Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The (1964, Parapluies de Cherbourg, Les)

I have been watching a lot of musicals in recent weeks, a lot which star Catherine Deneuve.  I always saw the genre as being artificial, sappy, and always happy, but I’m discovering many musicals are quite sad.  The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is sad in a sappy way that is uniquely cinematic.  Descriptions of the film tell of its beautiful qualities and these same qualities from its leading lady, but Deneuve is seldom happy in Cherbourg.

Deneuve plays Geneviève.  Her widowed mother runs a poor umbrella shop, but Geneviève is too happy with her handsome beau, Guy.  They cannot wait to marry but Geneviève’s mom sees no future for the young couple.  Guy is drafted and he and Geneviève make love, and naturally she is with child while he is off fighting the French war against Algeria.  Geneviève is melancholic with Guy’s departure and her loving but selfish mother doesn’t make her ordeal easier by encouraging Geneviève’s relationship with a handsome young jewelry salesman named Roland Cassard.  Though the child is not his he wishes still to marry Geneviève.  With the passing time and the infrequent letters from her true love, Geneviève decides to marry the rich Roland lest all chances of her happiness vanish.

I must admit my recent viewing of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg was my first.  I had not seen it before seeing Christophe Honoré’s Love Songs.  I was completely unaware of how much Honoré was influenced by Cherbourg, so much so that I can only deduce that the film was a major film for the New Wave in 1964.  Jacques Demy, the film’s gifted director, was a breed of New Wave filmmaker unrelated to Cahiers du cinéma, the movie review magazine that is remembered as the birthplace of the popular New Wave directors.  Demey, with wife Agnès Varda and the great Alain Resnais, was part of a revolutionary contingency of New Wave filmmakers known as The Left Bank.  Their films were more radical than The Right Bank, or Cahiers crowd, and often less successful.  Possibly because of Cherbourg’s popular success the film has been separated from the memory of the Nouvelle vague.  It’s a trivial concern because the film is so wonderful, but it is still interesting.

Like Love Songs (or I should say Love Songs taking inspiration from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg) the film is divided into three acts, each act a unique section in its characters’ lives.  The first part, The Departure, shows us how much Guy and Geneviève are in love, and how time is always against those in love, not just in the face of upcoming events but in its concept to quantify the minutes, hours, seconds that go by and are gone forever.  Love can never be enough, and in one way Cherbourg is a film for young people.  The film screams of youth and beauty and promise, of children becoming adults in the face of difficulty.  In another way, the film is for such adults, those who know that the promise of young love is irrational and misleading.  Geneviève’s mom knows that if her daughter marries Guy their future will be difficult.  Geneviève knows they would live modestly but if they love they will be happy.  Young lovers never consider bills.  Love doesn’t pay in reality.  The film’s second part, The Absence, focuses solely on Geneviève as she deals with her pregnancy, hopeful when receiving Guy’s letters, panicked when not.  Roland is a handsome guy, nice too and infatuated with Geneviève.  I would go so far as call him a pushover.  Geneviève makes some serious decisions in the face of the facts.

One at first thinks of her actions as cold and of betraying her and Guy’s love, but the French have always had such keen insight into human behavior and ritual.  At least their films have, and if The Umbrellas of Cherbourg was a real 50s Hollywood musical, Geneviève would have defied her mother and ignored Roland, but an unwed young girl expecting with the father countries away has few options for the future.

The final part, Guy’s return, is the saddest section in the film, perhaps because it hits a nerve in modern times.  After serving his country, Guy comes home to find his love gone, married to another man raising his own child.  There is no place for him in an ever changing Cherbourg, and he wallows in drinking and cheep women, his vital time passing him by.  With our country at war for the last 10 years, it is painful to watch a veteran so short-changed in very honest ways.  Nino Castelunuovo, the actor who plays Guy, is just terrific.  Handsome, Italian, sensitive and charismatic, he really makes the last act of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg work.  I expected to be wooed by Catherine Deneuve, but Castelunuovo was a pleasant surprise.  That he clings to his invalid aunt’s young nurse in the face of his own loneliness is the ultimate tragedy.  Though the film’s final shot suggests true happiness in his new life, I got the sense that Madeleine, the nurse and his new wife, will never be loved the way she loves Guy.  She is his consolation prize, pretty as she is, but Guy will always be inevitably comparing her to Geneviève.  Their relationship can stand for many.  I feel sorry for their son, who when he grows up might learn the truth, that his parents’ love isn’t what society says marriage should be.  I understand it’s only a movie but good movies make you forget.

I wasn’t impressed by the music.  Though composer Michel Legrand’s music is beautiful, I didn’t care that every line of dialogue is sung.  It feels too much like operetta.  I wasn’t bothered or turned off by it but I will say that for the first 10 minutes I did consciously notice it.  There also isn’t a “great” song to be remembered afterwards like in a traditional musical structure.  There is one bittersweet melody that becomes Guy’s and Geneviève’s love tune that is worth humming, but the continuous song, separated mostly by the act breaks, seldom with the changing scene, isn’t what I’m used to with musicals.  But don’t let that dissuade you.

All the beautiful comments made throughout the years regarding The Umbrellas of Cherbourg are warranted, but I wish its memory recalled the bittersweet quality this film has.  A musical’s ability to capture the trials of life, sad and true, is an event to behold.

Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The (1964)

(a.k.a. Parapluies de Cherbourg, Les)

Director: Jacques Demy

Writer: Jacques Demy

Music: Michel Legrand

Stars: Catherine Deneuve, Nino Castelnuovo and Anne Vernon

France

In French

Runtime: 91 minutes

The best DVD edition of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg is the UK 2-disc set, which features a feature-length documentary by Demy's wife, Agnes Varda.  Purchase at Amazon (UK):

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Umbrellas-Cherbourg-Special-DVD/dp/B000AMSSCK/ref=sr_1_1?s=dvd&ie=UTF8&qid=1304558757&sr=1-1

IMDB link:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0058450/

Various Amazon links, including multiple DVDs, a VHS, the documentary The World of Jacques Demy, and Legrand's soundtrack:

      

8 Women (2002, 8 femmes)

Catherine Deneuve is a film icon.  She has worked with some of the best filmmakers of all time, past and present, and to see her alongside other great French actresses in 8 Women is a pleasure unto itself.  That the film is fun is an added bonus.

8 women are stranded at a snowed in mansion with a dead body in an upstairs bedroom.  The victim is Marcel, who we never see, Deneuve’s Gaby’s husband.  Their oldest daughter Suzon arrives home from college the day her father’s corpse is discovered.  She tries to piece together the last few hours of these very catty, very different women to solve the horrible murder of her father.  That the murderer might be someone she loves is a consolation of sorts.

There’s Mamy, her elderly grandma, played by Danielle Darrieux, an icon of French cinema going back to the 1930s (did I mention 8 Women was made in 2002?).  Mamy is wheelchair bound, and out of charity Marcel and Gaby had taken in her and Augustine, her unmarried, frumpish daughter, Gaby’s jealous sister.  Another French icon—Isabelle Huppert, muse to Claude Chabrol.  The sexy new maid, Louise, may have something to hide.  Emmanuelle Béart plays her.  Most innocent are Madame Chanel, the long time family cook and nanny to Suzon, and Catherine, Suzon’s kid sister.  Catherine is into mystery novels, something her Aunt Augustine doesn’t approve of.  She’s played by Ludiving Sagnier, a gifted young actress whose talents have been employed by Chabrol and Christophe Honoré.  This is an accomplished cast.

But wait—that’s only 7 women.  Marcel’s estranged sister Pierrette arrives looking for the brother she knows is dead.  Pierrette is played by the last of François Truffaut’s famous leading lady lovers, Fanny Ardant.  Perhaps because of Truffaut’s untimely death in 1984, Ardant never got the attention she deserved as an actress, but in Confidentially Yours, Truffaut’s final film, her work in that genre comedy stands up to Jeanne Moreau’s or Catherine Deneuve’s.  Deneuve was Truffaut’s lover in the late 70s, early 80s, and it is suggested that Truffaut had a breakdown when the actress left him.  Ardant was the one who restored his spirits, or so legend goes.  This gossip isn’t really relevant, but it’s in the spirit of 8 Women.  Director François Ozon must have understood the history he was bringing together by uniting Deneuve and Ardant on screen, especially in a dishy cat-fight of a picture.  This back story doesn’t interfere with the film.  But looking at the amazing cast that spans the whole history of French cinema—from poetic realism in the 30s to the 50s films of Max Ophuls, the New Wave and post-New Wave and beyond; 90’s cinema and today—I couldn’t help thinking of these facts.  8 Women is a fun film with style, brave, campy performances by its stars, and a great traditional mystery.  Getting lost in its actors is a complement.  A bad film with all these women would feel more gimmicky.

Gaby had kept her husband and his sister apart, or so she thought.  Nothing is what it seems in Ozon’s mystery musical.  That’s right, the film is a musical.  It’s kind of off-putting at first.  The opening shot, a wide pan along the grounds of the family mansion, looks intentionally phony.  The whole film looks like a 60s parody, down to the wigs and eye-popping color.  When Ludiving Sagnier sings the first number, in both her look and the choreography she reminded so much of Hayley Mills in The Parent Trap.  That must have been intentional.  The song, “Daddy, Daddy” You Ain’t with It”, sounds exactly like a song we would’ve got from a live action Disney film of the time.  What’s odd about the music is how Ozon stages it in context to the film.  There are 8 songs, and each one is a solo by the actresses.  They come off more as monologues; they don’t advance the story at all.  One could make the case that they hold up the picture, but not I.  The songs give us information into the respective character.  For example, when Isabelle Huppert sings, we learn her neurotic tendencies that often hurt her sister are in part to spare Gaby’s feelings.  Deneuve’s own song is very odd, and it leads to her and Ardant making out on the floor of the grand hall.  I never expected to see something like this in a movie.  What can I say?  It’s fun to look at.

The mystery in the film is old-fashioned fun.  There’s nothing original.  You have the self-appointed Poirot character, the nosy detective who forgets to cast a light into her own mysterious comings and goings, a wife who stands to gain an inheritance, jealous relatives and a sexy, dangerous sibling.  The hired help has run of the house so they’re suspect too.  The isolated mansion, guard dogs that don’t bark, a key to a locked door that is stolen, transference of guilt—everything that makes a great mystery work.  The musical is a bit odd in this context, but as a movie that loves movies, a movie lover with eat this up.  The style, the cast, the music, the genre mishmash, and the cinematic history and tribute that becomes 8 Women guarantees its admiration from people like me.  I will remain light on the story development.  In this kind of picture every twist is more fun to discover while watching.

In her office, Gaby has a portrait of herself from when she was young.  The painting is a breathtaking likeness of Deneuve.  Looking at those sharp cheekbones I was reminded of images of her from Belle de jour, the era where Deneuve was exceptionally beautiful.  I thought momentarily of the sadness of aging.  Deneuve has done so gracefully, and when she’s on the floor with Ardant, there is a moment when she looks EXACTLY like her younger self.

8 Women is Ozon’s most successful picture.  I’ve never thought too highly of him as a director, maybe because he is better known in the US than Honoré, my contemporary favorite.  His films are always either too stylized or boring.  I think the genre, the grandiosity of the material, and the cast allows Ozon to revel in his indulgences.  I saw the preview of his newest film, Potiche, also starring Catherine Deneuve.  I’m seeing it next week, but already I am pleased to see this same pictorial style at play in his newest film.

8 Women (2002)

(a.k.a. 8 femmes)

Director: Francois Ozon

Writers: Robert Thomas (play), Francois Ozon and Marina de Van

Stars: Danielle Darrieux, Catherine Deneuve, Isabelle Huppert, Emmanuelle Beart, Fanny Ardant, Virginie Ledoyen, Ludivine Sagnier and Firmine Richard

France

In French

Runtime: 111 minutes

To purchase 8 Women, visit Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/8-Women-Fanny-Ardant/dp/B00007J5VT/ref=sr_1_1?s=dvd&ie=UTF8&qid=1303015572&sr=1-1

IMDB link:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0283832/

Love Songs (2007, Chansons d'amour, Les)

Why is sadness and humor so closely related?  Christophe Honoré’s musical Love Songs is a bittersweet film that remains one of the great pleasures from this productive auteur.  He takes a revisionist approach to the movie musical, telling a contemporary story with contemporary music by the French songwriter Alex Beaupain, and the result is a joyous and very sad story of love, loss, and life redeemed with new love.

Three people, Ismaël, Julie, and Alice, share a life together in Paris.  Alice is into non-sex, and Julie is desperate to keep Ismaël but unhappy with their current life.  She confides to her sister Jeanne that Ismaël is forcing her to break up for him.  Julie dies almost literally of a broken heart and Ismaël becomes an emotional wreck.  He dodges Julie’s loving family, tries to build on his friendship with Alice, but to spare himself pain he distances himself from emotion.  Until Erwann.  Erwann is a young kid determined to have Ismaël love him.

Louis Garrel is my favorite actor.  He embodies cinematic spirit better than any performer today, and he reminds me a lot of Jean-Pierre Léaud.  Léaud was a very divisive actor from the New Wave and is Garrel’s godfather, so the parallel is fair to draw.  But Garrel is more accessible than Léaud maybe because he’s more handsome and his personality more playful and innocent.  Even when he’s in bed with two women he retains his innocence.  The secret might be that he’s a terrific actor.  He has become a muse for Honoré, but the director’s true muse is Chiara Mastroianni.  Love Songs was her first film for Honoré and she has since appeared in every one of his films, including a single shot in La belle personne.  She is very good as Julie’s sister, and like her mother she can handle a musical.  The dynamic between these three characters is the saddest thing about Love Songs.  It is clear that Julie loves Ismaël because she gets so easily upset at him for disappointing her.  For possibly many reasons, Ismaël is constantly keeping her away.  We see him more than once avoiding true physical emotion with her, which only aids Julie’s worsening emotional health.  When she dies, Ismaël is destroyed.  Her family is destroyed, and Jeanne tries to get Ismaël to remain close to them.  I think it quite clear that she is in love with him.  And he constantly disappoints her, too.  She finds a woman in his bed that isn’t Alice and Jeanne is hurt.  She finds someone else in his bed and things become clearer for her, but not easier.

The obstacle the film might have with mainstream audiences is that it believes in pansexuality, the idea that sexual pleasure is not be limited by gender.  I think that is a very unrealistic argument.  Most people know which sexual partners appeal to them.  But because Love Songs is a musical, I was swept away.  That Erwann could get through to Ismaël is a satisfying finale but wholly unrealistic.

So a good question to ask: in a musical, is the story more important or the music?  Can we forgive a fantasy if the music is so infectious?  To each his own, but I certainly could.  Love Songs has an implausible story.  I don’t believe that Ismaël, who we’ve seen sexually linked with three different women, would fall for Erwann, a boy, no matter how adorable he is.  Yet, this is a fantasy and I wanted to believe that Erwann’s potent amours would break Ismaël down and rebuild him.  I’m probably using the wrong words to describe the situation.  The film really isn’t sentimental or sappy.

Honoré’s greatest strength is the energy he brings to his films, an energy and rhythm always supported by the grittiness of real life.  He is a cinefile two generations removed from the New Wave, and this connection is important to follow a lineage through the great history of French cinema.  Honoré is the finest director of his generation, the thematic and stylistic heir of Godard and Truffaut.  He doesn’t believe in simple emotions, at least as a filmmaker.  That’s why parts of this film are heartbreaking.  I haven’t seen my share of musicals, but what I understand is that they are happy, with happy endings.  The ending of Love Songs is hopeful but the tragedy of loss always hangs over.  Take the song “Au parc,” sung by Jeanne.  She describes the renewing seasons and the ever-present playful children at the park she and her sister grew up in, but she always remembers, “It will all be there, except for you.”  Or the unusual love song Ismaël sings to Erwann when they first make love.  He asks Erwann to find Julie inside of him and kill her a second time so that Ismaël can move on.  Their love is built on need more than sexual attraction.  Erwann, a virgin, desires Ismaël and Ismaël needs a body to cling to.

The real revelation in the cast was of course Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet as Erwann.  He’s since become a regular in French films.  I like him a lot in this film.  He has a terrific voice.  If I had to name the scene-stealing performance though, I would signal out Clotilde Hesme.  She plays Alice, the third party in the ménage-a-trois.  I felt her role was not as substantial as Garrel’s or Ludivine Sagnier’s as Julie but Hesme has a quality about her that is charming and a regal look that I found stunning.

Alex Beaupain has written the music for every one of Honoré’s films.  In what forms a trilogy, Dans Paris, Love Songs, and La belle personne are, in Beaupain’s words, ‘movies with songs’.  Love Songs is their only full length musical.  Beaupain is a great songwriter.  His lyrics are intelligent, ironic, and absolutely charming.  I listen to his two studio albums at the gym and I don’t even understand French.  They just sound great.  I won’t do a song by song breakdown, but “De bonnes raisons”, the opening number, is in many ways a call back to the 60s.  Towards the end of this upbeat swanky song there’s a guitar riff, nearly buried under the lyrics, that is so 1960s it just makes you smile.  “La Bastille” is one of the saddest songs in the film.  Julie sings about how the rain outside empties the square of the angel statue of the Bastille.  Each member of her family takes a section of the song, and we see that while they love and are happy, such happiness is joined with the sorrows of life.

But the storytelling remains simple.  If I have one negative criticism it would be that the film is rushed.  It’s almost 100 minutes but especially with my most recent viewing I felt the story was hurried through.  Often times the pace is too quick; we aren’t given the time in between story beats to contemplate or even orient ourselves.  Other times, especially in the latter half of the film, this rushed approach hinders the storytelling.  Some things feel washed over just to get to the next musical number.  For example, when Erwann gives Ismaël his keys, inviting him to stay, Ismaël not only has a change of heart by agreeing to go home with him, he seems excited by the idea.  This is contrary to what he has just said.  Such changes of mind are understandable, but the film doesn’t make his sudden change of mind clear.

The plot isn’t the thing.  All I can say to recommend Love Songs is that it makes me happy.  I can talk forever about these moments, like when Ismaël jokingly tries to cut off Alice’s tongue with a pair of scissors or when Alice kids him about not being circumcised when he’s Jewish; or when Alice, Julie and Ismaël dance on the streets of Paris; or the playful and dynamic song “Le distance” where Erwann tires to seduce Ismaël; and every scene with Julie’s family.  Come to think of it, Love Songs is one of my favorite films, imperfect as it is, sad as parts of it is, but its energy and mood make it a lot of fun to watch.

Love Songs (2007)

(a.k.a. Chansons d'amour, Les)

Director: Christophe Honoré

Writer: Christophe Honoré

Stars: Louis Garrel, Ludivine Sagnier, Clotilde Hesme, Grégoire Leprince-Ringuet and Chiara Mastroianni

Music: Alex Beaupain

France

In French

Runtime: 95 minutes

Buy Love Songs at Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Love-Songs-Ludivine-Sagnier/dp/B001DJ7PUA/ref=sr_1_1?s=dvd&ie=UTF8&qid=1302383159&sr=1-1

IMDB link:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0996605/

Dancer in the Dark (2000)

Dancer in the Dark is not a good time at the movies.  It’s what Hitchcock might have called a sink to sink picture where, after a hard day of cleaning dishes, a housewife goes to the cinema and sees a character cleaning dishes at the sink.  Except Dancer in the Dark takes part of its inspiration from Hollywood musicals, so the narrative is kind of soapy but overall grim, a hopeless tale of a blind young immigrant mother raising money for an operation that will spare her son from losing his sight.  Director Lars von Trier has a knack for presenting mean-spirited downers that show elements of life we’d like to ignore.  So while imperfect, Dancer in the Dark is as moving a film as they come, but the experience is not cathartic.

Having seen it twice and with the time necessary to process the experience, the one thing I remember most is the performance by Björk.  I’ve seldom seen a searing, open-nerved performance that can match it.  Selma is a good natured and nervous mom, always willing to encourage her friends and pay compliments, and work overtime at several jobs.  The year is 1964 and she and her son have come from Czechoslovakia because of what America promises, promises made in Hollywood musicals, a dream factory of promises that materialize only if you happen to live in the movies.  But a dream can be so desired that what we know of reality, all that we can accept, can be pushed aside for seconds of bliss, the bliss of the dance floor, the bliss of a song.  Selma escapes during moments of adversity, like when overtime at work becomes monotonous or when her sight is fading.  Björk is something to behold—a singer by training, seldom appearing in front of a camera, she manages to do what few other actresses can.  Perhaps because she had the courage to look the part.  She’s not thin, not blonde, her breasts are not on display and her hair and makeup look natural, and in the visual medium that counts more than rehearsal time.  It's more than looks.  Icelandic by birth, she is convincing as a Czech immigrant.  Her tears, panic, every emotion is epitomized.  She conveys the world weariness appropriate having lived in a Soviet state.

Then there is the singing.  Dancer in the Dark is a musical.  Selma’s daydreams take the form of colorful musical numbers.  Björk’s voice is haunting.  She sounds unlike any singer I can name, and her vocal chords seem to be tied to an ancient Icelandic tradition, an extreme folksy sound accenting her already natural folksy voice.  She hits notes and holds them and she is impossible to ignore.

If this film is her cinematic legacy, then so be it.  The singer has said she will never make another movie.  I suspect the pressures from von Trier, known for his volatile and demanding nature, may have had something to do with it, but perhaps Björk is best to quit while she is ahead.  There is not a negative thing I can say; she delivers one of the most impressive performances in cinema history.  It may not be a comprehensive critique but I am simply at a loss.  If she indeed never makes another movie then she will not be overexposed.  She is Selma and Selma is her.  The same can be said of Renee Falconetti in Dreyer’s The Passion of Joan of Arc, and this is a very great comparison to make but Björk has earned it.  She is quite simply riveting.

The one thing that gets in the way of the material is the musical numbers.  Björk, as I said, has a terrific voice and the songs in the film resonate.  If these numbers were only sung the film might be closer to perfect but because Selma loves musicals, the numbers are all choreographed and staged in an embarrassingly clumsy fashion.  I don’t know how von Trier could have accepted the final product.  An anachronisms: the film is set in 64.  Musicals at the time were very sophisticated and all took a page from Fred Astaire: dance in long shot.  This way we can see the complexity of the body in motion, the skill of the choreographer.  The Dogma 95 style that von Trier co-founded betrays the integrity of golden age musicals: oddly placed camera angles, quick cuts, extreme close-ups and cutaways work against von Trier’s intentions.  A great embarrassment is the first musical number, “Cvalda”.  Every problem I’ve mentioned is on lingering display, compounded by the fact that neither Björk nor Catherine Deneuve can dance.  I understand the limited budget von Trier must have had, but at least rehearse with the lead actors prior to assembling the crew.  Another problem the musical numbers have is color.  I know this from personal experience trying to recreate Technicolor with digital film.  Your first instinct is to saturate in post production.  But Technicolor was a chemical process that had only a limited color range, so the trick to getting great color was with careful costuming and set design / decoration.  Whatever colors you want in the final film need to be present on the set.  Boosting saturation will only intensify ugly colors and make the image grainy, and that is just what happens in Dancer in the Dark.

This is not a problem that ruins the film.  Most of the dancing exists in one or two numbers and most of the songs simply have Björk singing, still however with the color problem.  Another anachronism: the dance numbers are choreographed in a modern style.  Hollywood musicals were more closely related to traditional dance techniques.  There is a formal rigor severely lacking.  Vincent Paterson is created with choreography and he should be embarrassed.  His work does not come off well.

One thing I can relate from when I saw this in a theater: some people were crying.  The tears began with the first violent scene in the picture (I am being vague here because there are some horrifying story twists better to be discovered for yourselves, but you’ll know it when you see it).  The tears were constant till the end.  I understood how these people felt.  The film is so heavy and depressing partly because Selma is such a giving person and so cruelly taken advantage of.  You ache for this character, or at least I did, because when the stuff starts flying the audience and she knows she’s doomed.  It is kind of cathartic in a way because we witness a woman accepting her fate and happy to sacrifice for her son.  The credit goes to Lars von Trier for developing such an inescapable story and for telling it with such sensitive grandiosity.  In the finale, when Deneuve’s character runs up the stairs to Selma (again, being vague) we know that she never would have been allowed to do that or stay as long as she does, but in the tradition of Hollywood storytelling implausibility because the norm.  It’s more satisfying that way.

One thing I did not appreciate in the film is the obvious but slight attacks on America.  Von Trier is known for his severe opinions about our country but I took offense to scenes linking a murder with a middleclass family’s home and the American flag.  Arrogant Americans verbally attack Selma because of her communist country roots, and overall the film paints a less than savory image of average American life.  Any country has faults because people are not perfect.  Perhaps America cannot always (or perhaps seldom does) live up to its ideals but this is, all things considered, a great country and for von Trier to attack it without ever stepping foot in it is bothersome.  So too are the numerous Scandinavian actors faking American accents.  The artifice of von Trier’s film shows most with these actors.  The question I ask though is that if an American filmmaker made the same script would I signal out the anti-Americanism?  Probably not.  Because all that von Trier criticizes is at times accurate, an American filmmaker would be let off the hook, but for those who love this country it is still disturbing to watch.

But von Trier is known for his controversy.  Antichrist is proof of that.  What von Trier has that few living filmmakers have is nerve.  This man is an artist with vision, and that he can offend people is to him a great asset.  Dancer in the Dark is a film that many will not like and some will appreciate.  Its mood will appeal only to a few, like me, who can rightly claim to love depressing films.  It is powerful with a terrific lead performance by Björk and a lot of balls.

Dancer in the Dark (2000)

Director: Lars von Trier

Writer: Lars von Trier

Stars: Björk, Catherine Deneuve and David Morse

Denmark

In English

Runtime: 141 minutes

Purchase Dancer in the Dark on DVD at Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Dancer-Dark-New-Line-Platinum/dp/B00003CXKS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1300937607&sr=8-1

IMDB link:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0168629/