DIRECTOR LARS VON TRIER once said, “A film should be like a rock in
the shoe.” His latest, Antichrist, is more like a boulder in a
flip-flop: I’ve been thinking about this film for weeks, slowly turning
it over in my head, and while I still haven’t fully sussed it out, I do
know that Antichrist is visually arresting, relentlessly cruel, and
intensely, genuinely interesting.
Perhaps you’ve heard about a few of the choicest moments in von
Trier’s latest: the most literal definition of the term “cock block”
ever, countless money shots of Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg
doin’ it, and a vulva-ectomy performed with rusty scissors. Maybe you
read about the booing of Antichrist at Cannes, followed by von Trier
boasting, “I’m the best director in the world.” All of this is
titillating, sure, but to label Antichrist as misogynistic provocation
is a disservice to the film, which is curious and mesmerizing and
excruciatingly painful to watch. It’s a shame that Antichrist is so
viscerally unpleasant, because von Trier has created a complex, richly
detailed work that would very much benefit from multiple viewings…
but then again, there is that bit with the rusty scissors.
Antichrist begins with Gainsbourg (known only as She) and Dafoe (He)
having sex; while they’re occupied, their toddler crawls out of bed and
falls to his death on the snowy street below. Paradoxically, this
prologue is the most beautiful scene of the film, with the boy
angelically floating down to earth, filmed in black and white and
soundtracked with operatic Handel. After that, it’s hell in a
handbasket for He and She: The couple grieves for their son. She is
debilitated by panic attacks. He, a self-confident psychotherapist,
begins to treat She as his patient, convinced that he can save her by
urging her to confront her demons. Together, they backpack to their
remote cabin in the woods, a place known as “Eden,” and it’s here that
the gristle hits the fan: The nature of human nature is questioned and
She—were she to bear the burden of representing all
womankind—comes out looking pretty bad. But He isn’t too
rosy-smelling either—his pretentious presumption that he can fix
She leads to both of their undoings.
Antichrist may not be fun, but if you can make it through, you get
to decide what to do with von Trier’s pebble. Do you dig it out of your
shoe and dismissively throw it away, or keep it in your pocket to look
at later?
What slop. Conventional misogyny, idiotic allegory, and blandly obvious psychoanalysis all thrown into the same digitally colorized barf bucket (yes, that’s Anthony “Slumdog Millionaire” Dod Mantle’s work). Dogme whointhewhatnow? And for purpose? To provoke a reaction a Cannes? Hard work, that! Or maybe it was to give the torture porn crowd a run for their money in an art house film? Uh… okay, why? I’d like to exactly what Mr. Von Trier’s aesthetic or his conceit is, because I’m pretty sure he does not know. This film has all of the cinematic gloss and charm of a luxury car commercial. There is no point to all of this provocation other than to exacerbate us further with Von Trier’s adolescent bad boy routine. The “homage” to Tarkovsky really takes the cake.
Von Trier has made some good films despite himself, but this is not one of them.
I’d differ with Ovidius by noting that misogyny is totally unconventional nowadays, and a tongue-in-cheek exploration of the idea that men and women are (gasp) different is interesting, especially when it’s done as shockingly and engrossingly as in Antichrist. But the movie is definitely misogynistic, and I understand where Ovidius is coming from.
I also liked the allegory, and don’t care about the director’s personality. So… differences of opinion abound about this movie. I’d say it’s worth checking out.
Also, it took 4 days before I was able to masturbate without my own penis frightening me.