What makes the end of the world even more tragic? Depressed family aggression.
It is a very hard thing to do when you, as a viewer, try to separate a piece of film from the director or other filmmaker involved. Among the ranks of what I can only assume is a growing group after this year’s Cannes Film festival, I don’t care all too much for Danish filmmaker Lars Von Trier. Not to say that I hate the man, I’ve never met him and I try not to make mindless assumptions without personal investment. What I mean is that many of the things that Von Trier does, and his genuine attitude that I interpret through the films of his I have seen, really turns me away. The first film I ever saw by him, and only is bits, was Antichrist. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very good first impression. Still yet, I haven’t seen too many of his other films, Dancer in the Dark included. I’ve read a general gist of his style and thematic elements, however, and I agree based on the films I have seen. The Times critic A.O. Scott described him as “a crafty sadist, but also, for all his tricks and provocations, a sincere one.” I can agree with this. I can agree with it because, as the self-proclaimed greatest filmmaker alive, I think that Mr. Von Trier would aptly agree with this. The overall reception that I have when examining Von Trier’s comments and work is that he is an arrogant, shock-testing talented filmmaker with a penchant for the unseen and unfelt. He fit the bill, generally speaking, of the kind of film I usually don’t like.
Depression is something I have always had a recurring relationship with in art. To put it much more simply that it should be: I’m interested in it. Perhaps this is why I was so invested in the doom levied tales of sisters Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). The telling of two parts gives us a complete story of these two sisters as too few films accomplish. You see each other not only through the forced perspective of the other, but through the general tone as well. Justine’s part (the first) is depression heavy, dryly comedic, and full of complaints from the character that range from petty to justified. Claire’s segment is almost kinetic in a way. It feels so enclosed, so trapped in her fear and desperation at the coming of the planet Melancholia that I wanted, more than anything at the moment, for her to live.
Then there’s that: the Wagner-coated planet of doom. It feels nearly ham-handed for Von Trier to give us a planet named Melancholia, but it’s understandable. What I originally thought would be a gimmick filled disaster metaphor was, well, just that. The surprising thing is that it worked. I thought of how the film would be without the worst named celestial rock in the mix. It would be a kind of funny, dark depression piece about two sisters. The inclusion of the disaster, for all its tropes and confined view, allows the characters, and the film as a whole, to be levied in a big ol fashioned metaphor. Is Melancholia, as one of the opening slowed sequences suggests (at top), a representation of Justine, while the Earth is Claire? Are these two things, destined to pass each other over emotionally, only to be destined to declined, born out of the same instances? Maybe that’s reading a bit too much into it. Perhaps I’m as guilty as the pretentious analyzers of art I can’t stand. This is just what I felt throughout the film. I thought of it as lyrical, even while it is arguably Von Trier’s most straightforward of films.
I can also probably say in my theater experience of the film, I was the only person who felt such a way. It played at my university, so I of course went to see it. Much of the attending audiences were college film junkies or girls who get excited by Kirsten Dunst or that guy from True Blood. There were some community members in attendance as well, though, and several seemed as though they were there for the same reasons. Not at any film I’ve seen in theaters have I seen so many walkouts, or such odd ones. No one left during the opening slow-motion sequence, maybe out of pure interest. Around the 30 minute mark into the wedding scene, several people began to file out, no doubt wrought with boredom. I barely noticed though, as for some reason, I was energetically enthused at the dynamics of the characters and the performances. Two older folks left when Justine began emphatically humping the young employee on the green golf course. Later on though, came the peculiar part: someone left when the family gathers around to watch the planet flyby. The fact that this is the most beautiful part of the film isn’t the most distressing thing: it’s how far into the movie we were, nearing its conclusion. It’s like walking out of The Thin Red Line when Jim Caviezel dies. I get that the film is long and moves slower than Transformers, but come on, you’ve made it this far, at least finish it. Also rampant throughout the film was laughter, both justified and not. Hysterical laughter ensued at some on Dunst’s best scenes interacting with Claire as a depressed sister. This was puzzling and, deep down, troubling. Then laughter, me unfortunately included, broke out when it cut to Dunst night planet-bathing in the full nude on the side of a river incline. This was due, most likely, to my pure surprise with a “What?” and the realization that this would probably never be mentioned again. I was right, it wasn’t mentioned again.
Melancholia was as straightforward as Von Trier could probably make one of his films. He even left behind the over asserting misogynistic male characters that plague many of his films. The imagery is often bizarre but intermittently beautiful, and the performances are spectacular by all. While I could have done without the opening slow-motion collage, I see that it set the mood and the climactic ending for the audience. I just could have done without it. I thought the characters and performances would have exemplified the tone early off. Furthermore, the inclusion of the planet is essential, but the character’s varied reactions to this, since it is a looking presence of death and uncertainty, could have been utilized more. The visuals may have been scientific and epic, but Von Trier was telling us how to feel, analyzing it for us. In a film built around these character’s emotions as its entire basis, I wanted them to show me how to feel towards the film. These simple emotions and interactions, especially between the sisters, could have shown me more than a symphonic and explosive ending. In a way, it’s kind of like how The Kinks’ “This Time Tomorrow” might express truth better than The Uncertainty Principle.
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