Lars von Trier is no stranger to the grotesque. His 2009 film Antichrist, an antidote to his debilitating period of depression, featured talking animals, the self-mutilation of body parts you’d rather not know, and, quite unexpectedly, gorgeous cinematography. In Melancholia, the director introduces a lavish wedding party-gone-wrong in the context of the imminent destruction of the earth in his typically provocative fashion. Yet to lead actress Kirsten Dunst’s credit, the film is able to explore unsettling themes without gratuitous gore in its presentation of picturesque, slow-motion imagery, Wagnerian opera, and genuinely erratic characters.
The film is set in an extravagant mansion on the wedding night of Justine (Dunst), a bi-polar beauty, and Michael (Alexander Skarsgard), a feeble-minded hunk who, not surprisingly, has trouble figuring out what makes Justine tick. As the burdensome wedding drama plays out, the selfish, mentally deranged Justine throws tantrums, screws a stranger, and urinates on the mansion’s golf course—all with her wedding dress on. Clearly, there’s something wrong with this woman.
The wedding acts as a sort of introduction to the film’s second half, a grim countdown to Earth’s collision with Melancholia, a much larger planet that—as Justine’s brother-in-law John (Kiefer Sutherland) observes with his telescope—is inching its way towards our planet. Meanwhile, Justine’s sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) takes the still mentally ill bride to live with John and their son in the mansion.
As this cast of characters waits for the coming of Melancholia, they react quite differently. John, who displays a vast knowledge of astronomy, is confident Melancholia will pass by harmlessly, Justine welcomes Earth’s destruction with her miserable outlook on life, and Claire is torn—hopeful at times, yet doubtful at her core.
While Justine has the marks of von Trier’s morbid take on humanity, Claire balances out this negativity, if for no reason other than to shelter her young son from the terror of the situation. But as Claire’s hope fades and anxiety sets in, the film begins a ride toward a climax that is as terrifying as it is stunning.
Some of the slow-motion images von Trier conjures seem so anachronistic or self-indulgent that it’s almost as if he thought them up and said “put them in the movie” without consideration of the plot. But then there’s a shot of Dunst’s naked, moonlit body lying next to a mossy river—a beautiful rendition of Justine’s surrender to nature. Does it sound like bullshit pretending to be art? Well, it might be, but it looks so damn good that going over-the-top feels like the right thing to do. And let’s face it: who wouldn’t lie naked in the moonlight in the face of the apocalypse?
Gainsbourg, Dunst, and Sutherland handle their parts with a careful balance of pathos and hard-edged drama, and Dunst deservedly won the Best Actress Award at Cannes for her role. The film only really lags at the start, where the large wedding ceremony is sprinkled with too many familiar faces—Stellan Skarsgard, John Hurt, and Udo Kier—that their appearances feel more like cameos than supporting roles.
Lars von Trier clearly has some issues, but the way he’s able to project his disturbing mind onto the big screen makes Melancholia truly unique in the supposedly overdone genre of apocalyptic movies. If you’re thinking twice about seeing pretentious art house films, Melancholia will, at the very least, keep you entertained. And if you have a crush on Mary Jane from the Spiderman series, you may even find the film a little titillating too.
