Introduction
_________________________________________________________________
The ugly is
a great source of beauty. And much more interesting than the beautiful. You
start out with the un-pretty and then you work your way out of that in order to
create something pretty. But the un-pretty was there first.
/ Lars von Trier in Lumholdt
2003:45 /
Provocateur,
Filmic Terrorist, Enfant-Terrible, Punk Auteur, The Bad Boy of European Art
Cinema – these are only a few names associated with controversial Danish
director Lars von Trier in the past decade. He has provoked audiences through
his films and public persona, generating equal amount of fascination and
criticism along the way. Having toyed with religion, communities, ideological
aesthetics, genre stereotypes, sexuality and even America, he has also earned
his most controversial title yet – that of a misogynist. Although Nicole
Kidman’s Grace in Dogville (2003) is,
indeed, the only female protagonist to survive von Trier’s cinematic test, it
can be argued whether tragic destinies of other women are constructed in hatred
or fear.
Originally,
this thesis was intended to explore troubled female protagonists in three of
von Trier’s films, Dancer in the Dark
(2000), Antichrist (2009) and Melancholia (2011). As my research
progressed, however, I realized that the man behind the camera cannot be
separated from his art, consequently arousing the question of self-reflection.
For that reason this work aims to ponder on female protagonists in von Trier’s
latest Antichrist and Melancholia, and their relation to the
director himself, also attempting to dismiss misogyny claims. In contrast, this
thesis is NOT aiming to proclaim Von Trier as an auteur or provide a
distinctive analysis of his directorial oeuvre. Likewise, Freud’s Oedipal
Complex theory along with feminist response to the two films will be left out
of this discussion. Even though 
(a symbol for Venus – representing the
female) stands in for “T” in the Antichrist’s
title and might require a more detailed psychoanalytical examination, this
paper lacks the capacity where such reading could be produced.
(a symbol for Venus – representing the
female) stands in for “T” in the Antichrist’s
title and might require a more detailed psychoanalytical examination, this
paper lacks the capacity where such reading could be produced.
This work is
therefore divided into six chapters. The first will go over general discussion
on the topic of self reflection. I will then look at Justine, Claire and She as
von Trier’s female messengers within the narrative of two films. The rational
male is also analyzed towards the end so that director’s identification with
the female could emerge through binary oppositions of the sexes. And finally, a
conclusion is drawn in the final chapter - “Chaos Reigns”. It is vital to
mention that von Trier is a man of many phobias, including flying and
journalists; he does not give many interviews yet some of the responses he
provided during his career proved to be invaluable to this assignment.
Additionally, Jack Stevenson’s World
Directors: Lars von Trier has been widely used in preparation while
valuable discussions on the Dane were found online.
Literature Review: A Discussion
_________________________________________________________________
The women in
my films tend to be more human somehow, and the men tend to be more stupid. I’m
not really sure why this is. In some strange way I think that the female
characters represent me better in the films. I do not hate women. It’s
difficult to think that anyone could hate women. I can see that you can hate
specific women – as you can hate specific men. But to say that you hate them
all is to me quite ridiculous.
/ Lars von Trier, in Goddsell
2009 /
Both Antichrist and Melancholia open with a slow-motion prologue. The latter is set to
Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde – music
von Trier has used on set of his earlier films since it evokes female
suffering. But the dreamlike cinematography does not stand for a
happily-ever-after; a much larger planet is seen approaching the Earth and we
know that the world is about to end. Antichrist
too is set to a classic score, there Handel’s aria Rinaldo translates as “Let me weep over my cruel fate, and that I
long for freedom”. What we are about to witness next is an excruciating study
of human suffering and its affect on body and mind.
Xan Brooks from The Guardian (2009) gathers female
artists and scholars to stir up an interesting discussion on Antichrist. For Joanna Burke, the film
is more misanthropic (hence diverting hatred towards human nature) than
misogynistic. “Nature is Satan’s church”, She announced. “If human nature is
evil, that goes as well with the nature of women”. In view of this statement
and Burke’s noteworthy argument, it could be suggested that female, as a barer
of life, has at some point given birth to evil of which She believes to be a
descendant of. As anyone in grief, She blames herself and, as added by Burke, embraces
the mysterious, uncanny energies of the unconscious and unknowable elemental
forces.
Samantha Morton joins
the discussion to imply that “A director pains over every shot, every inch of
film, every breath of sound.” Surprisingly, it is the only film where von Trier
was too distressed to operate the camera himself, often disappearing in his
trailer and working on 40 percent of his full capacity. He has, however,
admitted that it was ‘the most important film of his career’ – having written
the script during his infamous depression, he has not managed to re-draft.
Images seen in Antichrist come straight out of a tormented mind and are
therefore incredibly personal. Morton comments on the film’s breathtaking
cinematography:
An act of bravery and vulnerability, and sometimes
loneliness. The writer/director speaks through every character, so this film
must have been incredibly painful to make (in Brooks, 2009).
Linda Ruth Williams,
on the contrary, believes that the film belongs to horror genre since it is
more bloody than ecstatic. But then again, von Trier has proved to be incapable
of producing a genre movie – the best example of which is his anti-musical Dancer in the Dark. When it comes to
misogyny allegations, she hassles: “If only tabloids campaigned against real
clitorectomies, done on real baby girls, rather than fabricated ones done in
fiction movies.” In fact, in Muslim culture female circumcision is still a
common, although increasingly controversial practice. When infant girls undergo
genital mutilation to reduce their sexual desires, is Lars von Trier really the
bad guy here to show it on celluloid?
I just have to say, that what’s important to me with a film
is that you use an impeccable technique to tell people a story they don’t want
to be told. This is in my opinion the definition of true art (Stevenson,
2002:10).
There is therefore
hope that those who fainted vomited or walked out during the film’s screening
have learnt something new about either themselves or the world, even if they
claim to hate it.
In the
“Theatre of Cruelty: Antichrist”, author Linda Badley illustrates other responses
to the film, emphasizing She as an embodiment of von Trier’s own psychological
struggles. Similarly, Badley questions misogyny claims and presents Erich
Kuersten’s compelling perspective on the film’s shocking images of genitals and
mutilation. She quotes:
[...] at least he’s not afraid to point his camera and shoot it. A
true misogynist would just hide it in a tight spandex and shoot it out of a wet
t-shirt canon [...]. Expressing clear-eyed cognizance of masculine fear of
women cures misogyny not creates it,
that’s the point of art and therapy (in Bradley, 2010:149).
A simple
look at the representation of women in a classical Hollywood blockbuster will
help illustrating this point differently. Von Trier’s unnamed protagonist
differs from the likes of Megan Fox’s heroine in the Transformers (Bay, 2007) in a sense that she is not just another
half-naked ‘chick’ who appears onscreen for visual satisfaction of male
fantasies. With She he not only delves into the darkest recess of female
nature, but also conquers his fear of it. As conveyed in the Antichrist, one needs to expose himself
to the object of fear to overcome it.
In Antichrist: A Discussion, Rob White sees
traces of Anti-Oedipus complex in objection to Freud’s trademark theory. Certainly, von Trier was well aware of
the psychoanalytical debate his on-screen family
might create when She erratically questions He: “Freud is dead, isn’t he?”,
also claiming to be cured. My point of view, however, is that by sinking into
Freudian analysis we appear oblivious to one of the most significant sequences
in the film and, possibly, von Trier’s career. After a few days in Eden, He
checks Nic’s autopsy report which draws attention to one single abnormality: a
slight deformation of child’s feet. He then sees a Polaroid shot capturing Nic
with his mother as she forces wrong shoes on him – a vague reference to von
Trier’s own mother, perhaps, who only revealed the name of his biological
father on a deathbed. It is hence no secret that von Trier has been trying to
annoy her with every film, also adding that “one never gets anywhere because of
something, but in spite of... (Stevenson, 2002:32)”. Therefore, if we were to
agree that that von Trier truly has a complex relationship with women on film,
then a closer look at his relationship with his Mother is required. Apparently,
when asked if the child who falls with arms outspread like an angel was
himself, he replied: “Yes, that is it. My mother didn’t give me a childhood.
She was magical to me of course... (Badley, 2010:150/1)”.
The revelation
clearly had an impact on adult Lars whose whole system of beliefs was
shattered. He, the aging Enfant-Terrible, is the child who walked in wrong
shoes and is still limping.
On the contrary, Melancholia seems to be the most polite
film Lars von Trier has made so far. What is more, it doesn’t taste like ashes either
– even despite it apocalyptic scenario. He avoids traditional clichés of sci-fi
genre, such as panic in the big city, constant media updates or casting a male
hero who will eventually save the world. Instead, it begins with a wedding and
ends with Justine, Claire and Leo holding hands right before the Earth ceases
to exist.
When Rob White and
Nina Power discuss the film in Film
Quarterly, they both agree that Melancholia
is about depression, but not in “merely” human terms. Talking about Justine,
White points out: “Even as she nears her crisis, she retains a hard-nosed
intelligence and presence of mind”. She knows the world is about to end, as we
all do (eventually) – but she also sees through its faults and refuses to
grieve for it. “Justine’s dejection encompasses her uncanny knowledge, her
struggle against social conformity, her complex starlit joy”, adds White.
During the reception
she truly is the sanest of all her family members who constantly seem to be at
each other’s throats. The way the two authors interpret Justine’s denial of
modern conformity (marriage, family responsibilities, work, and estate) is on
that account somewhat compelling. They look at the scene where she is seen
swapping pages of an art book which later burns as destructive planet draws
nearer. For White, it is von Trier’s attempt at reaching for new art “in the
form of a highly stylized cinema and digital effects”. Regardless, it is rather
difficult to believe that his intention is to dispose of such art, knowing how
much he is attached to it. What needs to be noted here is that Melancholia as a film signifies a
departure from certain aspects of von Trier’s own modus operandi first. In director’s statement, he exhales: “This is
cream on cream. A woman’s film! I feel ready to reject the film like a wrongly
transplanted organ.” Indeed, with its strain of German romanticism it looks
like canvas and reads like a poem. Even its fatal ending feels more like a
happy one and von Trier’s initial rejection of the film is then not surprising.
Maybe by depicting Justine’s nihilism and Claire’s journey towards acceptance
he has finally managed to get rid of his own demons?
Likewise, Power
wonders “if with this film he goes beyond the cruelty he often exhibits towards
his female leads: perhaps, with Melancholia,
von Trier is toying with the world, albeit a dead and dying one – in favour of
a new one?”
Justine: Get a Tagline
_________________________________________________________________
Aside from a
prologue, we first encounter Justine heading to her lavish wedding reception in
a limo that struggles making its way through the narrow countryside roads. When
newlyweds finally arrive at the grand estate, Justine’s sister Claire points
out the long-overdue activities they should have been engaging in three hours
ago and urges everyone to begin. It soon becomes clear that Justine is present
only physically and could not care less about ‘the most expensive wedding on
the planet’ – as ironically declared by her brother-in-law, John. She starts
disappearing to either take a bath, urinate on a golf course or have an
intercourse with a new colleague who has been appointed by her boss to ‘get a
tagline’. The fact of the matter is that this bourgeois parade with its silver
cutlery, servants and traditions means nothing to her; she is unwilling to buy
what this world, or the advertising firm she works for, is selling. Claire
attempts saving Justine (and by large the wedding itself) from a looming
breakdown, but her artificially constructed facade will not last long. Michael,
Justine’s newlywed husband, also makes an effort when showing a picture of the
land he has purchased as a wedding gift, and which she is to keep with her at
all times. Predictably, the photograph is left behind while she retreats to
alcohol, drinking luxurious Hennessey from a bottle. In an interview with
journalist Nils Thorsen (2011), von Trier himself confesses: “I think that
Justine is very much me. She is based a lot on my person and my experiences with
doomsday prophecies and depression”. At this point, one might start to wonder
whether his film bears a title of the planet hurling towards the Earth, or the
physical condition affecting the sufferer and everyone around him/her. It could
be argued, that the nature of both is equally destructive, but we are often too
blinded by luxury to even notice sheer magnitude of the latter. Von Trier thus
continues: “I’m having a tough time at parties myself. Now we’ll all have fun,
fun, fun”, he says. “Perhaps because melancholiacs set the stakes higher than
at just few beers and some music [...]. It seems so phony. Rituals are, you
know. But if rituals are worth nothing, that goes for everything, you
know”. And this is, indeed, what the
filmmaker has done not only in Melancholia,
but also in his earlier work – throwing a beautifully wrapped yet stone-hard
critique of a movie towards the society which fails to see past the ideology it
embraces. Similarly, there is more to Justine’s seemingly pointless actions on
the golf course than meets the eye. Von Trier is there with her; he too takes
pleasure in walking over meaningless rituals in search of oppression-free self.
It is worth stating at this point that filmmaking is therapy for von Trier as
much as it is a ritual – one that acquires suffering on the road to redemption
and therefore sustains its ritualistic meaning.
Moreover,
the director has expressed his fascination with Marquis de Sade, a proclaimed
‘father of sadism’ and his literary works. De Sade’s novel Justine inspired Bess’ character in Breaking the Waves (1996) and, as I would like to argue, Melancholia’s leading protagonist whose
past is kept off-screen but repeatedly hinted at via her ongoing self-torment.
“Justine is”, writes Jack Stevenson, “about a pure and innocent young girl who
goes through life encountering one degradation after another at the hands of
her fellow men [...] She is reunited with her sister and lodged in her home,
apparently a safe haven (2002:90)”. Although the novel’s connection with Justine
in the film is unconfirmed, it is worth mentioning that von Trier has never
been shy about comparisons with other greats – Tarkovsky, Strindberg, and
Hitchcock – suggesting that true art lays out a background for other works to
flourish. The director and De Sade, after all, see masochism and sadism as
elements concealed in our psychologies.
The second
half of the film reveals preparations for Melancholia’s inevitable arrival,
including inner obstacles the two sisters have to overcome on the road to
acceptance. Claire, the sensible girl, is unable to come to terms with such a
sudden ending and fights denial while the strangely luminous Justine re-assures
her: “The Earth is evil. We don’t need to grieve for it”. She also claims to
know that life is only on Earth, and not for long; nobody will miss it. Claire,
however, hangs onto last comforts of high-density living, proposing a glass of
wine and a song on the terrace – a plan which her sister proclaims as ‘shit’.
Hearing this as a critique from behind the camera, one might wonder: what would
Lars von Trier do if the world was to come to an end? As someone who has
battled depression for years, he replies: “So if the world ended and all the
suffering and longing disappeared in a flash, I’m likely to press the button
myself (in Thorsen, 2011)”. And that’s your tagline from the director himself.
Claire: The Sensible Girl
_________________________________________________________________
“Claire is
meant to be a...normal person”, laughs Lars von Trier (in Thorsen, 2011). And
yet, she’s one of his troubled female protagonists and therefore – part of the
self-reflection. Appearing calm, optimistic and organized in the first part of Melancholia, she excels at taking care
of the situation, be it Justine’s doomed wedding reception or her fading sister
herself. It cannot be claimed that Claire bears no resemblance to the director
because of her carefully constructed façade. Quite the opposite – she reflects
a much lesser known side of von Trier which, despite all, manages to write a
script, assemble a crew, face the critics and retreat back to the family life
in Denmark, only to do it all over again. This is further illustrated by von
Trier’s own confession:
My greatest problem in life is control versus chaos. I can get
extremely afraid of not having control when I want it. The best situation I can
imagine would be to accept the lack of control – but that’s nearly a
masochistic thought for me. All my worst anxieties are about losing control (in
Schepelern, 200:282).
If on one
hand it could be said that the Dane, like Claire, is a control freak, then on
the other he is at his best when control is temporary lost. Claire’s previously
composed persona is given little time to adjust, she falls into despair and it
is now Justine who holds her sister’s trembling hand. Control and chaos for Von
Trier – much like the sisters for one another - represent binary oppositions
embedded in his persona. Those are his fire and oxygen: unable to exist apart.
She: The Grieving Mother
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In Antichrist, a prologue of slow-motion
images shows a couple making love while their toddler son climbs out of the
cradle and falls to his death. During the funeral camera stays focused on his
parents while faces of other participants in the final procession remain blurred.
He cries erratically, She faints. In a forthcoming sequence She is seen lying
in the hospital, He objects to the treatment provided there and claims to be
able to cure her himself. Von Trier leaves his characters unnamed and truly,
their names would have no significance in the context. Instead, it’s a study of
femininity and masculinity, drawn from director’s own struggle with physic
disorder, during which a script for this film had emerged as a form of therapy.
As the
couple retreat to their countryside cabin Eden, the sequences of events explore
grief, pain and despair which overtake She. There, in the woods, her anxieties
merge with explicit sexual violence which many viewers have found either
repulsive or intolerable. On the contrary, it is She who is exposed and
tortured not only by her inner demons, but also by her therapist husband. Film
critic Roger Ebert (2009) argues, that the psychological violence He inflicts
on She is equally brutal thus insisting on majorly overlooked mutual torture between
the couple. With the help of this argument, those initially petrified by the
visual can begin re-thinking their reading of the film. Von Trier’s violent
images call attention to imperfections of patriarchal society where pain caused
to women is simply “there” whereas it is seen as shocking when the tables are
turned.
Von Trier
has famously said that Antichrist
comes closest to a scream. It is built on emotions and fear, and fear of female
sexuality in particular– yet his daring cinematic statement was misread,
earning the director his misogynist title.
In an interview with Knud Romer (2009) prior to film’s screening at
Cannes, von Trier jokes:
My perversions, which are reflected in this film, aren’t news.
Only the how of it is different. And because some of the material comes from my
youth, it may be unreasonable, ecstatic. The emotions and the fears had to be
pursued to the last drop of our blood.
This
statement adds to Erich Kuersten’s standpoint presented here previously. If he
was once afraid, then the film was made so as to work on this fear. And again,
why would he fear women? He is happily married, his kids have Jewish names, and
he also makes films which at least some women dare to relate to. I am of the
opinion that this fear of women is restrained in misanthropic origins. Having
revealed the truth about his real father, von Trier’s mother happened to admit
that she simply wanted her child to have artistic roots. Perhaps von Trier fears
the unknown within female nature – the irrational choices women tend to resolve
to whilst embracing the uncanny energies from the Mother Nature itself?
The rational male
_________________________________________________________________
I’ve always been the female character in all
my films. The men tend to just be stupid, to have theories about things and to
destroy everything.
/ Lars von Trier in Badley, 2010:149 /
In the first
chapter of Antichrist we learn that
grief is not a disease, but a normal reaction, much like Justine’s alienation
from the world she doesn’t wish to be a part of. In a way, she also grieves for
the loss of life even before Melancholia threatens to turn it all into ashes.
Von Trier thus exposes human nature as something beyond anyone’s control,
showing that origins of pain are embedded within its very intangible core. Then
again, excessive suffering is only assigned to female martyrs while male
protagonists appear as their oppositions. As mentioned earlier, von Trier
envisions men as stupid, consequently pointing out that the urge to seek
rational solutions has eliminated their
connection with nature.
A further
point to make is that if there is anyone von Trier is not fond of, it is
therapists, not women. Drawing on his own experiences, they waste time looking
for reasons, logical explanations and trying to solve physical conditions as if
those were unfinished formulas needing completion. He in the Antichrist portrays one of those men
despised by the director. As noted in Tina Beattie’s discussion (2009),
His target here is not just the therapy industry, but the
controlling power of the rational masculine mind which refuses to acknowledge
the mystery of good and evil, the primal chaos of nature, and those aspects of
human experience which are beyond language and the control of reason.
The rational
man is therefore subjected to vicious sexuality of a grieving mother. He is
required to see what he had previously decided not to or, in other words,
re-connect with the nature and kill in order to survive. Other male
protagonists, however, are not allowed to complete the transition. Michael in Melancholia takes off on the wedding
night, unable to cope with his irrational new wife. “Sweetheart, you have to
trust a scientist”, re-assures Claire’s husband John before learning about the
inevitable collision and cowardly taking his own life. In Melancholia, Von Trier only spares his judgement on pair’s young
son Leo who believes that ‘magic caves’ built by his ‘aunt steel-breaker’,
Justine, will protect them. He, perhaps, is von Trier’s evidence to a fact that
we are not born, but made evil?
In Antichrist however, the only other male
to survive and be right from the start, is the fox: “Chaos Reigns!”
Chaos Reigns
_________________________________________________________________
I happen to
be of the opinion that if things exist, then you’re not only allowed to show
them, you have to show them! And life is so richly faceted – it’s just a
question of going out there and picking things up.
/ Lars von Trier, in Lumholdt 2003:15 /
If cinema is
meant to be a mirror of the world – a sheer reflection of reality captured on
celluloid - then von Trier is holding his extremely close to the issues
mainstream cinema prefers to ignore. Be it depression, the evil within human
nature or genital mutilation: it’s there to provoke a response, thereupon
opposing to passive consumption of images. The uncanny fascinates him to the
extent that many elements are thrown in to be decoded independently. In case of
The Three Beggars and a self-destructive talking fox in the Antichrist, von Trier plays with the
rational mind of all men, also allowing multiple readings of the film in the
process. Provocation, on the other hand, is not only a mere manifest of the
problematic, it’s also publicity.
What also has
to be understood about von Trier is that his films are not interested in the
reason “why?” instead, he deals with the occurrence. His female heroines are
designed to show the lack of rational whilst his males counter it with excess.
But does
Lars von Trier really hate women? – this has been a question embedded into this
lengthy debate. Despite all misogyny claims, it hard to prove that he truly does.
Firstly, he has openly spoken about identification with his female protagonists
– She and Justine being an example discussed in this paper - and secondly, one
does not continue ‘making the same film over and over again’ about something he
loathes. In fact, as the details of his upcoming film Nymphomaniac emerge, only one thing
is for certain: Chaos Reigns! And so does Lars von Trier.
Bibliography:
_________________________________________________________________
Beattie, Tina 2009, “Antichrist: The Visual Theology of Lars Von Trier.”OpenDemocracy
online, 13 August, viewed 26 April 2012
Brooks, Xan 2009, “Antichrist: a work of
genius or the sickest film in the history of cinema?”, The Guardian online, 16
July, viewed 2 April 2012,
Ebert, Roger 2009, “Cannes #6: A devil's
advocate for Antichrist”, Chicago Sun-Times online, 19 May, viewed
25 March 2012,
Goodsell, Luke 2009, “I Don’t Hate Women”:
Lars von Trier on Antichrist, Rotten Tomatoes online, 9 November, viewed 20
April 2012,
Lumholdt, Jan (2003), Lars von Trier: Interviews, University Press of Mississippi.
Romer, Knud (2009) “A Hearse Heading Home”
(Interview from Film #66, published by the Danish film institute May 2009),
media release for Antichrist, 15 May, viewed 26 April 2012,
Schepelern, Peter (2000), Lars von Trier’s Film, Copenhagen:
Rosinante.
Stevenson, J. (2002) World Directors: Lars von Trier, London: BFI Publishing.
Thorsen, Nils (journalist) 2011, Longing
For the End of It All, media release for Melancholia, viewed 27 April 2012,
White, Rob and Power, Nina, Antichrist: A Discussion, Film Quarterly
online by University of California Press, viewed 21 April 2012,
White, Rob and Power, Nina, Lars von Trier’s Melancholia: A Discussion,
Film Quarterly online by University of California Press, viewed 29 April 2012,
Filmography:
_________________________________________________________________
Antichrist (Von Trier,
2009, Denmark / Germany / France / Sweden / Italy / Poland)
Melancholia (Von Trier,
2011, Denmark / Sweden / France / Germany)
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Renata Kovalcuka (Bachelor of Arts Honours)
Media & Creative Industries
University of East London
London, UK
April 2012
