Mosquito State is a profoundly annoying film. Believe it or not, this is meant as the highest compliment. Writer/director Filip Jan Rymsza probably wouldn’t take it that way, but he’s made a rare example of a movie enhanced by intentional sustained irritation. Think of it as the reverse of a cookout in hot weather when the blood-sucking nuisances the film’s title derives from are out in full force. There’s truly nothing like a swarm of mosquitos to ruin your picnic. Not even surprise tropical storms compare. A thorough soaking is always preferable to getting your plasma drained by insects.
Mosquito State’s soundtrack layers incessant whining over grave, thundering double bass: Boom, zizz, boom, zizz, thunder undercut by high-pitched droning. That aural contrast adds to the experience of watching Wall Street quant Richard Boca (Beau Knapp) slowly lose his marbles during the United States’ inevitable march toward economic disaster in 2007. Richard’s a math whiz who designs computer models for unpredictable financial markets, and he’s also a loner on the spectrum. He’s happier in the office or his austere Manhattan penthouse than he is mingling in public with other people, which makes his appearance at his own birthday party, thrown by his boss Edward (Olivier Martinez), daunting and awkward.
During this soiree Edward introduces Richard to the lithe, ambitious Lena (Charlotte Vega). After she and Richard improbably leave together, she tells him she’s studying water conservation as well as wine. They talk shop. The particulars of their conversation don’t matter to the extent that large chunks of it comprise finance-speak, which will soar over the heads of most everyone in Rymsza’s audience, but this is okay: Making sense of what they’re talking about (when they aren’t talking about the basics of wine tasting) is really secondary to tuning into the chemistry between them, the inescapable sensations of danger, mystery and sexual tension that breeds between two constitutional outsiders. Lena’s casual, easy amiability distracts from the fact that she isn’t from Richard’s world.
He brings another guest home with him from the party: A mosquito, which deftly avoids the swing of his newspaper when he tries to kill it and quickly turns still water in a glass into a nursery for more mosquitos, which beget more mosquitos. Before long, Richard’s pad is inhabited by thousands of tiny winged roommates, his whole body is peppered by bites and his grip on his sanity rapidly erodes. Rymsza explains little and leaves much to interpretation—for instance why, exactly, no one drags Richard’s ass to the hospital when he arrives at the office with his face swollen like Joseph Merrick, reduced but still alarming.