It all ends. I’m not talking about the world—though that ends, too—but rather my platform of noninvolvement when it comes to Lars von Trier. Considering that he’s one of the most acclaimed/hated directors of the last 20 years, there was a certain purity to never having seen a single one of his films, and thus not having any opinion one way or another on whether he was a cinematic luminary or a manipulative hack with a misanthropic sense of humor. Having seen only one, I can’t say anything for certain except that he’s a talented image-maker, as well as the sort of guy who puts his name above the title and imagines his depression as nothing less than the end of all life on Earth.
The story of Melancholia is divided discretely into two parts. The first centers on the marriage of Justine (Kirsten Dunst), a young woman of no specific background whose problems in life (family, work, sex) all get compressed into a darkly comedic and flagrantly illogical wedding party from Hell. And though this occasion should be the happiest of her life, she instead feels a crushing loneliness. In the second part, the party is over, everyone has left, and Justine has sank into deep depression. Her sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) tries to console her, but to little effect. Meanwhile, a strange new planet called "Melancholia" has appeared in the sky on a collision course for Earth. And as it gets closer and closer, Claire searches for answers, and Justine's depression turns to tranquility.
If nothing else, the film is a powerhouse of aesthetics and performances. Kirsten Dunst, who’s most recognized for being rescued by Tobey Maguire (three times), gets a role that she can truly dig into; she goes all out, gives one of the most remarkable performances of 2011, and strikes a blow for actresses everywhere that get written off as eye-candy. And if von Trier’s characters scarcely resemble recognizable human behavior, he at least pursues this approach so single-mindedly that he pushes the film successfully into the realm of dreams and metaphors.
But with an approach so grandiose, the question emerges, aesthetics aside, of what it all adds up to. The narrative is scattershot, and even as the bursts of Wagner and the image of Dunst’s deteriorating body can shake you in your seat, I’m really not sure what the film is saying about depression, except for equating it (unadvisedly) with a kind of pessimistic enlightenment. In other words, it indulges depression rather than examining it. The result is an unforgettable film that shows talent, virtuosity, atmosphere, vision, and still feels empty. Reactions to the film vary, but that, I suppose, is the essence of von Trier.
3 out of 5 stars.
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Melancholia is out on DVD this week from Magnolia.
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