Melancholia

Filmmaking as an art, or how it is with any form of art, can be  surprisingly divisive when confronted with the unusual, the  unconventional, and the extreme. But sometimes the sole motivation of  some filmmakers, and all artists, is to put art as a form of personal  expression to the sidelines in order to be replaced by radical and  alienating imagery as well as cynical and gritty themes for their sake  alone. One such artist (a loose term, yet appropriate at times) is the  Danish filmmaker Lars Von Trier whose works have sought to push comfort  boundaries intentionally, from the graphic sexually violent imagery in Antichrist and The Element of Crime to the stretching of protagonist mental or physical states such as in Breaking the Waves or Dancer in the Dark.  With a Von Trier film there is always an expectation that the film in  question will challenge any reserved sensibilities that you might  possess, which is at once a compliment to Von Trier as a unique  filmmaker but is also a detriment to grabbing audiences in sharing your  vision when the film is equally alienating in presentation, theme, and  style. Von Trier’s latest piece entitled Melancholia is  contemplation on the apocalypse focusing on two sisters, in two parts,  facing impending doom in drastically different and telling ways. The  style throughout Melancholia is reminiscent of the Dogma 95 era  or the experimental independent era started by John Cassavetes where  clarity of image or clean technical achievements is replaced with a  flatter tone and cinema vérité camera movement. This is, of course,  juxtaposed with an enticingly beautiful opening where a series of  mesmerizing yet odd images flash before the screen to a resounding  score. It’s such a displaced segment that you long for the beginnings  lack of dialogue and focus of stunning visuals the more you get delve in  to the unsympathetic and disparagingly alienating character focused  plot that is Melancholia.

To give Von Trier the benefit of the doubt that he is an artist of  personal expression, it seems he has chosen to focus on the destruction  of earth in Melancholia to reveal his own pessimistic view of  the human race. “The Earth is evil,” states Kirstin Dunst with a tonally  complimentary delivery of the film’s heavy and emotionless style. There  is no reflection on a potential meaning of life, but rather the  nihilistic approach that alone we are and alone we stand. This wouldn’t  necessarily be an unapproachable or estranging topic if it wasn’t  handled in such an exasperatingly languid pacing. The film, while robust  with an extreme pessimistic concept, dwindles as the uninteresting and  bland characters fill the screen with meaningless interaction after  meaningless interaction. It can be argued that Von Trier has purposely  made his film so inaccessible and truly uninteresting in its  presentation of characters to drill home his point that if the world  happened to end it would just end all the trivial relationships and  nothingness that we experience in our lives. He uses this film to  denounce tradition and mock the fear of death as though they are  irrational inconveniences to experiencing a true form of purely rational  apathy. But that flies in the face of actual human experience making Melancholia a  truly alien experience, never convincing an audience that its cynicism  is admirable or even relevant. This is the idea of taking extreme  positions for the sake of extreme positions, something Von Trier  practices constantly as evidenced in his personal interactions with the  media. There are moments of visual brilliance that are unfortunately  overshadowed by the languorous pace and the completely negative script  that includes a plethora of contemptuous characters. If Kirsten Dunst’s  (who unfortunately is no Emily Watson or Nicole Kidman) presentation of  the character Justine is the tonal expression of the film than we can  truly say that even though she might bring home the film‘s theme of  loneliness and apathy to light, it isn’t necessarily a position we’re  invited to share or even could recognize as a convincing narrative.

Compliments are always bestowed upon Von Trier and his pretentious  followers who swear he can do no wrong. This attitude is stemmed from  being awestruck by someone who defies film conventions from the  technical to the emotional for its sake alone. It seems Von Trier has an  increasingly condescending attitude towards those who can’t see or  understand his contempt for the boundaries or those who feel he should  at least try and speak with his audience, rather than speak to his  audience. Not all of his films are emotionless arduous journeys but Melancholia must certainly be described as that. This is a film for dedicated Von  Trier fans or those who view something slightly different as a form of  genius when it’s rather just a form of playing the devil’s advocate to  positions that most people don’t take. His uniqueness should be  complimented and there are true moments of inspiration, especially his  opening montage of surreal and subjective apocalyptic imagery. But Melancholia as an inviting film or one that possesses the ability to drive home a  particular theme falls short through its flat tone, stone-like acting,  and languid pacing. While there is no hope that Von Trier will ever  adopt the regular conventions of storytelling there is hope that he  could return to experimenting with a tighter film length (Europa), a more inviting and sympathetic protagonist (Breaking the Waves), and a unique presentation rather than the tired and slow cinema vérité style (sets of Dogville, style of Elements of Crime).