounds upon which the two Duncombe children play—Misunderstood is a well observed and patient drama that finds a parallel between tragic loss and absent parenting.
John initially endeavours to only entrust Andrea with the news of his mother's passing—the eldest, and strongest, he wagers—while keeping 6-year-old Milo in the dark. Indeed, Andrea's underplayed response and the revelation that he has already pieced together the facts of his mother's death consolidates his father's belief that Andrea has reached a degree of independence and maturity it would be silly to expect of a child. The resultant expectations he places on Andrea—namely, to shield his younger brother Milo from the tragic news, and to act as a secondary caregiver in unison with the family nanny—send the young boy on a downward spiral, his grief either unnoticed or poorly met by all those around him.
In what might otherwise be an unremarkable tearjerker, Comencini focuses on the mundane moments of melancholy that underscore a far greater loss; Andrea absent-mindedly yelling out for his mother's help as he leaves the bathroom; a note left on a shelf with a firm prior instruction; and, most notably, the magnetic tape recordings of his mother that Andrea listens to over and over in a state of maudlin revery. The only images we see of Andrea's mother are her two portraits; one, found in his father's workplace in which she looks wistful and sad, the other, at home, where she seems impossibly happy—a reminder of how place informs memory. That the film's final, tragic image is reflected in that beautiful portrait until it slowly fades away speaks to the transient nature of loss, and how grief is often only compounded with time, not overcome.
Special Features
- New 2024 2K restoration from the original negative
- Uncompressed mono PCM audio
- Interview with co-screenwriter Piero De Bernardi and Cristina Comencini, the director's daughter and herself a noted filmmaker (2008, 36 mins)
- Interview with legendary critic Michel Ciment (2021, 24 mins)
- A Child's Heart – a visual essay by David Cairns on Comencini and the filmmaker's affinity for childhood stories (2023, 25 mins)
- Trailer
- Newly translated English subtitles
- Reversible sleeve featuring designs based on original promotional materials
- Limited edition booklet featuring new writing by critic Manuela Lazic and a newly translated archival interview with Comencini
- Limited edition of 3000 copies, presented in full-height Scanavo packaging with removable OBI strip leaving packaging free of certificates and markings
Misunderstood released in the UK on April 29th courtesy of Radiance
