So now that much of the hysteria, both positive and negative, has died down somewhat and The Daily Mail has weighed in with some incoherent waffle that can’t see the woods from the trees, it’s time for a closer look at Lars Von Trier’s latest. The PR and media torrent that’s fuelled the release of Antichrist has been typically misleading and in the screening I went to it was clear that expectations of what was coming were differing in the extreme; the latest arty foreign film at the local independent cinema, a hardcore horror flick or simply Von Trier’s latest. In truth it’s a bit of all three but then, parts combined, something totally other as well. Sounds like Von Trier all over, and it is.
In its simplest terms a horror film about the horror of losing a child, Antichrist stays true to the genre by having a subtext that belies the basic premise. Or as William Goldman says, there’s what it’s about, and what it’s really about. The problem (or not) is that Antichrist throws in all manner of ideas but fails to actually say very much of clarity about any of them. He (Willem Dafoe) and She (Charlotte Gainsbourg) lose their only son in a tragic accident whilst they are busy having sex. A psychotherapist, He tries in vain to guide She through the grieving process but when things fail to improve they set off for their remote holiday cabin, Eden, where She has previously been writing a thesis on “gynocide”. Here things rapidly go from bad to worse as the woodland itself seems to conspire against them and her mental state declines.
Hugely aware of his own persona and the public’s perception of him, Von Trier addresses misogyny explicitly, but more plays with the notion than explores it or comments decisively. Soon after He and She reach Eden, She proclaims “nature is Satan’s church” and much of the film addresses this concept, often in very effective manner, from literal images of dying fauna to a broader reaching theme that encapsulates any life and death issues as part of ‘nature’. A return to the black and white opening section near the climax implies with a subtle editing shift that She now sees herself as entirely responsible for the child’s death. And so, indirectly (given the slow motion humping that accompanies the little one’s death), her sexuality is too. But it’s not so simple - Willem Dafoe’s He is a crashing bore for one. A late-in-the-day revelation suggests her mental decline had commenced prior to the death of their child and perhaps as a result of studying gynocide in “Satan’s church”. Antichrist invites interpretation but refuses an unambiguous take on almost any of the proceedings.
Following a self-professed trajectory of grief, despair and pain, chapter titles intersperse the narrative as they do in numerous Von Trier films. Early sections are talky and slow, whilst later ones recall The Evil Dead, with a wonderfully repulsive look that at times verges toward Gothic horror and Hound of the Baskervilles territory; Gainsbourg’s boyish frame lank and drained in the woodland mist.
As a chronicle of grief, it’s traumatic but not depressing and often there’s mischief afoot. A graphic black and white shot of an erect penis thrusting within the first 5 minutes is both terribly cheesy and faintly humorous. Likewise the hackneyed cliché of a teddy bear falling into the snow in the opening segment can’t be lost on the Danish director. It’s never exactly clear what he’s up to, but forget who’s directing this at your peril. Controversial for the sake of it? Maybe, but it’s a fascinating experience and what’s a shame is that it’s become known for a couple of fleeting moments of strong violence that are entirely apt in the context of what precedes them. But then again, I’m sure Von Trier, who wrote this in a self-confessed period of deep depression, knew it would.