Hani Mustafa enjoys the Panorama of European Film against the odds One such is Lars von Trier's Melancholia, which no doubt many film lovers had been waiting to see impatiently. The Danish filmmaker is among a handful of globally well known directors whose work is eagerly anticipated, especially since he is also a controversial one at that, having been part of the Dogma 95 movement in the 1990s and -- despite the disintegration of the movement itself -- earned a reputation for his unorthodox yet carefully studied approach to filmmaking. Melancholia was screened at the official competition of the Cannes Film Festival and was nominated for the Palme d'Or, and its female lead, the American actress Kristen Dunst, won the best actress award. Through the film, von Trier not only tells a story in his own way but also presents his philosophy of life and showcases his fears -- something that becomes clear as of the first shot. A mélange of art photography opens the film: the nightmarish sequence includes a bride in full regalia fleeing in the midst of the forest, obstructed by climbing plants and a woman bearing a child across a gold course, her feet held back by the grass. The sequence continues to Wagner music, bringing together various elements that will recur. It is as if von Trier is drawing the viewer into his hothouse of melancholia, not only the old name for depression but a blue plant that glitters in space. The depressive breakdown and the end of the world following a collision of that planet with earth, von Trier suggests, is one and the same. The opening sequence of Melancholia recalls that of Antichrist, von Trier's last, equally nightmarish feature, screened in the 2009 round of Cannes, which earned Charlotte Gainsbourg the best actress award. Yet here the shots turn out to be excerpts from scenes that occur at the end of the film, contrary to Antichrist where they make up the story that precedes the action. The film is made up of two "chapters": Justine, the protagonist, played by Dunst; and Claire, her sister, played by Gainsbourg. The first takes place in the space of a day: the lavish wedding of Justine, paid for by Claire's husband. Everyone is extremely tense, evidently due to the bride herself who, due to intense depression, is hardly able to sit through her own wedding -- despite various attempts at doing so, including immersing herself in the bath, for example. As in Antichrist, a relatively normal opening leads to intense violence (if not, in this case, physical), with Justine ending up in bed with her boss's son on her wedding night, while her bridegroom awaits her in bed, after insulting the boss in the course of the celebration, then letting her bridegroom leave. Von Trier indicates at the start that Justine is able to see the planet Melancholia with her naked eyes -- it is the same planet that her brother in law watches. The chapter ends with her realising that it can no longer be seen. The second chapter of the film is sharper and more violent, depicting the depression to which Justine fell prey after these events and Claire's attempt to look after her sister at her own palatial residence in the country -- the same place where the wedding was held. Yet Claire too is psychologically afflicted, with fear of the blue planet approaching earth... No doubt nature for von Trier is a violent, vicious force. This is clear in the forest of Antichrist, which we find again in Melancholia. Yet here von Trier communicates a greater fear -- of the universe as a whole -- embodied by that small planet. There is no hope, he suggests; the collision is a forgone conclusion. *** Another important film is the French filmmaker Michel Hazanzvicius's The Artist, whose lead Jean Dujardin received the best actor award at Cannes this year; The Artist too was nominated for the Palme d'Or. It opens with a scene from the silent movies, accompanied by piano music, dating back to 1927 -- until the viewer realises that the whole film is silent -- black and white, without dialogue, and accompanied by piano, as if all of life at that time was silent. And the film continues to recount the self-importance of the film star who appeared in the opening scene, George Valentine, played by Dajuran, perhaps a reference to Rudolf Valentino. Using silent-movies technique, it tells a story of life in Hollywood in the 1920s through this character. At the start Valentine is saluting his audience, hogging up the applause as he keeps his costar, the emerging actress Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), in the shadows. Yet as it turns out, against the background of a cold marital life, Valentine seems to be falling in love with Miller. There occurs a switch in the drama when sound is introduced and Miller rises to stardom while Valentine falls. The structure of the film recalls that of the international musical Singin in the rain. This rests not only on dramatic development but also on the resemblance between Dajuran and the 1940s star Gene Kelly. The two films tell the same story of the crisis that beset many film stars when sound was introduced. Yet while the musical offers only a simple and partial drama, this feature boasts a great deal of human and emotional depth, especially as regards the closeness between Miller and Valentine while the latter, insisting on continuing to make silent films, loses his wealth. Several remarks are in order. The auteur presents the settings and genres of the 1920s accurately, placing the action in the African jungle and alluding to the romantic adventure and the detective thriller. He also presents a slab of film history in the shift to sound. One extremely important scene involves a fire in the house of the film star, due to inflammable film kept there -- before the invention of safe film. And no doubt the ability of the filmmaker to tell the story without dialogue -- except for Valentine's dream, an extremely moving scene in which he hears all the voices around him except for his own -- is in itself remarkable. The settings are depicted with extreme accuracy, with the cars in 1927 being 1927 models and those in 1933 being 1933 models. *** Melancholia and The Artist have nothing in common at all except being featured in Cannes this year. The first is a voice in the head of Lars von Trier, a man with much experience in unconventional filmmaking and the winner of, among numerous prizes, the 2000 Palme d'Or for Dancer in the Dark. The second is a unique take on a conventional enough theme with a conventional story to go with it. Together the two films establish the fact that there is no limit to the imagination and no reason not to explore that imagination on the big screen. Hani Mustafa enjoys the Panorama of European Film against the odds The artist The green mile
