Melancholia: Mental Relief at the End of the World

Lars von Trier's Melancholia opens with a series of slow-motion shots, a poetic prologue, if you will, of the coming film. Like with his previous film, Antichrist, the shots are mesmerizing, haunting, and quite beautiful. Especially the final shot of the prologue when two worlds collide, not with a bang, not with sound and fury, but slowly, silently, exactly how it probably happens when viewed from above.

This is the second of Trier's films I've seen, and I think I've noticed a trend: His films are more about effect/affect than they are about narrative flow. That's to say, he focuses on how the events of the film affect his characters and the audience. Plot be damned!

Of course, there is a little bit of a plot. After the prologue, the film then shows the audience a bride and her soon-to-be husband sitting in the back of a limo, laughing as the driver tries to navigate the monstrous thing around a curve the limo is far to big to make. And after multiple attempts by everyone in the car--bride, bridegroom, and driver--the bride and groom decide to walk to the ceremony, which makes them insanely late for the wedding, two hours to be exact.

This is Justine's (played by Kirsten Dunst) section of the film, and it turns out she doesn't mind being late to her own wedding. In fact, she does everything in her power to avoid the whole silly ritual by disappearing just as an "important" moment is about to take place, leaving her guests--not to mention her sister, Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), and brother-in-law, John (Keifer Sutherland), who paid for the extravagant affair--to wait for her return.

As it turns out, Justine isn't the only eccentric character at the wedding. Her entire family seems to rebel against all forms of ritualized formality, except for Claire, who goes to great lengths to make sure everyone is happy and that everything is running smoothly.

Justine is not entirely sure about marrying her husband. Claire and John continually ask if this is truly what she wants. The problem is Justine doesn't seem to be sure of what she wants. Indeed, the only time she seems focused is when she notices a new star in the sky just before the wedding.

That star, we learn later in Claire's half of the film, is not a star but a planet that is supposed to come extremely close to Earth, but hopefully--fingers crossed--pass us by. Having seen the prologue, the audience knows what most of the characters do not: that the planetary dance will be the last beautiful thing humanity will see, ever.

Justine knows it, too. The rest learn as the film progresses, but Trier doesn't go for the usual mass hysteria of other apocalyptic films. No, he instead focuses on this one family as it attempts to deal with Justine's debilitating depression. No one seems to be able to help. No person seems to be able to help, for the closer the planet comes to Earth, Justine is drawn further and further form her depression. Conversely, the planet's advancement seems to do just the opposite for Claire, whose mind descends into paranoia and despair by film's end.

Trier has set up, as I said, a film that evokes the very mood in its title. And as I watched, I was overwhelmed with sadness and awe. Here is a film that lingers on in the mind long after the screen fades to black. Justine is a character so consumed with her own illness, her own sense of doom, that the only thing that allows her to truly escape from her depression is her own impending death. Justine sees death as a new beginning, and yet Claire sees it as an end. Both sisters represent the cosmic cycle of life, death, rebirth; and the only difference between the two is simply perspective. A change in perspective makes all the difference in the world.