Review of Dogville (2003) by Nikolai E — 23 Aug 2009

There's two big issues here, and I'll take them one at a time. As to the acutely peculiar staging of the film, while comparisons to live performance immediately spring to mind upon first glance, I feel the intent was not quite as straightforward as filming a drama in the manner of minimalist theater. There's a criticism of film or TV in general that comes up from time to time, heard mostly from people who prefer books to movies, or radio to television, that amounts to how visual media provide no fodder to the imagination, since everything is plainly laid out and no details are left for the mind of the audience to fill in. Certainly, there are many ways a conventional film can leave room for the imagination to work, but in general I would agree that encouraging an audience to build their own coherent world for the characters to perform in has always been much easier in a novel or play than in a motion picture. I think this challenge is what Von Trier sought to answer, structuring his film like a novel with continuous narration giving us access to the inner life of any character. The buildings and terrain are given no more description than one might find in print, and yet I believe that by the end of the film, each member of the audience knows precisely what the town and surrounding terrain looks like in great detail, even if that image is different than the one in the mind of the person sitting next to them. But I can talk about it all day long and it still comes down to whether or not the hyper-stylization stops being distracting and starts to just work. Speaking only for myself, boy did it ever. I was completely enthralled from beginning to end, and made it to the credits of this three-hour monster while thinking barely two had passed.

And that brings me to the second aspect, the drama itself. This film starts out charming and ends up really, really mean. Every time you think it's peaked, it just gets meaner and meaner. And it's not even gratuitous, the most horrifyingly effective thing about it is how plausible and believable all the nasty, despicable, unforgivable things these people do to one another really are. It's a broad moral parable, which basically boils down to this: The golden rule cuts both ways. If you behave toward other people the same way you would wish them to behave toward you, then you must hold them responsible for the things they do that you would not have done had your circumstances been reversed, and that anything less would be condescending, holding yourself to a higher moral standard than your fellows. It's something I've not heard expressed before, and while the film does state its thesis a little too clearly at times, it's worthwhile to be specific. I don't think I agree, but it's a very compelling argument presented as it is, and I've given it a lot of thought. During the film, we see each character establish good intentions, and then go about betraying those intentions out of weakness, or fear, or laziness, or any other typical human flaw. Finally, they are all generously punished for their actions. I have to say though, I wonder if Von Trier has said more than he means to, or if the ending of the film isn't some sort of red herring. (Spoilers lie ahead) When Grace gives in to ugly, bloodthirsty vengeance, isn't that really a final betrayal of her own closely guarded moral high ground? She could easily have let the townspeople live, but instead chose to kill them in a way that was most satisfying to her. Or perhaps the final betrayal takes place when we in the audience allow ourselves to enjoy the massacre of the people we have come to loathe. Does Von Trier really believe that unconditional forgiveness is a form of arrogance, or is he simply trying to coax us into a moral trap? I really don't know, but it's fascinating either way. I do know that I loved this film and I have a deep well of respect for Von Trier, for making a film that's nothing if not his own.