Melancholia

It's the end of the world as Lars Von Trier knows it and no one is feeling fine. Well, except for partial protagonist Justine (Kirsten Dunst), a deeply depressed woman who views Earth's impending doom as a welcome respite from her personal hell. That doom arrives courtesy of planet Melancholia, a mysterious sphere that only recently made its presence in our solar system known. Melancholia the planet is on its way to performing a "fly-by" past our own pretty planet, which basically means we'll all get a nice view of the previously shy object while it hurtles along on its supposedly non-destructive trajectory. Of course, there's the possibility that calculations could be off and Melancholia may actually get a little too close for comfort, devouring our entire planet in the process. But really, whether or not the planet will hit us is never up for much debate (a gorgeously chilling prologue makes Earth's fate quite clear). Melancholia the movie is all about allowing us to experience the apocalypse as processed through the uniquely mad mind of Von Trier.

The prospect of Earth exhaling its last breath has been explored in cinema countless times before, either epically or intimately. But it's never been done quite like this before and the result is unbelievably beautiful at times and yet emotionally stagnant at others. Von Trier is no stranger to fictionalized human suffering and he's actually managed to tone down his trademark brand of shocking tragedy for Melancholia, instead allowing the doomsday scenario to hang over the movie and suggest its own ability to generate ultimate and irreparable destruction. It's an impressive feat, although the movie still struggles to make an honest emotional statement before the big finale. At the same time, Von Trier deserves to be praised for so generously avoiding sentimental clichés that too often attempt to squeeze into apocalyptic plots.

Split into two parts, each dedicated to a sister, Melancholia first introduces us to Justine on her wedding day. Part 1 belongs to Dunst's character and it's during this hour that the movie accomplishes its most compelling character work. Justine is a beautiful bride who is all smiles when we first see her and husband Michael (Alexander Skarsgård) stuck in a humorous situation with a limo too long and with too inexperienced a driver to maneuver the road to their reception. It's a comical sequence that seems to illustrate a great joy shared by the newly married couple. But not long after they've reached the reception, the evening and their entire relationship begins to fall recklessly apart.

The wedding sequence as a whole is quite lengthy, taking up pretty much all of Justine's Part 1, but it offers a startling and disorienting look at a woman whose depression not only devours all semblances of personal happiness, but also threatens to drag her loved ones down with her. Von Trier doesn't give us any easy answers to Justine's condition, even though her wacky separated parents (Charlotte Rampling as a hateful hag and John Hurt as a loopy loony) may be partially to blame. They offer a few sombre chuckles and, in the case of Rampling's morose mother, some slightly hackneyed conflict. Other than that, Justine is on her own, as are we. It's a good place to be for us, because Justine's depression doesn't need a reason, just as Melancholia doesn't need a reason to smash into our planet and kill us all. It just is. The why is hopeless and unnecessary.

This approach creates quite a bit of tension throughout the wedding celebration, because Justine's crushing depression doesn't have a solution or a cure that we know of. It tears apart every bit of love and joy and magic from the supposedly special night and leaves us scrambling for air, desperate for an escape from this horrible awkwardness that claims its victims viciously. Justine's inability to break out of this funk knows no end, but as we soon learn, it doesn't need to, because Melancholia is coming to take all her worries away. This represents Von Trier's most unique contribution to the end-of-the-world narrative. He envisions a character who actually views the destruction of the world as a good thing, a final moment worth anticipating. It's a novel inversion of the usual doomsday situation, where the imminent destruction of life on Earth is usually considered a bit of a downer.

The idea that Justine can only attain happiness through death is pretty, well, depressing, but it provides grand possibilities for her overall arc. So Melancholia the movie stumbles a bit when it begins Part 2, which is focused on Justine's sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), who needlessly steals the spotlight away from Justine. While this chunk of the narrative still has its moments, it suffers from the sheer simplicity and predictability of Claire's predicament. Representing the flip side of the Melancholia reaction, Claire fears the worst and grows ever anxious about the planet's arrival. It's a relatable stance, but not a very interesting one when compared to the experience of Justine. Claire is a good mother and a seemingly happy person and she's terrified of having to let go. Makes sense!

Providing us with dual perspectives on the titular planet's inevitable accomplishment sounds like a good idea, but Part 2 loses sight of Justine as a character enough that she becomes an alienating presence by the movie's end. She only grows worse as the narrative progresses (post-wedding Justine is practically comatose at times) and I yearned to experience her journey all the way through. Seeing this second chunk of the story through Claire's eyes is nowhere near as captivating and the conflict she engages in is too obvious to achieve a strong emotional effect. But even then, the glimpses of Justine's preparation for Melancholia's arrival do enchant.

The two-part structuring of the story is a bit unwieldy, but Von Trier manages to somewhat make up for it by turning Melancholia into one of the most visually accomplished movies of the year. His collaboration with cinematographer Manuel Alberto Claro results in imagery so mesmerizing that the movie becomes utterly enthralling to watch. The prologue alone is like a series of moving paintings that are rich with colour and texture. The photography that follows that tour de force is also intensely exquisite, capturing the apocalyptic imagery with clarity and imagination. Melancholia's cast contributes as well, though mildly. Dunst turns in a brave performance, but it still feels a bit transparent and too recognizable to hide the use of her usually shaky acting tics. Gainsbourg is decent, though forgettable. Melancholia's power lies in its visual expression and in Von Trier's originality as a filmmaker. The apocalypse has rarely looked so beautiful. Von Trier captures the overwhelming magnificence of the situation with sensational sight and sound. This is the end of the world as visually opulent, though emotionally empty poem. Effective in its aim, Melancholia is for looks, not for feeling.