Melancholia (2011)

Lars Von Trier is the fucking mack-daddy of misanthropes, especially when it comes to filmmakers. This is an idea he, more or less, admits to in interviews and explores in full depth with the bulk of his movies. Plastered like rancid, gummy flesh across the conceptual walls of his mind is Lars' obsession with the dark impulses of humanity. He seems to find fear and delight equally in all the corruption and stupidity that people have wrought in our time on the Earth. And so his films are all about punishment, consequence and inevitability - I feel he wishes to see humans suffer for their hypocrisy, their ignorance, their malice, and what better way to exercise those demons than through the medium of film?

Von Trier's latest turn, Melancholia, may largely follow suit with the rest of his filmography but this time he puts his deep-seated frustration, fear and humility on the grandest scale possible - the end of the world. Melancholia takes places at a remote golf course/mansion, where two sisters attempt to keep their lives together amidst the impending collision between Earth and a traveling planet. The film is broken up arbitrarily into two parts, one focuses on the younger sister, Justine, and the second focuses on the older sister, Claire. I say it's arbitrary because the story merely continues chronologically and each sister plays an equally important part in the others storyline.

Kirsten Dunst pulls off an excellent performance as the deeply troubled, inconsolable Justine. Yes, you read that sentence right, Kirsten Dunst actually has some chops. It's proof that there are many actors out there (just think of Mark Ruffalo in Zodiac as another example) waiting to unleash themselves but are relegated into generic and listless movie roles for the bulk of their careers. Dunst's Justine is the dour, black heart of the movie. Dunst highlights a mixture of extreme anxiety and desperation during the wedding party sequence, in which Justine is bombarded by the expectations of her family and her employer. In the second part of the film, Justine gradually transforms into a sort of doomsayer sage. She's calm, collected and ready for the end, traits which Claire, who is normally composed and rational, is forced to take shelter in as Melancholia approaches.

Von Trier uses the two sisters as sort of yin-and-yang harbingers of imminent doom. They both know it's coming, but they each deal with it in different ways, at different times. They each interact with Claire's son, Leo, in different ways, as well. At times, you get the sense that Claire and Justine are just one personality trapped in a perpetual somersault of schizophrenic opposites. There's many scenes of Claire coddling and caring for Justine, bathing her, feeding her, but the dynamic changes. In a scene where both sisters are sitting at the table, Claire speaks to Justine with deep uncertainty, saying how it'd be nice to have wine and play music before the end comes. Justine snarls back at her that none of that matters, it's the end. The stability has shifted to Justine, who is seen as a pillar of support when the void is embraced.

It's not to say Von Trier's end of things is all doom and gloom, though. The film is at first a mix of sharp black and yellow contrast, then a dream-cloud of gorgeous light blue and green - haunting colors that permeate the scenes leading to Melancholia's arrival. Music from Wagner's Tristan and Isolde bellows in on sparse occasions, hinting at and eventually heralding the end of days. The film also takes place on a golf course. It's an unlikely setting which has to be the director's ultimate tongue-in-cheek slight at a sport that literally defines the corruption and complacency of the privileged. Perhaps it is the upper class that Von Trier seeks to punish in the film. Maybe Melancholia is an answer to their collective sins.

Even with that idea in mind, I have to admit that Melancholia plays it too close to the chin at times, especially when Justine flat out says the line "The Earth is evil", when Claire asks her why this is all happening. Alright, Lars, thanks. Because that gargantuan cataclysm in space wasn't an obvious enough metaphor. There's also the question of the necessity of the wedding party to the story. It's an interesting sequence of events, but some of the subplots, such as Justine's relationship with her husband, father and mother are never recalled or spoken about after they fade out of the story. It's as if Lars couldn't figure out how to successfully marry the social observations in a world denying it's fate and the eventual solidarity of the apocalypse.

It took me a good two weeks to figure out if I actually liked Melancholia, and I think on the whole I really do like it. There's a specific seepage and gravity that Von Trier tends to achieve with his films, usually making you like (or hate) his work only after a due period of reflection. This happened to me after I watched some of his other films like Europa and The Element of Crime. The best thing I can say about Melancholia is that, in true Lars fashion, it's a movie that doesn't pull any punches. There's nothing to soften the blows and no places to turn for comfort. It's a genuine lightening bolt to the gut, and although it isn't my favorite Von Trier film, I'm glad he made it.

The Future (2011)

There's a high a degree of artificiality running through Miranda July's The Future, that makes the movie almost obnoxious to watch. It's ironic because you'd think a movie that paints an intimate portrait of a couple on the verge of an emotional and existential crisis would be anything but artificial. However, July takes the long way around, turning what could have been a genuine emotional catharsis into a dog and pony show for hipsters. I don't use the term "hipsters" as a vague generality, either. Certain movies, like The Future, are moving in this very specific direction - the way characters talk, the way the movie transitions from scene to scene, the way music is implemented. This kind of understated, enigmatic visage is speaking directly to a range of personas that have been forged in the fires of superficial culture and taste.

That is, ultimately, what a "hipster" amounts to in my experience. Someone who latches on to the surface level of trendy or purposefully obscure philosophical, historical, political and scientific ideas, music, movies, technology, books, language, sex, visual art, fashion, nature, etcetera, in an attempt to create a particular image for themselves, to join an "exclusive" community of the like-minded and to garner a shallow sense of self-expansion. It's not a matter of, "does this interest me?", it's more like, "does this interest me enough that I can use it to appear cultured/intelligent/cynical/compassionate/mysterious/ambitious/forthright?". Yes, that means even you're grandma, who votes democrat every time just because they're vaguely considered the "liberal" party and doesn't really care to conduct a full examination into what the party stands for, is something of a hipster.  

The Future seems to cater to the interests of book hipsters in particular - the kind you'd find in any self-respecting college fiction writing program. It plays out very much like a magical realist short story, written by a junior at said college, with all the speaks-for-itself drama, dips into surrealism and esoteric dialogue that you can stomach. The couple, Sophie and Jason, seem to have a relationship built on breezy minutiae and fanciful extrapolations. They sit in their apartment, speaking about stopping time with their hands and picking out a song that reminds them of their relationship, one that would shake them out of a proposed amnesia. They talk about their mild dissatisfaction with their jobs, they touch on the pervasiveness of the internet in our lives.

These are topics that can be presented in an intriguing fashion without the feeling of put-upon curiosity that July rams down your throat. While obviously a very personal film, the writer/director assumes that her audience is on board for all the theatrics she has to offer. That presumption leads to the artificiality I spoke of before. Like a play by Tennessee Williams, the dialogue and character motivations are so stilted that you end up feeling nothing for them. Several times throughout the film, I was yelling in my brain, "NO ONE TALKS LIKE THIS UNLESS THEY'RE TRYING REAL HARD TO DO SO".

I found Sophie to be a particularly insufferable character, and it wasn't love-hate, trust me. July portrays Sophie as a mousey, impulsive 30-something who ends up cheating on Jason with an older man. She's clearly dissatisfied with their relationship, but it wasn't enough motivation to randomly jump off the deep end and into bed with a total stranger. There's a scene in the film which Sophie highlights the lack of accountability found in certain women. Laying in bed with Jason one night after she has cheated on him, sleep does not come. She is wide awake and eventually Jason wakes, feeling her heart beating faster and faster. He asks her what's wrong and she struggles to answer. She manages to say, "I'm wild", to which Jason says, "that's ok", and she replies, "no, it isn't".

This could have been a very poignant scene, but there is no gravity or sinew attached to it. Movies aren't required to answer deep sociological questions, such as the nature of a cheating heart, in the midst of their drama, but July was clearly implying negativity toward the reckless nature of some women, perhaps even herself. It definitely wasn't a neutral observation. The problem is that she never provides any results of her musings. She just leaves it at, "women do things that don't necessarily make sense and come to regret it anyway". And I just thought, fuck that. You have the opportunity to change minds or provide some insight to a certain degree and you elect to just shrug your shoulders and pull a shit-eater smile?

That's fundamentally what's wrong with The Future, it doesn't really say anything while attempting to make you feel a whole lot. Essentially, a movie hipsters can be proud to say they watched, enjoyed and thought was quietly profound. Jon Brion's calming ambient guitar score only bolsters the idea that the movie was ready-made for that guy or girl you always see wearing flannel shirts, and they won't shut the fuck up about Bon Iver or Wilco, and they're too proud about riding their bike around, and they make sure all their coffee is Fair Trade. It's a shame, though, because in the past, Miranda July turned her idiosyncrasies into enjoyable little trinkets with Me and You and Everyone We Know. There seems to be a fine line between fashion statement and storytelling, and July must be walking it constantly.