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Dancer in the Dark
Wow—what on earth happened here? I have never seen a more potentially delightful film completely lose its footing and fall flat on its face the way this one does. Lars von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark plays like two completely unrelated movies that compete for control over the chief protagonist. One is a sweet, touching romantic drama that rings absolutely true, and the other is a disturbing, manipulative horror film that drains us needlessly with no sense of motivation or purpose. In the end, it is the latter film that wins, consuming the sweet aspects of the picture and rendering it unwatchable. That’s quite a tragedy, because there is a lot to admire here, not least of all Bjork’s mesmerizing performance. The film concerns a sweet, Czechoslovakian immigrant named Selma (Bjork) who lives with her grade-school son Gene (Vladica Kostic) in a little trailer on the property of an apparently happy couple (David Morse and Cara Seymour), whose larger house is in the front yard. Selma is slow, clumsy, and probably slightly retarded, but since this is the 1960s, there are no benefits for the disabled; she struggles as she works long hours at a factory with her friends Kathy (Catherine Deneuve) and Jeff (Peter Stormare), the latter who would willingly begin a romance with her if she didn’t constantly insist the she doesn’t “have time for a boyfriend.” Ah, the usual story. The most intriguing aspect of the film comes in Selma’s daydreams, stemmed from her love of the Hollywood musical. “Nothing bad ever happens in musicals,” she insists, and it is a perspective that brings her comfort in the difficult struggles she faces in everyday life. It is also the most appealing aspect of the movie, which is essentially a very unusual musical: Selma’s fantasies feature herself and all those around her dancing and singing lively songs in various locations throughout her daily routines: At the factory, where she and Kathy spin about greasy machines, backed up by a host of fellow workers who dance along; at the train tracks, where Jeff tries to court her and hobos on the train turn into a rousing chorus; and so one. Since this is Bjork we’re talking about (not to mention Lars von Trier), you can expect the musical numbers to be altogether unique, mellow, but also inexplicably compelling and, yes, catchy. Von Trier films the “real” sequences with quick, sloppy camera cuts that are similar to a home video feeling, complete with drained colors and a decidedly glum atmosphere. Selma’s musical fantasies are shot with vibrant colors and long takes, appropriately echoing back to the Singin’ in the Rain era of Hollywood musicals. Somehow, this contrast works magnificently; I say “somehow” because I am reminded of my review for Jon Bon Jovi’s vanity piece Destination Anywhere, which tried a similar experiment. I wrote of that film, “[This] is a bizarre combination of film-noir and musical. These genres are generally on the opposite ends of filmmaking, and this film proves that they cannot mix. Film-noir is too interested in dark streets, anti-heroes, and pessimism. The movie musical exuberates with life and color, creating generally feel-good moods from its plotline, which only serves to shuffle the audience along from one musical number to the next. To combine them is mixing oil and water.” To be fair, the non-musical scenes in Dancer in the Dark don’t qualify as film-noir and therefore the contrast isn’t as jarring as it was in Destination Anywhere. Yet the tone is nevertheless so different between the drama and Selma’s fantasy world that the film probably shouldn’t work as well as it does. Yet it works, I think, for three reasons: A) Because of the nature of the songs, which remain mellow and reflective despite their Hollywood-like exuberance, B) because we are always aware that the musical numbers are fantasies in Selma’s head and we are therefore able to suspend our disbelief, and C) because of a powerhouse performance by a brilliant Bjork, who effortlessly exuberates charm, humility, and frailty as Selma, making her so likable that the musical numbers just seem to be an extension of her delightful personality and not a cheap gimmick. I realize that I have been so far flowering Dancer in the Dark with praise, yet I have awarded only one star. That’s because there is quite a difference between a technique that works and a movie surrounding it that doesn’t. The musical numbers are not a gimmick, and Bjork is not just another singer who wants a shot at movie stardom but a genuine, gifted actress. But what eventually happens to Bjork’s character is a gimmick, and one of the sickest, most repugnant attempts to needlessly manipulate an audience that I have ever seen. Bjork and her music is a revelation; the direction von Trier took these delightful ingredients is shameful, and they are made even more shameful because the ingredients are so delightful. Now I have to approach this review with caution—the fundamental question that I must ask as I write on film is how much I should give away. Keeping the plot twists a secret is essential if this film is going to have any impact on you at all—you have to watch it cold, stripped away of all preconceived notions and ideas of what is going to happen to Selma. On the other hand, I believe that those same twists are pointlessly disturbing, to the point that I wouldn’t recommend the film to anyone on the basis that von Trier intentionally drains his audience emotionally and seems to relish in his ability to do so. I wouldn’t want anyone to experience the same terrible feelings that I had when watching the film, and I’d rather give away crucial plot points and spare you my agony. But by disclosing what happens to Selma, I know that I wouldn’t be playing fair (particularly for those who might indeed enjoy it—including my wife, who thought the film was artful and moving. I would agree to a point, but I eventually draw the line between moving—which is pain with a purpose—and downright painful, which is an assault). I think that some film reviews can get away with extensive plot details (see my article on Greystoke), because sometimes the point is not what happens to a character but what those actions reveals. There is no such revelation in Dancer in the Dark—bad things happen to Selma with no rhyme or reason, except to emotionally rape us and shatter the delightfulness that the film previously set up. I cannot emphasize the cruelness of this film enough, but I will only disclose that what happens is not pleasant, it is not remotely appropriate, and it has no discernable motive except for a superficial moral that hardly does Selma justice and in no way compensates for the dramatic shift that the film takes. The above information will probably be enough warning to set yourself up for disappointment, but I sincerely hope that in being intentionally vague I am not making you curious. Believe me—no one really ought to endure this trash disguised behind what is a very beautiful concept. Life is really too short to experience this kind of torment without any payoff for doing so. Curiously, while the film has developed something of a cult following, Bjork agrees with my point of view. Disagreements between her and von Trier plagued the set from the get-go, and she has vowed never to return to acting ever again. She laments of the finished piece, “You don't need to put extra pain and suffering in there just so that the critics will say, 'This is art.' I think [the film] is rubbish." She goes so far as to accuse von Trier of sexism, and adds in a blog posted on her official website: “You can take quite sexist film directors like Woody Allen or Stanley Kubrick and still they are the ones that provide the soul to their movies. In Lars von Trier's case it is not so and he knows it. He needs a female to provide his work soul, and he envies them and hates them for it. So he has to destroy them during the filming and hide the evidence. … What saves him as an artist though is that he is so painfully honest that even though he will manage to cover up his crime in the ‘real’ world (he is a genius to set things up [so] that every body thinks it is just his female-actress-at-the-moment imagination, that she is just hysterical or pre-menstrual), his films become a documentation of this ‘soul-robbery.’” That’s better criticism, straight from the horse’s mouth, than anything else I could add. What exactly is von Trier, a usually insightful, talented filmmaker, trying to present here? Is he trying to show that life is difficult and that we must “follow our heart?” Is he attempting to detail the struggles and hardships of a disabled immigrant woman in 1960s America? I really doubt it; the torment that he places on Selma (and Bjork, as we have learned) takes us out of such realities and ascends to the level of implausible absurdity that seemingly exists only to fill our hearts with grief. It succeeds, and it also succeeded in filling me with outrage for being so manipulated. “Nothing bad happens in musicals,” Selma insists. Quite true, but nothing this farcically deranged is likely to happen in real life either, at least not consistently to the same unfortunate, trampled-on person. Von Trier performs sadism on his audience and disguises it as art: He intentionally builds these delightful characters so the we are attached to them emotionally, and then he proceeds to utterly destroy them in a way that leaves us devastated, evidently for no other reason than because he can. I won’t play along, and neither should you. Cast: A Fine Line Features presentation. Written and directed by Lars von Trier. Songs written and performed by Bjork. Rated R, for a scene of violence and disturbing themes/images. Running time: 140 minutes. Original United States theatrical release date: October 6, 2000. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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![Bjork on Dancer in the Dark: I think [the film] is rubbish. ... What more can Film as Art add?](bjork.gif)