Lars von Trier Archives - Carl Kruse

A Series on Lars Von Trier, Part 2

Breaking the Waves: Women on Film

by Hazel Anna Rogers for the Carl Kruse Arts Blog

It is sincerely difficult to write about love. Attempts to do so are often vapid, overly sentimental, gratuitously flowery, or simply boring. We have all written about love; in letters, poetry, texts, emails, journals – we have all thought ourselves to be the most intuitive of poets with visions of love and life more fruitful and honest than any of our predecessors. This is because love is an all-encompassing experience; it blinds, weakens, strengthens, feeds, and drains all at once. We cannot see love when we are inside it, and this can stunt us, creatively speaking. So, when someone makes a work that looks into love, as though from the outside gazing in through a window lit up in the dark, it is a marvelous and admirable feat.

Breaking the Waves is Lars von Trier’s fifth feature film, released in 1996 as part of his ‘Golden Heart’ trilogy, so named because the three films within this compilation (Breaking the Waves, The Idiots (1998), and Dancer in the Dark (2000)) all contain within them heroines who, despite their devastating misfortunes and tragic encounters, remain naively ‘golden-hearted’ right up to the end. Breaking the Waves’ heroine, Bess McNeill, played by Emily Watson in her breakthrough role, is perhaps one of the most wonderful female characters I have ever seen on screen, not only for her inimitable onscreen chemistry with Stellan Skarsgard (who plays her husband, Jan). She has an abandon, a childish glee and freedom that pervades the atmosphere of the film with nostalgia and beauty. Bess loves with her whole self, a self that is defined by her unwavering faith to God and her achingly innocent perceptions of romance, a self that seems so fragile, so virtuous so as to not belong to or be deserved by this world. When one watches Bess glide about the screen, giggling and dancing and running and making love, one feels a guilt, a shame that one so pure as Bess should be so crushed by the horrors of the world. There is a Bess in us all, a golden-hearted soul that was trampled by the boots of responsibility, work, money, debt, heartbreak.

Bess was Lars von Trier’s first female lead, and she was a stark contrast not only in gender but in temperament to von Trier’s prior male protagonists, whose idealist natures were brought to ruin oftentimes as a result of femme fatales of some variety or another. Female protagonists are a difficult thing to get right, it seems; the critics and scholars have much more of a taste for shooting down the depiction of a woman or female-identifying protagonist on screen than a man, lest he be overtly of the distasteful variety. Bess was no different – soon after the release of Breaking the Waves came the claims of misogynistic intent in the portrayal of her martyrdom. Such words as ‘problematic’ and ‘oppressive’ began to be flung about. Now, I’m not diminishing the widespread critical acclaim of the film – it was arguably Lars von Trier’s most highly awarded and celebrated film, winning the Grand Prix at Cannes in 1996, Best Motion Picture in Drama at the Golden Globes in 1997, and continues to be beloved by many arthouse filmgoers and critics alike. But I think it interesting to enquire into the qualm of representation of female or female-identifying characters on screen; how do we get it right? Can we even get it right, or are its parameters too tight, so tight as to be suffocating, restricting, stifling to a writer or filmmaker? Are our desires for the ‘correct’ female protagonist too extreme? Which female characters do we deem to be ‘correct’ and ‘unproblematic’?

Well, if I were to refer to the perspectives of charity website ‘Girls Empowerment Network’, I would see the following list of so-called ‘empowering female leads’. Granted, this is a list for ‘girls’, but, still, I found this list to be quite enlightening: Hermione Granger (Harry Potter), Merida (Brave), Imperator Furiosa (Mad Max), Nakia/Okoye/Shuri (Black Panther), Mulan (Mulan), Storm (X-Men), Elle Woods (Legally Blonde), Princess Leia (Star Wars), Starr Carter (The Hate U Give), and Katherine Johnson/Dorothy Vaughn/Mary Jackson (Hidden Figures). Now, I can’t speak to all these characters, partly because I haven’t seen all of these films and also because this article isn’t about how ‘empowered’ these respective characters are. But I’ll just comment briefly to try and contextualise my misgivings about the perspective that Bess is a less ‘empowered’ woman than any of those on this list.

We’ll start with Hermione. I grew up with Hermione, watching and reading the Harry Potter series from a very young age and still thoroughly enjoying the films today. I understand the sentiment that this article is attempting to propound by putting Hermione on this list, but I’m afraid I have to fervently disagree. One, because Hermione’s character in the films is oftentimes COMPLETELY defined by her relationship with men, and the conflicts that arise as a result of these relationships. Hermione comes between her two best friends, Ron and Harry, because Ron is in love with her and believes her to be in love with Harry in the film(s) The Deathly Hallows. In part 1 of this two-parter, the smell of Hermione’s perfume lures in a band of snatchers. In the film The Goblet of Fire, Hermione is depicted as pining after a love-potion in an odious moment where all the girls in potions class walk towards the love potion in a sickeningly fawning manner. At the Yule Ball, Hermione’s arrival in her elaborate pink dress is lingered on in a most obvious manner, as if to say ‘look, Hermione doesn’t always dress in jeans – she’s a woman too!’.

What is Bess McNeill to us, now? Why are people so afraid of a woman using her sexuality as a form of payment, a form of sacrifice? If Bess had, for example, given away all her money and belongings when her tragically paralysed husband, Jan, told her to, then I’m sure no-one would bat an eyelid. Or maybe it would just be a different complaint, one about female empowerment in the business world, or something. We can’t pretend that bad things don’t happen, that bad people aren’t out there, that young women don’t fall prey to bad decisions due to coercion and sense of duty. I know that I have had tendencies like Bess, to please people and do what they ask because, for some reason, I feel I ought to, like I owe it to them and don’t owe anything to myself. Breaking the Waves does not suggest that a woman should do such things; rather, it explicitly reveals the pain and suffering that comes as a result of how young women are raised. Religion defines Bess’ lived experience, in a village where women cannot go to funerals, where men dominate the landscape in dark and insidious ways. Bess is just a product of her surroundings, a lonely girl whose only purpose is to serve, to serve her Lord God. So when she finds love, a beautiful, effortlessly tender love, what can she do but give herself to it, just as she has given herself to others her entire life? Bess’ power is her womanhood, her sexuality, her devotion to love and faith. We should not criminalise her or damn her for being who she is. Bess is simply a person who lived in the wrong time, the wrong place, the wrong world. Lars von Trier was not misogynistic or wrong for depicting a character like Bess, in fact, he was probably right to do so; he made us feel for Bess, hold sympathy for her, laugh with her, wish the best for her. After all, women such as Bess do exist, even if we’d prefer to pretend that they don’t. And that’s just how it is.

==========
The Carl Kruse Arts Blog homepage is at https://carlkruse.net.
Contact: carl AT carlkruse DOT com
Other articles by Hazel include A Series on Lars von Trier, Part 1, Giorgio Morandi, and A Positive Spin on Hustle Culture.
Carl Kruse is also on Buzzfeed.

A Series On Lars Von Trier, Part 1

Part 1: A Brief Discussion of Dogme 95

by Hazel Anna Rogers for the Carl Kruse Arts Blog

There is a pristineness characterizing the modern film scene. I do not mean a pristineness or cleanliness of character, theme, or narrative, necessarily, but rather of the visual. Films, and other recorded media, have become indescribably high-quality, to the extent that one can see the tiny circular pores on an actor’s skin, or the goosebumps on the bodies of lovers, or the granules of salt on a table. Of course, considering the rapid advancement of filming technology; any would testify that the crispness of the image in Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, shot in 1968 with the revolutionary 70mm spherical-lensed Super Panavision 70, is a delectable thing with an intricate and sophisticated image even in comparison with later films, such as Alejandro Iñárritu’s 2015 feature, The Revenant, which was filmed on various models of the ARRI ALEXA series. My conclusion being: if one has the money, why wouldn’t one propose a film of the highest calibre; clean, and sharp, and visually breath-taking.

But I have a bone to pick with such clarity, the same bone that I might fiddle with if I were to discuss hyperrealism in painted artworks. When a film overtakes its viewer, when its eye becomes greater than the eye of its beholder, then I think it begins to separate itself from its observer. Just as, in hyperrealism, a painting of an apple, which looks perfectly like an apple, cannot be an apple because it is too perfect, too real, too incredible to be the thing itself. The painted apple has overtaken the apple itself, and in so doing, becomes not-apple. It becomes an apple we can never hope to touch or taste, because it is infinitely better than any apple we might come across.

This is why I fall upon the name Lars von Trier. Trier, in his odd trajectory of filmmaking, has an overwhelming catalogue of brilliance strung to his name. I recently had the pleasure of watching his debut, The Element of Crime (1984), which I realised was indeed the veritable predecessor of much of his narrator-led filmography. The Element of Crime also offered me a prequel-esque vision into his later film The House That Jack Built (2018), mainly referentially but also in sentiment; that is, of the story behind insidious acts. Though Trier has indeed made some ‘pristine’ works, including The House That Jack Built, which was filmed on the ARRI ALEXA MINI, I admire Trier’s commitment to the aesthetic and significance of a lower-quality film, which he owed to his own manifesto, created as a joint endeavour by he and director Thomas Vinterberg. This manifesto was called Dogme 95.

Lars Von Trier

I would be loathe to attempt to describe the foundational philosophy behind this manifesto, so let me refer to our good friend Wikipedia for an answer. This sentence describes the rules detailed in the accompanying Vows of Chastity which detailed the ‘dogma’ (I suppose) behind Dogme 95:

“These were rules to create films based on the traditional values of story, acting, and theme, and excluding the use of elaborate special effects or technology.”

And, in so doing the above, the power of filmmaking was pulled out from under the rug of large corporate studios and placed back in the palms of the directors, offering them artistic authority with which to tell their stories once again. Before I continue discussing Von Trier, let me share with you the rules of Dogme 95, for I am sure that you are curious:

Shooting must be done on location. Props and sets must not be brought in (if a particular prop is necessary for the story, a location must be chosen where this prop is to be found).
The sound must never be produced apart from the images or vice versa. (Music must not be used unless it occurs where the scene is being shot.)
The camera must be hand-held. Any movement or immobility attainable in the hand is permitted.
The film must be in colour. Special lighting is not acceptable. (If there is too little light for exposure the scene must be cut or a single lamp be attached to the camera.)
Optical work and filters are forbidden.
The film must not contain superficial action. (Murders, weapons, etc. must not occur.)
Temporal and geographical alienation are forbidden. (That is to say that the film takes place here and now.)
Genre movies are not acceptable.
The film format must be Academy 35 mm.
The director must not be credited.

(And, further):

″Furthermore I swear as a director to refrain from personal taste! I am no longer an artist. I swear to refrain from creating a “work”, as I regard the instant as more important than the whole. My supreme goal is to force the truth out of my characters and settings. I swear to do so by all the means available and at the cost of any good taste and any aesthetic considerations. Thus I make my VOW OF CHASTITY.″

I would argue that the last section of this passage might be devoid; we know, of course, that the film Festen (1998), was created by Thomas Vinterberg, and that the 1996 feature Breaking the Waves was directed by Lars von Trier (and arguably not a Dogme 95 film, despite von Trier’s desires for it to be…we’ll discuss that at a later date), so the tenth statement appears unachieved. Not that this matters; perhaps I’m misinterpreting the rule, anyhow.

This manifesto, which was inspired by and directly quotes François Truffaut’s Une certaine tendance du cinéma français (1954), was revolutionary for the film industry, which had taken a sharp turn towards the extremely high-budget, high-production, and highly-controlled waters of Hollywood and its sheer breadth of influence. Von Trier and Vinterberg claimed their manifesto was aimed at restoring a kind of balance within the film industry, so that its barriers could be brought down and opened up to a greater number of less-wealthy creatives.

Von Trier, despite his many scandals and sometime questionable approach to directing is, to me, a genius, and a master of his craft. If there is anything I take away from all that I have seen from him, it is that von Trier is a palpably self-aware creator, conscious of his own faults and unafraid to highlight them to his audience. I watched the new series of his 90s series The Kingdom, released this winter on MUBI, and, though I preferred the earlier series on a personal level, what I particularly enjoyed in this new incarnation of The Kingdom was von Trier’s incessant self-deprecation. He consistently mentions how cocky the young von Trier was and how mediocre and unremarkable the earlier series were (despite fervent disagreement on my part). This is what makes a great artist, to me. It is well and good to celebrate and publicly enjoy one’s work, I think, but to have the insight to damn it, to acknowledge how one has progressed and also not progressed, is a wonderfully powerful thing that I think we should all learn from as artists and creators. Perhaps it is no good to be embarrassed, or ashamed by one’s past, but to learn from it, and to continue forging ahead after all the mistakes, all the indignities, all the failures, is how we progress, in all parts of life.
—————
The homepage of the Carl Kruse Arts Blog.
Contact: carl AT carlkruse DOT com
Other articles by Hazel include Giorgio Morandi, Central Governor Theory, and Art for Art’s Sake.
Also find Carl Kruse on XING.