It's often hard to let go of childhood trauma, and understandably so. A single frightening moment when we're old to process it can encourage us to destabilize our growth in ways we don't even notice. And if you don't have to grow up in order to survive, this stunted childhood can become the core of your existence.
Amanda, the feature debut of Italian filmmaker Carolina Cavalli, delves into the life of just such a young person. Definitely quirky, deliberately uncaring (or so it seems) of how her actions affect her family, seemingly uninterested in anything that does not fixate her, the titular character moves in a stunted circle as she navigates her tiny, unordered world.
It's not often that young people are sheltered by choice, but Amanda (Benedetta Porcaroli) seems to be an exception. She has wealthy parents who foot the bill for her rather odd lifestyle, yet are exacerbated by her lack of ambition and her unwillingness to work for the family business. Her sister is both aggravated by her and yet can't help but love her. Amanda considers the family maid to be her best friend, obsesses over boys withou much reason or initiative, and still dresses like a tween. She's convinced she can buy a fan on points and then resell it, and thus start her own business. Her whole personality and direction and life seems to stem from a single near-death experience she had as a child - a frightening moment, to be sure, but one that has had the odd effect of making her not want to grow up.
At her wit's end, Amanda's mother encourages her to reach out to her childhood friend, Rebecca (Galatéa Bellugi), another eccentric daughter of a rich family, though one who seems more frigid and unaffectionate. Rather than keep herself outside in the world, Rebecca has chosen to remain almost entirely at home, in her own room, her anger directed in her small space rather than constantly projected outwards, as Amanda's does. Can these two deliberately lost souls find something in each other than can help them into something more 'normal'? What does that even mean when your actions have little consequence, and yet you're still grasping for something to hold onto, to give your life meaning?
It seems both Amanda and Rebecca are busy doing nothing (though Amanda more of the former and Rebecca more of the latter). Their family's financial support certainly doesn't encourage them to do otherwise. But Cavalli sets them into an odd world, one that feels devoid of other people, despite being in a city. Amands walks down the middle of every road, as if willing herself to avoid another accident to keep up her illusion of invincible vulnerability or just to get someone's attention. When she goes to raves, they are in wide open spaces, and Amanda lingers by the toilets - where everyone goes, so she can either make a friend or pretend she's waiting for one.
When Amanda's and Rebecca's burgeoning friendship is stalled - due to the interference of a therapist, who sees that the women are feeding off each other's eccentric loneliness rather than forcing each other to be 'normal' - Amanda decides to call her family's bluff. She becomes the vapid, vain woman that fits more with the stereotype of the rich daughter. But why is that any better than what she was like before? This is just another extreme, and for Amanda, she'd rather find a way to grow through her own eccentricities than conform.
At times, Amanda's eccentricites feel forced - Cavalli determined to show just how weird Amanda is, that the depth of its meaning is lost in its showcase. Amanda's steadfast refusal to admit when she's wrong, for example, when her practiced self-infantalism becomes too frustrating to endure. But her heart does pierce through this enough, so that we can pass through these moments well enough. Amanda is a solid debut, with a genuine concern for those the world shelters too much, that society forces into a strange loneliness, and the force of conformity that burdens even the most privileged among us.
Amanda opens theatrically in New York and Los Angeles on Friday, July 7th.