MelancholiaWhen we look into the night sky, an incalculable number of stars glitter from across the universe, at distances unfathomable, light transmitting from across ages. The mysteries of space are distant, separate from our own lives on Earth--our world, one we are confident in our mastery of its rules; our understanding of the universe is conveniently confined to our society. The universe is something we are removed from. No, the universe is indifferent to our suffering, and we are but ants crawling across a rock in the infinite, alone, microscopic. In the celestial blink of an eye, life will be erased, and will not be missed; this depressing prediction is made in Melancholia within the first five minutes.
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Our first moments of auteur and provocateur Lars von Trier's Melancholia is a pantomime, a tableau of things to come, key moments that stay with us in our journey through the banalities of social gathering at the wedding for Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Michael (Alexander Skarsgård), like the psychic harrowing Justine experiences in her own compulsive depression, a counterpoint in the last days of Earth. Images that move by as though preserved in resin capture those strange experiences, like paintings which would belong in the varied art books in the palatial hotel owned by Justine's sister, Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and her rich husband, John (Kiefer Sutherland); images both profoundly beautiful and profoundly sad. The representations and slow motion vistas are like a manifestation of Justine's melancholy and her challenges with understanding herself and her identity prior to the advent of the planet Melancholia approaching the Earth, a harbinger of the end. Consider the image of Justine floating downstream in her wedding dress, a clear allusion to John Everett Millais' "Ophelia", a painting of the doomed would-be bride to the Danish prince, Hamlet, a painting also depicted in the very art books Justine angrily opens to at the onset of her own bridal unraveling. The first chapter of the film--the film is divided in two, named for Justine and Claire, respectively--is designed to frame the condition of society, as perceived through the eyes of Justine. She puts on a brave show of it from the start--so good that we really should have no idea that she harbors her own inner demons, until the fragility of her mask begins to show, and cracks under the weight of the petty pressures from her arrogant boss (Stellan Skarsgård), Claire and John, her bickering parents, her new husband, and even the pompous wedding planner (Udo Keir). This scenario showcases a stressful situation which Justine handles poorly, to the extent that she fails to meet the expectations others have placed on her; but what of Justine's expectations? What of her needs on her wedding day, a day which everyone proclaims is her day, but she appears to be presented as a kind of token, an object to be displayed and carted out as befits the scheduled events--cut the cake, dance, light paper balloons, give the husband sex. There is a sense of deep resentment Justine has for the whole affair, mirrored tactlessly by her mother, Gaby (Charlotte Rampling), who advises her to flee while she can. Justine is met with confrontation after confrontation on her wedding day by the people who claim to be doing this for her benefit; only her sister and mother seem to understand that Justine is concealing a secret pain which at least Claire tries to conceal so that Justine might find some happiness...but is happiness all that there is to life? Is the cost of the lie worth it? Justine observes that life on earth is evil; true or not, one can see how her perceptions of others--the pettiness, the passive aggressiveness, the scorn--can influence her view of life, and the acceptance of the annihilation yet to come.
Melancholia is often described as an "art house" film--a label I find to sometimes be kind of a dismissive way to categorize films which are challenging--but the film is also a science fiction film. The best science fiction stories are ones which use the unexplained to open a line of thought about our lives and the conventions of society in a new way through the introduction of the unfamiliar. As the planet Melancholia begins to approach our world in the second chapter of the film, Claire begins to undergo a transformation from the confident and in-control woman we met in the first chapter and into a nervous wreck, understandably unable to cope with the impending doom looming in the heavens above, a sword of Damocles far greater in size than the world itself. And yet, as Claire's sanity begins to falter, Justine becomes more rational, more accepting of the inevitable. Has she been preparing for this moment in her life, via her melancholy assuming the worst, only to find that the worst is what is actually going to happen? It is a kind of twisted justification for her depression, but while no one welcomes the end of the world, perhaps those who have been entrenched in terrible depression already are the best prepared to accept it, feeling their own world is constantly on the verge of ending. Lars von Trier is not only a filmmaker capable of exploring the deeply intimate and close relationships of people, but also is a skilled craftsman with exceptional technical expertise...as well as a trickster. It would be easy enough to imagine the idea of a massive planet floating in the sky, and perhaps not so stellar (sorry) of a challenge to plant a sphere in the sky in the mise-en-scene to reinforce what everyone's freaking out about; Lars von Trier does one better, and shows off his cinematic sorcery in subtle ways. Take the scene at night when Melancholia is floating in the sky, reflecting the sun and alight just as the moon is. As we follow behind Claire--in turn following Justine--there is a reflection not just of the moon but of Melancholia on the camera lens. But certainly, there can be no real lens flare if there is no Melancholia; regardless, this small touch is a nod which less attentive audiences might gloss over, but is important to maintain the consistency of the film and maintain that great illusion that the planet is real, and is a playful address to the filmmaker's signature "documentary-like" style of filming his tales. It would be wholly wrong to say that Melancholia is life-affirming, but regardless the film illustrates the importance of the time we have and how we use it. There is a scene near the end when Claire asks Justine to see the end of the world out with a glass of wine on the terrace; Justine reacts by mocking her plan, but crafts one of her own with Claire's son to assuage his fear, building a "cave", a safe place where they can all be together, holding hands as the apocalyptic impact comes. In Melancholia--as in life--we all die...memento mori...but accepting this truth is the first way to start living your life with meaning.
Recommended for: Fans of a highly introspective science fiction film about the end of the world, about the dazzling misconceptions of scope in the astronomy and how small we and our world are compared to the universe at large...but also how rare our existence is in the scheme of things, and how changing our perspective changes our world.
Melancholia is often described as an "art house" film--a label I find to sometimes be kind of a dismissive way to categorize films which are challenging--but the film is also a science fiction film. The best science fiction stories are ones which use the unexplained to open a line of thought about our lives and the conventions of society in a new way through the introduction of the unfamiliar. As the planet Melancholia begins to approach our world in the second chapter of the film, Claire begins to undergo a transformation from the confident and in-control woman we met in the first chapter and into a nervous wreck, understandably unable to cope with the impending doom looming in the heavens above, a sword of Damocles far greater in size than the world itself. And yet, as Claire's sanity begins to falter, Justine becomes more rational, more accepting of the inevitable. Has she been preparing for this moment in her life, via her melancholy assuming the worst, only to find that the worst is what is actually going to happen? It is a kind of twisted justification for her depression, but while no one welcomes the end of the world, perhaps those who have been entrenched in terrible depression already are the best prepared to accept it, feeling their own world is constantly on the verge of ending. Lars von Trier is not only a filmmaker capable of exploring the deeply intimate and close relationships of people, but also is a skilled craftsman with exceptional technical expertise...as well as a trickster. It would be easy enough to imagine the idea of a massive planet floating in the sky, and perhaps not so stellar (sorry) of a challenge to plant a sphere in the sky in the mise-en-scene to reinforce what everyone's freaking out about; Lars von Trier does one better, and shows off his cinematic sorcery in subtle ways. Take the scene at night when Melancholia is floating in the sky, reflecting the sun and alight just as the moon is. As we follow behind Claire--in turn following Justine--there is a reflection not just of the moon but of Melancholia on the camera lens. But certainly, there can be no real lens flare if there is no Melancholia; regardless, this small touch is a nod which less attentive audiences might gloss over, but is important to maintain the consistency of the film and maintain that great illusion that the planet is real, and is a playful address to the filmmaker's signature "documentary-like" style of filming his tales. It would be wholly wrong to say that Melancholia is life-affirming, but regardless the film illustrates the importance of the time we have and how we use it. There is a scene near the end when Claire asks Justine to see the end of the world out with a glass of wine on the terrace; Justine reacts by mocking her plan, but crafts one of her own with Claire's son to assuage his fear, building a "cave", a safe place where they can all be together, holding hands as the apocalyptic impact comes. In Melancholia--as in life--we all die...memento mori...but accepting this truth is the first way to start living your life with meaning.
Recommended for: Fans of a highly introspective science fiction film about the end of the world, about the dazzling misconceptions of scope in the astronomy and how small we and our world are compared to the universe at large...but also how rare our existence is in the scheme of things, and how changing our perspective changes our world.