Review
DOGVILLE
Starring Nicole Kidman, Paul Bettany and Stellan Skarsgaard
Written and directed by Lars von Trier
Opens Friday, April 23
Uptown Screen
Is it the ability to disregard our nature in favour of the common good that distinguishes humans from other species?
This is the question underlying Lars von Trier’s Dogville, and of course it presupposes that human nature will, at times, be in conflict with the greater good of humanity. A somewhat puritanical idea, perhaps, but also about as close to a singular theme as one will see in this multifaceted work, which delivers several pragmatic blows to idealism, reserving its most brutal flagellation for the moral superiority of artists and intellectuals like von Trier.
Dogville may see the Danish filmmaker slightly less inclined to emotionally devastate his audience than he was with Dancer in the Dark (2000), but the film is no less punishing on a moral level.
For one thing, anyone familiar with von Trier’s last several films – going back to Breaking the Waves (1996) – will recognize early on that he intends to martyr Grace (Nicole Kidman), the waifish damsel-in-distress who turns up in the nominal Rocky Mountain town with a couple of carloads of gangsters in hot pursuit. Grace appeals to self-righteous village philosopher Tom (Paul Bettany) for sanctuary, and he in turn solicits his fellow townspeople to take pity on this unfortunate woman. Perhaps due to the sanctimonious nature of Tom’s request – which is intended more to illustrate a point about trust than it is to secure their confidence – the residents respond with trepidation.
Grace is nevertheless offered refuge in Dogville, but oddly it will be her dependence on the town’s generosity – not to mention her belief in its humanity – that will ultimately lead to her martyrdom. This is a new tactic for von Trier, and it also provides the basis for a climactic act of mercy more deeply troubling than any he has shown us in the past. Kidman plays a much more complex character than any of von Trier’s earlier martyrs (Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves; Bjork in Dancer in the Dark), and Grace certainly lives up to her name as one strange avenging angel.
Tom, on the other hand, is an ironically exaggerated von Trier alter ego, a writer who talks of learning from his mistakes and using his experience as the basis for "a book, or a trilogy even." His role in the town is roughly equivalent to von Trier’s role in society – both are artists trying to force people to see truths they would rather not acknowledge. He has faith in the inherent goodness of people, but his idealism does not allow him to see the moral corruption all around him. Populism – which at its root requires a knowledge and acceptance of the way things are – is not his strong suit.
God knows, as does Harvey Weinstein, that popular cinema is not created by reflecting the audience’s capacity for barbarism right back in their faces. Yet, with Dogville, the relentlessly heavy-handed von Trier continues trying to teach his audience a lesson, while at the same time acknowledging the arrogance of that task. Complicating matters is the fact that von Trier hasn’t exactly placed his message in the most accessible package imaginable – instead of sugar, he offers cyanide to help wash down this bitter pill.
First, the film was shot entirely on a soundstage in Sweden, with chalk outlines, minimal props and simple monochromatic backdrops providing the only physical indication of setting. Moreover, everyone in front of the camera is an overt symbol in service of the film’s larger theme, which means the characters are not necessarily representative of the small Depression-era American town in which they supposedly live. Finally, the sardonic commentary offered in John Hurt’s expository narration is a decidedly literary device, as is the division of the film into a prologue and nine chapters, each introduced by a self-reflexive inter-title.
Despite this formalist approach, Dogville rises above criticisms that it is mere filmed theatre. Intead von Trier uses distinctly cinematic jump cuts to assemble each scene from numerous different takes, which may compromise the integrity of his actors, but creates a finished work greater than the sum of its individual shots.
Still, because Dogville is set in an American town, this inquiry into the nature of humanity has led the film to be charged with accusations of anti-Americanism. I think this says more about the sensitivities of certain American critics than it does about the film, which is universal in its attempt to question what it is to be alive in a time when people no longer know their neighbours or, if they do, aren’t willing to risk their safety or even their reputations to help them.
Ultimately, Dogville is an exploration into the nature of arrogance and the limits of tolerance. It shows good intentions to be the province of fools because they are often held up in defence of some of the worst atrocities of the 20th century. Anyone remember the Holocaust? Surely, Hitler thought he was merely trying to make the world a better place by ridding it of Jews.
I think what many liberal critics find objectionable in Dogville is that it doesn’t allow them, or anyone, to maintain a position of moral superiority vis-à-vis the rest of society. Tom, von Trier’s stand-in, representative of ineffectual intellectualism, is just one of many characters who don’t deserve Grace. Others take advantage of her, but he wants her to like it, wants her, in effect, to ask him for it. By holding up a mirror to his audience, von Trier asks us to at least acknowledge that we share the baser instincts of his characters.
Even in the film’s epilogue – a montage of photos of American suffering edited with ironic abandon to the tune of David Bowie’s "Young Americans" – von Trier just hammers his point home one more time. It isn’t subtle, but even if we don’t live in the land of the free and the home of the brave, the implication is that we must cast our delusions and superiority aside to see our complicity in a society where atrocities are carried out every day. Does the fact that I recognize myself in Dogville make me better than anyone else? Hell, no. But it doesn’t make me any worse, either. |
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