Lars von Trier, the self-proclaimed "best film director in the world," proves he deserves the title with Melancholia, a sweeping cinematic tale of depression, despair and planetary destruction. Featuring some of the year's subtlest performances and strongest cinematography, von Trier's latest work succeeds on every front. Although the film will surely leave some viewers feeling perplexed and disturbed, it should also spark up conversations about everything from mental illness to the implications of the apocalypse. Melancholia may not provoke the belly laughs or uncontrollable sobbing of an audience favorite, but it will certainly provoke thought and dialogue.
Melancholia poses a challenge for most viewers in part because it refuses to pander to audiences with cheap thrills or obvious humor. In fact, apart from its soaring visuals and its eerie Wagnerian score, virtually every aspect of the film operates with relentless, sometimes frustrating, restraint and subtlety. This subdued quality complicates the movie's seemingly simple premise, which concerns the impending doom of the planet Earth as a smaller planet called Melancholia plunges towards it. While this basic plotline would seem to suggest a Michael Bay or Roland Emmerich project, the story's primary players neglect to even mention the potential catastrophe for the duration of the film's first act.
Von Trier divides the film into two parts, each of which focuses on one of the movie's protagonists. The first act takes place during the wedding night of Justine, played perfectly by Kirsten Dunst. Despite the lovely setting of her wedding reception and the charming sincerity of her new husband, portrayed suitably well by Alexander Skarsgard, severe depression plagues Justine and spoils event after event as the night proceeds. By the end of the evening, every character, especially Justine's sister Claire and her husband, has descended into a pit of unhappiness.
This trend of despair persists as the film's gaze turns to the plight of Charlotte Gainsbourg's Claire and her husband John, portrayed to considerable comedic effect by Kiefer Sutherland. While the movie's setting does not move away from Claire and John's estate, the ominous approach of Melancholia shifts the focus of the characters away from Justine's illness and toward the potential annihilation of the human race. Despite the contained nature of the set, the film maintains a presence, in large part because of the bombastic use of Wagner's music, the universality of the movie's existential questions and the frequent wide shots of the massive manor property set.
Much of Melancholia's grandiose nature arises from its intense intellectual and artistic meditations. Every shot in the film feels significant, and the relative scarcity of dialogue draws attention to every word that a character utters. A small scene of confrontation between Justine and her employer, for instance, manages to present a critical commentary on the capitalist system, despite the fact that the discussion is only a brief exchange. Ultimately, Melancholia amounts to a stunning, albeit cynical, examination of life, death and what makes us human. Justine sums up much of the movie's message when she informs her sister, "Earth is evil. We don't need to grieve for it"
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