FILM

LIFTING THE VEIL

Lars von Trier's Depression Trilogy

By Rebekah Smith

The lead sad person

I do not know if there is ever a good or right time to watch Lars von Trier’s films. Often criticized as horrific, sadistic, and misogynist, the Danish director’s work does not make for a pleasant viewing experience. With raw, unflinching depictions of sex and violence – genital mutilation seems to be an interest - the Danish director’s films are not suggested for the light hearted or easily offended. Von Trier’s most recent work, Antichrist (2009), Melancholia (2011), and Nymphomaniac Volumes I. & II., typically dubbed “the Depression Trilogy”, were condemned not only for supposed gratuitous imagery, but for the subject matter itself.

“It’s [Antichrist] pretty damning about the whole of human nature,” wrote reviewers, Jane and Louise Wilson in The Guardian. “This is what makes many of von Trier’s films, and, in particular, “Melancholia,” so ugly: the sense that the end of human life would be aesthetically glorious—visually splendid and sonically romantic,” bemoaned Anthony Lane in a New Yorker review. Somehow, it appears that these prominent critics forgot two principal details before they watched von Trier’s latest. These films are called “the Depression Trilogy.” One can expect to feel sad after watching them. The second, perhaps even more important consideration is that von Trier suffered for many years from depression.

A philosopher of depression

Andrew Solomon, author of The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, says this about depression: “You don't think in depression that you've put on a gray veil and are seeing the world through the haze of a bad mood. You think that the veil has been taken away, the veil of happiness, and that now you're seeing truly.”

Depressed people are not searching for things to be upset about. The world already provides plenty of tragedies and injustices to mourn. It is a part of reality that we know to be true. Why else would we tell each other to “look on the bright side?” If depression was actually just being “really, really sad” the cure would be easy. “Disillusionment” is a more accurate definition. Depression breaks the spell of optimism. Every evil and unfortunate aspect of reality becomes heightened to point where one cannot unsee it.

With the endless options of editing, camera framing, makeup and costume, and color grading, film is the biggest liar in the realm of art. Its earliest pioneers were vaudevillians and magicians. Early in his career, von Trier attempted to remove the illusion of film with on-location production shoots, handheld camera work, and 35mm film. He has long since abandoned the rules and goals of Dogme 95 filmmaking, opting instead to zero in on depression, an experience that transcends the smoke and mirrors. Von Trier sees the world through a lens of depression and frames his vision in such a fashion. Dark themes, and twisted performances are staples in his films. The Depression Trilogy is a reflection of von Trier’s world-view. When we watch von Trier’s films, we are experiencing the disorientation, anxiety, and dread that Solomon claims is the hallmark of the disease.

What makes depression so unsettling is its overwhelming accuracy. The world can be a horrifying, cruel place. “I understood that everything that used to be beautiful about Eden was perhaps hideous,” says ‘She’ (played by frequent von Trier collaborator, Charlotte Gainsbourg), the main character of Antichrist. “Now I could hear what I couldn’t hear before. The cry of all things that are to die.” It is important to note that when ‘She’ mentions this, it is not with heavy heart, but rather with matter-of-fact practicality.

Seeming fun on the set of the depression trilogy

The depressed characters in von Trier’s Depression Trilogy express similar bleak, yet clear minded insights that speak volumes about the kind of world we live in. Depression is a difficult and ugly way of experiencing the world, but von Trier and his films claim that it can offer a sense of clarity that can become one’s deliverance. The depressed person does not need rose-colored glasses to get better. When dealing with a harsh, pessimistic perspective of the world, an equally harsh, unflinching analysis is necessary. Such knowledge of one’s depression becomes the tool to combat it.

Antichrist, Melancholia, and Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II. start off in three very different places Melancholia opens on giggling newlyweds in the back of a limousine. Antichrist begins with a couple as well; ‘He’ and ‘She’ follow a hearse carrying their dead son. In Nymphomaniac Vol. I, Seligman and Jo share a cup of tea as she recounts the memory of her first orgasm. What unites the three films are its over-stylized beginning scenes. The films each feature a glossy prologue shot in slow motion.

Acts of kindness?

Strangely enough, the subject matter of the prologues are darkly unsettling. Antichrist’s prologue features the couple’s child falling out of a window. We witness the destruction of both the Earth and Justine’s emotional stability in Melancholia. The Prologue of Nymphomaniac Vol. I show Joe’s crumpled body laying in a dimly-lit alleyway. The glamorization of the morbid imagery makes the prologues all the more disturbing. Now we cannot help, but notice it. Von Trier’s beautification of a cruel world is jarring, but it holds our attention, forcing us to confront the bitter reality.

The child’s death in Antichrist, Justine’s depression in Melancholia, and Jo’s beating in Nymphomaniac Vol I. are so painful that it is in conflict with the gorgeous aesthetic. The three films subsequently shift to von Trier’s Dogme 95 style - shaky, handheld camera, natural lighting, and a subdued color palette. The previous lens, though beautiful, is rendered useless because it cannot convey the tragedy of its subject and content. Such cinematic artifice is not useful to von Trier’s storytelling, so he removes the high contrast, the hyper realistic cinematography, and the visual effect. He continues this practice of removal and deconstruction in film genre and archetype.

At first glance, Antichrist, Melancholia, and Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II. are a cabin-in-the woods horror movie, a disaster/science fiction film, and porno flick, respectively. They each include the regular motifs of their specific genres. Antichrist features a dark forest, strange bumps in the night, creepy animals, and, of course, plenty of blood. Similarly, Nymphomaniac Vol. & II. is an endless stream of sex. Melancholia, perhaps, is the only outlier; the planet is not mentioned until the end of film’s first half. As each film unravels, von Trier’s erodes its particular genre.

Antichrist cuts back and forth between its raw, documentary style to glossy hyper realism - it has the feeling of high fashion photography. Acorns fall in hypnotizingly, slow motion. A half-eaten fox tells ‘He’ that “Chaos Reigns.” The disembodied arms make up the roots of the tree where to have sex. None of these vignettes are explained. Is ‘He’ going insane? Did ‘She’ become a witch, the very subject of her thesis? Are these all dreams or hallucinations? Did any of these events actually happen? Antichrist seems to have loftier goals than to give a conclusive ending like most horror films.

Such happiness for such sadness

Melancholia is revealed to be more of a family drama than a science fiction film, choosing to focus more on Justine and Claire’s relationship than the incoming planet. After the bombastic prologue, the planet is not seen until nearly an hour into the film. In its absence, we follow Justine’s wedding night, which begins with her being late to her own reception. The night is further complicated with a father’s drunken antics, her overbearing boss, who hounds her for a tagline, and her mother’s icy, cynical wedding toast: “Enjoy it while it lasts,” she remarks. The night ends with her husband leaving her. Antares, a familiar constellation, is the next to suddenly disappear, harkening the arrival of Melancholia.

Joe’s sexual escapades in Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II are punctuated with philosophical conversations, as well as, moments of incredible sadness and violence. The death of Joe’s father’s numbs Joe into depression, causing her lose her sexual drive by the end of Nymphomaniac Vol. I. The goal of Joe shifts from the assertion of power to the reclamation of it. Nymphomaniac Vol. II. finds Joe going to coarse measures to regain her sexual drive, including frequent visits a sadist named K. Her final session with K is particularly brutal. We witness a cat o'nine tail slash Joe’s body into raw, bloodied wounds. Any semblance of pleasure we previously found in the film is subsequently ripped to shreds.

The central characters also sabotage any assumptions we may have held prior to viewing von Trier’s films. ‘She’, ‘Justine’, and ‘Joe’ - a mother, a bride, and a victim - are all initially presented as innocents. In Antichrist’s Prologue, ‘She’ is immaculate in the glossy black and white cinematography. Similarly, Justine is lit with golden, warm light. She glows as she floats from room to room in her light, feathery gown. In the beginning of Nymphomaniac Vol. I, the battered Joe is as sympathetic as a wounded kitten.

The beauty of black and white

For a time, the female leads are willing to play their assigned roles. They speak in soft, quiet voices. They nod along as other people tell them how they should feel or act. ‘She’ grieves dutifully for her son. Justine smiles and dances at her wedding. Joe’s “sins” are easily dismissed by Seligman. Towards the halfway-mark, the facade begins to slip. ‘He’ discovers ‘She’ has been deliberately hurting their son, shoving the opposite shoes on the crying child’s feet. Justine drifts away from the party to urinate out on the golf course, insult her employer, and have sex with a random, young intern. Joe’s actions become more and more divisive. She abandons her family, performs an abortion on herself, and grooms an underaged sexual protege named P.

By the climax of each film, the character’s true self is revealed. A flashback shows ‘She’ passively watching her child fall out the window. Justine calmly welcomes Melancholia’s collision with Earth. Upon learning of their affair, Joe attempts to kill Jerome and P. Von Trier’s systematic deconstruction of genre and character archetypes mimics the effect of depression. He erases away the semblance of innocence and goodness to unveil an unsettling, yet honest depiction of the world.

Depression takes on a very physical presence in von Trier’s films, typically in the form of nature. In Antichrist, Eden serves as an extension of ‘She’s’ mental illness. ‘She’s’ connection with Eden is cemented in the image of her effortlessly melting into Eden’s green grass. It is one of her husband’s few therapeutic attempts that work, perhaps a little too well. As her depression intensifies, so does the environment. Lichen grows on ‘He’s’ hand. Oak trees pelt the couple’s cabin with acorns. Heavy rain repeatedly forces ‘He’ to retreat indoors. Moments of serene wilderness are interrupted with half-eaten foxes and dying chicks. ‘She’ screams out in anguish and hail begins to fall. In the film’s third chapter, the landscape is cloaked with a thick fog that disorients ‘He.’ Unlike her husband, ‘She’ is able to transverse the fog fairly easily. This is not an isolated incident. Throughout the film, ‘She’ is able to quickly locate destinations, like the cabin and the foxhole, while ‘He’ is left behind, confused and lost. She may have been afraid of Eden, but she knows the land.

Ask where you are

In Melancholia, Von Trier depicts depression once again as a external, natural force. In the film’s opening montage, woody vines wrap around newly wed Justine’s legs and water weighs her down. However, Justine’s most meaningful relationship is with the rogue planet, Melancholia. Like Melancholia, Justine knows what it is like to wander listlessly within a black empty void. She finds herself relating more to the fast-approaching planet than Claire and her nephew, Leo. As Melancholia approaches, the atmosphere becomes thin, causing difficult breathing and nausea in Claire and Leo. The electricity goes out in the house, as well, casting the world into darkness. Like Eden, Melancholia causes heavy and rain hail to fall on the characters. And before its grand collision with Earth, Melancholia sends huge, engulfing winds that shake the earth.

Depression is shown to be a formidable force in Melancholia. While Kirsten Dunst’s performance as Justine is strong, there is still a large percentage of viewers that have never known the immense weight of depression. The image of Dunst being unable to step into the bathtub, though superbly acted, is still not enough to fully convey Justine’s pain. Melancholia gives a face to what Justine is experiencing. Von Trier paints a riveting visual metaphor for the emotional toll of depression with the planet’s colossal size and impact.

With Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II, von Trier breaks away from nature metaphors, graduating to the slimy underside of the urban life. Nymphomaniac Vol. I features a young Joe gallivanting through quaint European villages and city streets brightened by a stream of lights. When Joe becomes depressed, her world literally darkens. Most of Nymphomaniac Vol. II takes place during the night. Joe skulks in the shadows as she travels to her various sexual trysts. Joe’s surroundings drastically transitions from airy, pastel-colored apartments and office buildings to cheap motels and abandoned buildings all lit with blinking fluorescent lights. The physical depiction of depression is so especially harrowing because, as opposed to Eden and the planet, Melancholia, the crime-ridden landscape in Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II. is real. Even more distressing than the seedy underground world is the older’s Joe vacant apartment, ridden of furniture and sense of home.

They have an understanding

As the critics have mentioned, Antichrist, Melancholia, and Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II are not happy films. They delve into the furthest depths of depression, yet they offer unexpected clarity, which then becomes a type of strength. I would argue that this makes them strong, both aesthetically, philosophically, and morally. The more ‘She’ accepts the hostility of nature, the calmer she becomes. ‘She’ sleeps calmly at night, while ‘He’ is haunted by nightmarish visions. By Chapter Three of Antichrist, the power play shifts.

‘She’ attacks ‘He,’ hemorrhaging his penis and handicapping him with a grindstone. ‘He’ find himself on the run from his wife and former patient. ‘He’ stumbles through the foggy, unfamiliar landscape, inhibited by a heavy weight. ‘She’, too, was once burdened by the land, believing it to be on fire. The second half of Antichrist shows ‘She’ traversing Eden in strides and even acquiring help from its deformed creatures. After taking shelter in the foxhole, ‘He’ is ousted by a cawing raven, who resurrects itself when ‘He’ clubs it to death. Similarly, towards the end of the film, the deer, fox, and raven appear in the cabin after hearing ‘She’s’ cries of pain. It is the sight of the three animals that ultimately give ‘He’ the saving revelation of where to uncover the missing tool box, which he uses to free himself.

Like ‘She’, Justine becomes increasingly calmer as she accepts the true state of the world. Upon hearing about Melancholia’s approaching collision with Earth, Justine’s appetite and mood improves. Similar to ‘She’, Justine has a moment of sincere bodily connection with nature; rather than melting into the green, Justine bathes naked in Melancholia’s midnight glow. Unlike Claire and Leo, Justine is unaffected by the atmospheric changes that Melancholia causes. After Claire and Leo attempt to flee the estate, they return only to find Justine sitting, untouched by the rain. Prior to Melancholia’s arrival, depression leaves Justine nearly catatonic. In the second half of the film, Justine is caring for Claire, who is now paralyzed with fear.

The Depressed get calm

While depicting images of Justine’s depression, the prologue of Melancholia also illustrates moments of Justine’s power. In one scene, her outstretched fingers sparks with electric energy. In another, she stares through the screen, raising her arms in a God-like pose, as a golden halo surrounds her. The mystical power exhibited in the film’s prologue directly translates to Justine’s otherworldly knowledge of the world. With no background in science or mathematics, von Trier paints Justine as knowing everything - from the number of beans in a glass bottle to the solitary existence of human life in the universe.

Rather than a place or planet, experience gives Joe power in Nymphomaniac Vol. II. After her bout of depression, Joe accepts the unappealing aspects of the world. Joe’s unapologetic acknowledgement of a disturbed world makes her more apt to overcome tragedies others may find difficult to accept. Throughout Nymphomaniac Vol. II, she has an abortion, becomes unemployed, and is brutally assaulted, handling each with measured, almost passive, practicality. Joe does not mourn bitterly, like ‘She’, or lay motionlessly in beds or bathtubs, like Justine. Joe’s power comes in action. Her unapologetic acknowledgement of a disturbed world does not only make her more apt to overcome tragedy, but keen to the tragedies of others, as well. During her brief stint in the crime underworld, Joe successfully roots out the darkest desires and secrets of her indebted clients, largely because she can assume the worst in people.

Through the acceptance of depression, the characters in von Trier’s films gain a true, unfiltered perspective of the world. This knowledge is power, but it has its limits. Solomon explains:

[Depressed] People will say, “No one loves me.” And you say, “I love you, your wife loves you, your mother loves you.” You can answer that one pretty readily, at least for most people. People who are depressed will also say, “No matter what we do, we're all just going to die in the end.” Or they'll say, “There can be no true communion between two human beings. Each of us is trapped in his own body.” To which you have to say, “That's true, but I think we should focus right now on what to have for breakfast.”

With the Depression Trilogy, von Trier has removed the illusory veil, giving us clarity to the furthermost extent. But as we stand on the precipice of full realization, we are left with more questions, the chief one being, “What next?” How do we function in a world that is relentlessly cruel? How do we achieve anything when so many factors of our lives are ultimately out of our control? So how does we find the motivation to create once we know the blatant pointlessness and artifice of it all?

Can the depressed control nature?

Strangely enough, von Trier reverts back to fantasy. Melancholia ends with Justine building a magic cave for her nephew, which she uses to reassure him of their safety. Rather than give an simple explanation of her assault, Joe chooses to tell her story as a long, unfolding epic, complete with deviations into music, religion, literature, and fishing. Von Trier wrote Antichrist in his bed during one of his worst depressive episodes. These imaginative indulgences seem contradictory until one considers that von Trier is a contradictory filmmaker and person.

Reviewing his directorial efforts, we see him repeatedly stray from his Dogme 95 standards. He breaks his own genre; but, one can only break the rules if he knows the game. Von Trier’s personal understanding of depression gave him the language he needed to talk about it. When depression’s enigmatic veil is lifted, the disease is no longer obscured. We become like ‘She’ in Eden or Justine in Melancholia’s shadow. In the process of comprehending depression, we have learned how to transcend it. With his films, von Trier excavates depression’s abyssal depths, putting to screen a state of being that has yet to be fully researched, studied, and acknowledged without stigma. Initially created as a means of artistic therapy, von Trier’s Depression Trilogy has become a sort of medicine for a larger society.

©Rebekah Smith and the CCA Arts Review