DogvilleTrust comes with a price. The nobler ones among us would say otherwise, but human nature proves otherwise; that's what the cynic would say. The word "cynic" comes from the Ancient Greek word kynikos, which roughly means "dog-like", because one who is dog-like is one who flaunts conventional manners and mores, one who strips down the elements of life and society to an indifferent objectivity, disposing of flourish. It is appropriate then that Lars von Trier's Dogville is a cynical tale of trust (and the lack thereof), and its false practitioners are the residents of this staged town.
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Dogville is unquestionably an experiment in filmmaking by contemporary arthouse film's most provocative enfant terrible, whose tale of morality set ostensibly in Depression-era America is divisive not only in terms of content but in presentation. The setting--that is, the small township of Dogville--is itself stripped down beyond its core elements in scenery, where chalk outlines represent the buildings described via our narrator (John Hurt) as little more than shacks in the destitute dead end somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. Characters pantomime interactions with doors, although their sounds are carried on the audio track all the same. Even the town dog, Moses, is principally represented by a drawing in a penned-off section. The effect is accentuated by the cinematography and lighting to make Dogville resemble a stage production, the kind recorded to video from a performance night on stage. I suppose one could claim that any movie is "like" a play, in that it has a plot and characters; but films thrive on creating an artificial realm where our immersion is a part of the experience, one that is different than a play. What Lars von Trier achieves here is in the dismissal of this artifice, and by virtue of its absence make us aware of the illusion often draped over our eyes from the opening credits to the closing ones. To what end? To showcase that artifice exists everywhere, not just in film, but in human relations--especially in human relations.
Dogville follows the story of Grace (Nicole Kidman), a woman who arrives in the town following mysterious circumstances involving distant gunfire, and is shielded by local philosopher, Tom Edison, Jr. (Paul Bettany), from the subsequent gangsters inquiring if he's seen a young woman matching Grace's description. Tom has been struggling with lofty themes, seeking a means to "illustrate", as he calls it, the true nature of the people in Dogville, who he accuses of being inhospitable and distrusting in "receiving" guests. Tom's lecture about the "human problem" comes across as arrogant and vain, although his intentions superficially appear to be good. What he sees in Grace is the opportunity to test his audience and fellow denizens of the craggy town by asking them to allow her two weeks to show that she can be trusted among them, and that they can accept an outsider into their fold. It should be apparent that Tom is no expert on people, and misses the mark entirely on his fellow residents' capacity for acceptance. At first glance this would not appear to be the case, since over this trial period Grace appears to gain their favor by doing small things on their behalf--things they "didn't know they needed"--and ingratiates herself into their lives. But Grace always feels a bit like an outsider, for all the proclaimed generosity exhibited by the folks of the town. When the sheriff visits with a wanted poster, charging her with being involved in a bank robbery, the suspicions and distrust barely concealed beneath the surface in Dogville rises up, and the townsfolk "bare their teeth" and exploit Grace in an exponential escalation of viciousness and depravity. And what was originally a quaint and even saccharine tale of small-town values congeals into a vitriolic cesspool for Grace, like "A Prairie Home Companion" from Hell.
By the time we reach the conclusion of Dogville--far earlier, to be frank--the question remains as to just what makes the people of the town of Dogville so inherently heinous, so ready to turn Grace into the object of their anger. The answer to this lies in the cynic's interpretation of the nature of humanity, which Tom and Grace both represent in their own way, a sardonic affront to this assessment of humanity. Grace tries to hold steadfast to her belief that she can forgive anyone for their transgressions, that they "know not what they do". Deep down, like her father, "The Big Man" (James Caan), she too views people with a kind of arrogance, although her arrogance is born from the belief that people must be accepted for their weakness, whereas her father asserts that dogs must be trained to behave, lest they be punished when they do not, because it is in their nature to be animals. Tom claims to hold to his "illustration" of humanity as good, which becomes increasingly ridiculous not only as the townsfolk yield to their basest desires with Grace, but especially when he too transgresses and betrays Grace. The reason that Dogville treats Grace so abominably is the unstated commentary about the world Lars von Trier is depicting, a caricature of our own--as any play is--one where even those with very little are apt to subjugate those without anything, like Grace. It is a commentary about consumerism, too, a society where acquisition and holdings represents one's worth in the world. As Grace has nothing, she is ultimately viewed as worthless by Dogville's citizens, and her worth as a human being is diminished by her servitude; this is the same mentality which allowed slavery to flourish. The abuses are comparatively minor at first, but swiftly turn to dark territory following Grace being violated by Chuck (Stellan Skarsgård) in a wholly shocking scene not just by the content, but pressed to dizzying levels of horror since it occurs presumably in secret in Chuck's home, but is on display on the stage as the rest of the townsfolk go about their business. The grim message here is that everyone should be cognizant of the terrible act, but they literally turn a blind eye, because Grace does not deserve sympathy in their eyes, being an "outsider". This is also a commentary on the tendency for the public to dismiss claims of rape by victims by implicating them as complicit in the act, as it is easier than making a condemnation against someone they claim to know, thus forcing one to re-evaluate their own world view. There are no sacred cows; the artifice is stripped away. Even the end credits are a barrage of images of people who suffer from hunger, in the past and present, set to David Bowie's "Young Americans". It is a message which demands that one take an honest look at how we treat others, and stop lying to ourselves, reinforcing our illusions with justifications, and just be honest, accepting that no one is without sin, and it is a worse sin to pretend that we are not.
Recommended for: Fans of a clever and unorthodox drama about the ease by which we can betray and abuse others we claim to care for. It is a metaphor for society on a multitude of levels, illustrating the dangers of misrepresenting oneself as "good" and the responsibilities we have as members of the human race toward one another.
Dogville follows the story of Grace (Nicole Kidman), a woman who arrives in the town following mysterious circumstances involving distant gunfire, and is shielded by local philosopher, Tom Edison, Jr. (Paul Bettany), from the subsequent gangsters inquiring if he's seen a young woman matching Grace's description. Tom has been struggling with lofty themes, seeking a means to "illustrate", as he calls it, the true nature of the people in Dogville, who he accuses of being inhospitable and distrusting in "receiving" guests. Tom's lecture about the "human problem" comes across as arrogant and vain, although his intentions superficially appear to be good. What he sees in Grace is the opportunity to test his audience and fellow denizens of the craggy town by asking them to allow her two weeks to show that she can be trusted among them, and that they can accept an outsider into their fold. It should be apparent that Tom is no expert on people, and misses the mark entirely on his fellow residents' capacity for acceptance. At first glance this would not appear to be the case, since over this trial period Grace appears to gain their favor by doing small things on their behalf--things they "didn't know they needed"--and ingratiates herself into their lives. But Grace always feels a bit like an outsider, for all the proclaimed generosity exhibited by the folks of the town. When the sheriff visits with a wanted poster, charging her with being involved in a bank robbery, the suspicions and distrust barely concealed beneath the surface in Dogville rises up, and the townsfolk "bare their teeth" and exploit Grace in an exponential escalation of viciousness and depravity. And what was originally a quaint and even saccharine tale of small-town values congeals into a vitriolic cesspool for Grace, like "A Prairie Home Companion" from Hell.
By the time we reach the conclusion of Dogville--far earlier, to be frank--the question remains as to just what makes the people of the town of Dogville so inherently heinous, so ready to turn Grace into the object of their anger. The answer to this lies in the cynic's interpretation of the nature of humanity, which Tom and Grace both represent in their own way, a sardonic affront to this assessment of humanity. Grace tries to hold steadfast to her belief that she can forgive anyone for their transgressions, that they "know not what they do". Deep down, like her father, "The Big Man" (James Caan), she too views people with a kind of arrogance, although her arrogance is born from the belief that people must be accepted for their weakness, whereas her father asserts that dogs must be trained to behave, lest they be punished when they do not, because it is in their nature to be animals. Tom claims to hold to his "illustration" of humanity as good, which becomes increasingly ridiculous not only as the townsfolk yield to their basest desires with Grace, but especially when he too transgresses and betrays Grace. The reason that Dogville treats Grace so abominably is the unstated commentary about the world Lars von Trier is depicting, a caricature of our own--as any play is--one where even those with very little are apt to subjugate those without anything, like Grace. It is a commentary about consumerism, too, a society where acquisition and holdings represents one's worth in the world. As Grace has nothing, she is ultimately viewed as worthless by Dogville's citizens, and her worth as a human being is diminished by her servitude; this is the same mentality which allowed slavery to flourish. The abuses are comparatively minor at first, but swiftly turn to dark territory following Grace being violated by Chuck (Stellan Skarsgård) in a wholly shocking scene not just by the content, but pressed to dizzying levels of horror since it occurs presumably in secret in Chuck's home, but is on display on the stage as the rest of the townsfolk go about their business. The grim message here is that everyone should be cognizant of the terrible act, but they literally turn a blind eye, because Grace does not deserve sympathy in their eyes, being an "outsider". This is also a commentary on the tendency for the public to dismiss claims of rape by victims by implicating them as complicit in the act, as it is easier than making a condemnation against someone they claim to know, thus forcing one to re-evaluate their own world view. There are no sacred cows; the artifice is stripped away. Even the end credits are a barrage of images of people who suffer from hunger, in the past and present, set to David Bowie's "Young Americans". It is a message which demands that one take an honest look at how we treat others, and stop lying to ourselves, reinforcing our illusions with justifications, and just be honest, accepting that no one is without sin, and it is a worse sin to pretend that we are not.
Recommended for: Fans of a clever and unorthodox drama about the ease by which we can betray and abuse others we claim to care for. It is a metaphor for society on a multitude of levels, illustrating the dangers of misrepresenting oneself as "good" and the responsibilities we have as members of the human race toward one another.