What Brett Watched

Melancholia (2011)

Depression is a destructive rogue planet; an unstoppable force to the initiated, and Melancholia, written and directed by Lars Von Trier, thoughtfully illustrates the weight it bears with artistic strokes and a deeply personal touch. Superb acting and powerful, atmospheric imagery highlight Von Trier’s apocalyptic dive into the mystery and reality of depression.

Melancholia begins with a wedding that works as a perversion of the Shakespearean comedy, foreshadowing destruction, as the event slowly deteriorates. We are introduced to sisters, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Claire and her husband John, (Kiefer Sutherland) have organized and funded Justine’s wedding, held at their castle on an 18-hole golf course. As the night goes on, Justine’s depression worsens, and she sabotages her career and her marriage. Soon after the wedding, a rogue planet, Melancholia, appears in the sky and threatens Earth with annihilation.

The film is separated into two parts, each focusing on one of the sisters. Von Trier gives us two portraits of contrasting behaviors in the face of a destructive force. In part one, Justine is feigning happiness at her wedding, trying in vain to play the part of the gracious bride. The ostentatious wedding, held on the cosmically insignificant setting of an 18-hole golf course, is contrasted with Justine’s creeping depression. The event is a pretense, as everyone is tip-toeing around Justine’s depression, knowing it will eventually rear it’s ugly head. Von Trier makes the event uncomfortable with manic, flittering shots, and quick cuts. Justine and Claire’s mother Gaby (Charlotte Rampling) and father Dexter (John Hurt) serve as a genetic reminder of Justine’s burden, both doing their part to derail the wedding. Rampling and Hurt play off of each other well, and both actors savor their limited screen time.

Von Trier wrote Melancholia during his own battle with depression and it is very apparent throughout, with Justine’s character mirroring the director himself. Justine describes her feelings, “I’m trudging through this gray, wooly yarn, it’s clinging to my legs, it’s really heavy to drag along.” We get a sense that failure is the expectation at this wedding, and that the wedding traditions, rituals, and happily ever after are the unspoken farce. Claire tries to uphold this charade, staying positive throughout while Justine is determined to fulfill the expectation of failure, which to her is as certain as depression, and when her fiance Michael (Alexander Skarsgard) leaves the wedding, saying “This could have been a lot different,” Justine answers “What did you expect?” The outcome of this wedding is never in doubt, it is just disguised with pretense and ritual, just like Melancholia which is hiding behind the sun before it is revealed. Justine symbolically corrupts the idea of happiness by urinating on the golf course and later having sex with an acquaintance on it.

In Part two, the focus shifts to the rogue planet Melancholia and we learn more about Claire, who becomes increasingly anxious about the planet’s approach. There is role reversal for the sisters, as Justine is comfortable with the certainty of Melancholia’s approach, much to the detriment of Claire. Justine welcomes Melancholia’s promised destruction, basks nude in the planet’s glow, and claims to “know” things, commenting on the insignificance of human life, while Claire is so uncomfortable and frightened that she conjures a suicide plan for herself and her family. Von Trier juxtaposes these behaviors to comment on the existential dread that depression engenders. The images of Melancholia are gorgeous, and compliment the well-lit, high-resolution photography of the rest of the film. Von Trier is not subtle in any way about the film’s theme, or what Melancholia represents, and the photography and tableau images are quite apparent to the audience.

The acting stands out here, with Kirsten Dunst leading the way. Dunst is at her very best here, balancing what is essentially two personalities. At first Dunst’s Justine is quietly troubled and subdued; a powder-keg waiting to explode. Dunst reveals some serious bite and ultimately adopts a fatalistic nonchalance in the face of annihilation. Dunst is effective at demonstrating depressive swings, which I’d imagine is difficult for an actor to do genuinely. Gainsbourg also evolves her character throughout the film, in the opposite direction of Dunst. Gainsbourg’s Claire is at first grounded and secure, but becomes increasingly insecure and unraveled as Melancholia approaches, and Gainsbourg walks this balancing act with fluidity.

Von Trier uses music from Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde throughout Melancholia, which adds an element of magnificence and drama to his film. The operatic musical theme works perfectly, especially with the shots of approaching Melancholia, to instill an artistic painting-like feel to the film, like we’re watching an artistic vision of destruction manifest with each frame.

By the time the film ends, and Melancholia’s promise of destruction is fulfilled, it is apparent that this is deeply personal for Von Trier, and his familiarity with the subject shows. The result is a well acted and beautifully composed portrait about depression and destruction, proving that one needs not always be so subtle when communicating something so deeply complicated.