There are some crossroads where Melancholia and Antichrist meet. One of them is the beginning. Both films contain long and beautifully crafted opening scenes depicting the idea of downfall. In Antichrist there is “The Fall of Man” and in Melancholia there is a planet hitting Earth. In both films there are two environments: one that is more populated or plain familiar and another one that is isolated and sometimes menacing. But whereas Antichrist is disturbing and violent, Melancholia is quiet and cold. And it is this coldness that worked, in my opinion, in the film’s f(l)avor.

Truth being told, von Trier never really tried to be convenient or bothered to give his audience hope or true relief. However, one may argue that Dancer in the Dark or Dogville are actually quite convenient. Well, yes and no. They may be convenient by means of using the same strategy of “stomach punches”, but if you leave aside their “less-obvious meanings” (which also may turn out to be “less-possible” and definitely “less-interesting” since obviously they are underdeveloped), they are not that convenient either.

Returning to Melancholia vs. Antichrist, I said that one of the differences of the former is the film’s coldness. Most films that deal with the same or a similar subject of matter have the tendency of stuffing the material either with useless and annoying love-stories or with excessive (pseudo-?)philosophical content. But if/when something like this really happens, I doubt that the people will have time or find any use for such things. Here, there is a delicious anti-symmetry between the end as “playground” (love-stories, puppies and philosophies) and “the playground” as the end. Because the end in Melancholia is not really a theme, but a simple event. There are no deeper truths to be shared verbally; there are sad goodbyes, no hope and no real interest regarding it. The focus is maintained on what lies beneath.

There is another director I can think of who might have chosen the same path: Ingmar Bergman. Actually, one may find a strong bergmanian nuance throughout the whole picture. Coldness aside, one could notice it in the way the characters interact with one another. There is that type of bitterness and disgust which is also present in many of Bergman‘s films. They may seem to be more cheerful and colourful, but, beyond that, they are empty and alien. In both cases, there is something familiar which is torn apart, mask by mask. The difference is that Bergman‘s films are more talkative and somewhat more academic, while Melancholia isn’t. The dialogues here are pretty common, even the ones which are to depict revolt or anger. Because Melancholia is not about revolt or anger, but about acceptance. Justine doesn’t try to create feeble illusions; seeing the end is near, she decides to face it. And, again, there are the mirrors of Antichrist: one world mirroring the other.

Like in Antichrist, the first “world” (layer) handles the immediate, common events/aspects and the second, the underlining ones. The immediate aspects in this case revolve around the wedding and Justine’s apparent “depression”. And since I have mentioned something about “the end” as playground and the playground as “the end”, Justine’s wedding illustrates the second one. Beyond appearances, there is nothing about this event even remotely related to what we know about weddings. On the one hand, it is joyless and unpleasant from one end to another. On the other hand, it doesn’t bind together two people. It seems to be doing the latter but only on a surface, formal level. It is nothing more than a cleansing process. Justine is not depressed, but she realizes the futility of such a communion. Also, there is an interesting contrast about the two intimate scenes: with the husband and with her future work colleague. The first is involving, but ends with her refusal and the second one is spontaneous and cold, almost like leaving something behind, something you won’t really need anymore. In the first case, due to the involvement, the act itself cannot take place, letting it take place would be a lie, because Justine would have to submit to someone feeding him the idea that they belong together. It is an act of false imprisonment. The second one worked, because it is an act of relief, underneath what is seen, there is nothing. It looks gratuitous because there are no other intentions and somehow it reflects both the environment and her reactions to that environment. Expensive weddings cannot replace authentic feelings.

Many people connect Justine’s actions from the wedding to what happens after. I believe otherwise: I believe that those actions had nothing to do with any further events, that she came to a point in which she realized that every of those little things people feed her are not of any help or truth. Once you know this, once you have seen it, you can’t un-see it or act like you did not know it.

There is another interesting aspect: throughout the years, many critics/movie-goers have accused Lars von Trier‘s movies of being misogynistic. Amusingly, however, in most of his films, it is the female characters that have the courage to stand up for what they believe in or to be true to themselves. Have you ever seen a notable von Trier film since Breaking the Waves (except Idioterne, which I think is anything but notable) in which a male character stands out? Cause I, for one, haven’t.

Both Melancholia and Antichrist are clear examples of what I said earlier: the male characters are artificial, cowardly. There is nothing authentic in any of them. In Antichrist He tries to “help” her in the most uninspired and academic way possible and in Melancholia, Claire’s husband uses a similar approach to console his wife but ends up committing suicide.

Returning to the anti-symmetries, in the second half there is “the end” as playground. And there is not much to be said here that wasn’t already covered. We learn that Justine “knows things”. Again, neither von Trier, nor Justine try to be too convincing. Other directors might have chosen otherwise. There is a tendency of believing that, when you put something like this into the mix, you have to back it up somehow, in this case maybe to turn the Justine’s character into some sort of psychic or anything else related, but that would have been just like organizing a rich wedding when you don’t have who to really wed. Yes, we have seen this work in movies and we indulge in believing that this happens in reality as well. But it never does. When someone holds such a gift and is aware of it, one doesn’t bother to convince others about it: simply trying would mean missing the whole point and missing the whole point means that you are not really that aware of that gift.

There is also another layer in the film, one consisting on the images. They are not random, but are closely related to what was previously said, or the other way around.

This movie doesn’t try to be preachy, just like Antichrist did not try to shock (although, admittedly, there were some gratuitous sequences the movies would have worked better without, at least in my opinion) and just like Justine doesn’t try to explain her actions too much, nor does she try to parade over who she is, von Trier never makes a clear attempt to “sell” his films or to really react over the detractors’ criticisms.

…and so the ship sails on…

There are some crossroads where Melancholia and Antichrist meet. One of them is the beginning. Both films contain long and beautifully crafted opening scenes depicting the idea of downfall. In Antichrist there is “The Fall of Man” and in Melancholia there is a planet hitting Earth. In both films there are two environments: one that is more populated or plain familiar and another one that is isolated and sometimes menacing. But whereas Antichrist is disturbing and violent, Melancholia is quiet and cold. And it is this coldness that worked, in my opinion, in the film’s f(l)avor.

Truth being told, von Trier never really tried to be convenient or bothered to give his audience hope or true relief. However, one may argue that Dancer in the Dark or Dogville are actually quite convenient. Well, yes and no. They may be convenient by means of using the same strategy of “stomach punches”, but if you leave aside their “less-obvious meanings” (which also may turn out to be “less-possible” and definitely “less-interesting” since obviously they are underdeveloped), they are not that convenient either.

Returning to Melancholia vs. Antichrist, I said that one of the differences of the former is the film’s coldness. Most films that deal with the same or a similar subject of matter have the tendency of stuffing the material either with useless and annoying love-stories or with excessive (pseudo-?)philosophical content. But if/when something like this really happens, I doubt that the people will have time or find any use for such things. Here, there is a delicious anti-symmetry between the end as “playground” (love-stories, puppies and philosophies) and “the playground” as the end. Because the end in Melancholia is not really a theme, but a simple event. There are no deeper truths to be shared verbally; there are sad goodbyes, no hope and no real interest regarding it. The focus is maintained on what lies beneath.

There is another director I can think of who might have chosen the same path: Ingmar Bergman. Actually, one may find a strong bergmanian nuance throughout the whole picture. Coldness aside, one could notice it in the way the characters interact with one another. There is that type of bitterness and disgust which is also present in many of Bergman‘s films. They may seem to be more cheerful and colourful, but, beyond that, they are empty and alien. In both cases, there is something familiar which is torn apart, mask by mask. The difference is that Bergman‘s films are more talkative and somewhat more academic, while Melancholia isn’t. The dialogues here are pretty common, even the ones which are to depict revolt or anger. Because Melancholia is not about revolt or anger, but about acceptance. Justine doesn’t try to create feeble illusions; seeing the end is near, she decides to face it. And, again, there are the mirrors of Antichrist: one world mirroring the other.

Like in Antichrist, the first “world” (layer) handles the immediate, common events/aspects and the second, the underlining ones. The immediate aspects in this case revolve around the wedding and Justine’s apparent “depression”. And since I have mentioned something about “the end” as playground and the playground as “the end”, Justine’s wedding illustrates the second one. Beyond appearances, there is nothing about this event even remotely related to what we know about weddings. On the one hand, it is joyless and unpleasant from one end to another. On the other hand, it doesn’t bind together two people. It seems to be doing the latter but only on a surface, formal level. It is nothing more than a cleansing process. Justine is not depressed, but she realizes the futility of such a communion. Also, there is an interesting contrast about the two intimate scenes: with the husband and with her future work colleague. The first is involving, but ends with her refusal and the second one is spontaneous and cold, almost like leaving something behind, something you won’t really need anymore. In the first case, due to the involvement, the act itself cannot take place, letting it take place would be a lie, because Justine would have to submit to someone feeding him the idea that they belong together. It is an act of false imprisonment. The second one worked, because it is an act of relief, underneath what is seen, there is nothing. It looks gratuitous because there are no other intentions and somehow it reflects both the environment and her reactions to that environment. Expensive weddings cannot replace authentic feelings.

Many people connect Justine’s actions from the wedding to what happens after. I believe otherwise: I believe that those actions had nothing to do with any further events, that she came to a point in which she realized that every of those little things people feed her are not of any help or truth. Once you know this, once you have seen it, you can’t un-see it or act like you did not know it.

There is another interesting aspect: throughout the years, many critics/movie-goers have accused Lars von Trier‘s movies of being misogynistic. Amusingly, however, in most of his films, it is the female characters that have the courage to stand up for what they believe in or to be true to themselves. Have you ever seen a notable von Trier film since Breaking the Waves (except Idioterne, which I think is anything but notable) in which a male character stands out? Cause I, for one, haven’t.

Both Melancholia and Antichrist are clear examples of what I said earlier: the male characters are artificial, cowardly. There is nothing authentic in any of them. In Antichrist He tries to “help” her in the most uninspired and academic way possible and in Melancholia, Claire’s husband uses a similar approach to console his wife but ends up committing suicide.

Returning to the anti-symmetries, in the second half there is “the end” as playground. And there is not much to be said here that wasn’t already covered. We learn that Justine “knows things”. Again, neither von Trier, nor Justine try to be too convincing. Other directors might have chosen otherwise. There is a tendency of believing that, when you put something like this into the mix, you have to back it up somehow, in this case maybe to turn the Justine’s character into some sort of psychic or anything else related, but that would have been just like organizing a rich wedding when you don’t have who to really wed. Yes, we have seen this work in movies and we indulge in believing that this happens in reality as well. But it never does. When someone holds such a gift and is aware of it, one doesn’t bother to convince others about it: simply trying would mean missing the whole point and missing the whole point means that you are not really that aware of that gift.

There is also another layer in the film, one consisting on the images. They are not random, but are closely related to what was previously said, or the other way around.

This movie doesn’t try to be preachy, just like Antichrist did not try to shock (although, admittedly, there were some gratuitous sequences the movies would have worked better without, at least in my opinion) and just like Justine doesn’t try to explain her actions too much, nor does she try to parade over who she is, von Trier never makes a clear attempt to “sell” his films or to really react over the detractors’ criticisms.

…and so the ship sails on…