To paraphrase Tolstoy, “each unhappy person is unhappy in their own way,” and Lars von Trier might well have used this as the opening epigraph for Melancholia, a visually sweeping and yet dramatically intimate tale of two sad sisters and the end of the world. I was almost afraid to watch von Trier’s latest effort after going through the grueling, visceral experience of Antichrist and then having read brief advance descriptions of Melancholia’s seemingly depressing premise, but…surprise! It’s a really good film (and it doesn’t make you want to rip your eyes out or overdose on anti-depressants). Yes, the subject matter may be gloomy but Melancholia itself isn’t, as contradictory as that statement may seem to be.
The film’s prologue is a series of surreal scenes set to Wagner’s “Tristan und Isolde.” Puzzling and fascinating, this section of Melancholia combines beautifully intriguing imagery with Wagner’s lovely and evocative masterpiece of classical music: it’s wonderful in an aesthetically formal manner, though it seems to have no specific narrative function. Or does it? One eventually realises (in retrospect) how the apparently inexplicable and plot-less prologue foreshadows the film to come, in some instances quite obliquely and sometimes not at all, except perhaps symbolically.
Melancholia proper is split into two parts, “Justine” and “Claire,” although the narrative thread is continuous throughout. In “Justine,” we watch the gradual unraveling of the titular character’s psyche on her wedding day. Justine (Kirsten Dunst) is young, attractive, apparently successful in her job in an advertising firm, and has just married the handsome, caring Michael (Alexander Skarsgård). So why does she go from a laughing, cheerful bride to a withdrawn, sullen, nervous wreck over the period of a few hours? Perhaps it’s her bitter mother (Charlotte Rampling), who delivers an anti-marriage diatribe at the wedding reception? Or her frivolous, distracted father (John Hurt) who plays silly jokes on the help and has two “dates” for the occasion (both named Betty), and then vanishes when Justine expresses an urgent need to talk. Maybe it’s her jovial but passive-aggressive boss (Stellan Skarsgård), who makes a speech praising Justine and promoting her in the firm, but then assigns a new employee to dog her steps in hopes of eliciting a clever tagline for their newest campaign. Might it be Justine’s sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), who’s afraid the elaborate reception she’s planned—being held at the palatial estate she shares with her husband John (Keifer Sutherland)—will crash and burn due to Justine’s unpredictability?
The familial drama at the wedding reception is rather Michael Haneke-esque, but von Trier adds touches of sentiment and humour (the wedding planner says Justine’s erratic behaviour has “ruined his wedding” and refuses to look at her for the rest of the night, holding up his hand to block her from his view). The look of the “Justine” section is lavish and the pacing is fluid: Justine glides inexorably towards the almost simultaneous breakdowns of her marriage, her job, and her mental state.
For Justine is not merely temporarily stressed and upset by the events of her wedding day: her depression is apparently chronic and long-term, and no secret. The entire film takes place on Claire and John’s estate, so we only see Justine in this isolated environment during a limited time period, but the way in which Justine’s family and associates relate to her—treating her gingerly, coaxing her along—and their offhand comments (rather than obvious expository dialogue, thank goodness) provide the audience with some hint of the extent and history of her problem.
In one of the film’s most painful and touching moments, Michael presents his new bride with a photograph of an orchard on some land he’s purchased, and says “if you still have days when you’re feeling a little sad,” she can sit under the trees “and I think that will make you happy again.” Justine thanks him politely and hands the photo back; he says he wants her to have it and she says “I’ll always keep it with me,” but a few moments later she’s wandered off and Michael spots the discarded picture Justine has thoughtlessly left behind. He’s so painfully eager to please her, and yet she’s literally incapable of fully accepting or reciprocating his affection (she later refuses to sleep with him on their wedding night, then violently seduces the ad agency’s “minder” on the lawn).
The second half of Melancholia is entitled “Claire”: the focus shifts to Justine’s sister, who has issues of her own. Justine, having suffered a complete breakdown, is brought back to their country estate, now only barely functioning, sleeping most of the time, refusing to bathe or eat, breaking into tears for no apparent reason. Claire tries to help Justine, although John has little patience for his sister-in-law in her current state.
Claire has other things on her mind as well. There’s no clear indication how much time has elapsed between the events of “Justine” and “Claire,” but a few cryptic astronomical references in the first section have blossomed into a full-scale crisis in the second: a planet named “Melancholia” has appeared from behind the sun and is either (a) going to pass very close to the Earth or (b) collide with the Earth in a few days. John believes the scientists who support the first theory, while Claire—fueled by online speculation—is terrified of the latter possibility. Curiously, as Melancholia draws nearer, looming ever larger in the sky, Justine emerges from her depression and calmly confronts the possible end of the world, while Claire grows more and more frantic. After all, for Justine, life on Earth is a hellish existence due to her emotional problems—death represents a release. Claire, on the other hand, with a husband, a young son, a wonderful home, and other material and spiritual advantages, has much more to lose.
The conclusion of Melancholia is extremely impressive, dramatically and emotionally. Von Trier builds up to the finale expertly: he drops hints, throws in a few clues, plays with the audience’s expectations, adds a twist or two, and in the end the film concludes on a very satisfying note (that I won’t reveal here).
Technically, Melancholia is excellently put together. The location shooting and overall cinematography are splendid: countless lovely shots of small figures on grand landscapes visually reinforce one of the thematic motifs of the film, the insignificance of human beings when compared with the vastness of the universe. After Melancholia’s prologue, von Trier largely eschews overt surrealism (no talking foxes this time), choosing a more subtle, naturalistic style of filming and performance.
Kirsten Dunst has had a rather long career already, but wasn’t considered a “name” until her role in the popular Spider-Man series (none of which I’ve seen, btw). She’s quite good in Melancholia, conveying her character’s emotional state effectively despite not having any of the usual wordy “confessional” scenes to “explain” her behaviour: instead, she uses her sparse dialogue, facial expressions, and body language to create an unforgettable image of the clinically depressed Justine.
Charlotte Gainsbourg is kept mostly in the background of the “Justine” sequence but—as would be expected—comes to the forefront in “Claire.” Perhaps it’s unfair to compare her performance here to her role in Antichrist (since that happens to be the only other film in which I’ve seen her and may not be representative of her acting career or ability), but she’s once again neurotic and distracted and frantic. Whereas at the outset of “Claire” she’s the care-giver for her almost catatonic sister, in the film’s final moments it is Justine who has calmly taken control and helps Claire face the end. The rest of the cast is fine, with the major players each getting a juicy bit of business or dialogue, especially in the bustling wedding reception scenes of the “Justine” section.
Melancholia is both epic and intimate. As noted above, despite the unhappy basic premise—a portrait of the tortured souls of two sisters as they confront the possible end of the world—Melancholia is by no means a chore to sit through, unlike the stark and disturbing Antichrist. Melancholia is a masterful work of filmmaking that may or may not qualify as an enduring classic of world cinema, but it is nonetheless moving, engrossing, deeply satisfying, and yes…entertaining.
