Antichrist

2009. Dir: Lars von Trier. Starring: Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg. ●●●●○



I don't normally pay too much attention to other cinema goers, the films I go to see are either too mainstream (and therefore the audience too numerous to get an idea of them) or seem to be a fairly even mix of people. For Antichrist this was not the case. For one thing there were very few groups, most of the audience arrived and left the auditorium as singletons (myself included). The audience was also over-whelming male. Only 13% of the punters were female, an incredibly small percentage, and apparently that was close to the national average. I say this only as an interesting side point. I don't believe the film was excessively violent, or that it's a reflection of von Trier's misogynistic subconscious. Merely that the press furore that has attached itself to the film has attracted many more men than women to see it.



The story is relatively simple, so simple it could be the basis for any number of standard horror movies. Couple lose their son in freak accident, suffer immense guilt, go to summer home to recuperate, she goes a bit crazy. In the hands of Rob Zombie or Eli Roth the violence (screws through the leg, fox intestines) would still be the same, albeit with less obvious sexual activity, but the build of tension would not.

That opening scene, Dafoe and Gainsbourg having explicit sex in the shower whilst their boy tries to catch snowflakes is beautifully filmed. A touch cliched perhaps with the black and white palate, but effective nonetheless.

Dafoe's therapist then ignores the cardinal rule of never treating your family and sets about helping Gainsbourg out of her deep depression. The sessions that follow are painful, both in the way that Charlotte exhibits physical symptoms of anxiety, but also in the emotional intensity of the actors. It is during these scenes that the film really soars.

During the third act, once they decide to meet Gainsbourg's demons at 'Eden", the Grand Guignol begins in earnest. From talking foxes to female circumcision, the extremes are huge. And whilst the violence seems over the top it never appears to be gratuitous, and more importantly it's never celebrated. Each blow revolted me - far from the excitement that the injuries of Saw seems to celebrate. And the violence also seemed difficult to do. One of the characters is asphyxiated; it appears very real, and like it was taking the correct amount of time and effort. Horrifying but you couldn't take your eyes away.

Both of the actors give 100% into their performances, which seem wholely dedicated and effective.

On the technical side the stand out id Anthony Dod Mantle's cinematography. From the gorgeous opening to the mist in the trees every frame is filled and balanced perfectly. If Slumdog Millionaire wasn't enough to let us know how good his talents are, then Antichirst seals the deal on his genius.

Overall I was more interested in the act of dealing with grief rather than the fanciful witchcraft related elements, so I think the film would have pleased me more if it stayed in the city, but a fascinating picture nonetheless.