Antichrist — The latest outrage from cinema’s enfant terrible Lars von Trier (Breaking the Waves, Dogville) features two stunt penises, both standing in for the manly appendage of star Willem Dafoe. The first penis is photographed in lush black and white and slow motion as it penetrates co-star Charlotte Gainsbourg’s stunt vagina. This is a happy penis. The second, making its appearance much later in the movie, is first mutilated by a heavy block of wood, then forcefully jerked by Gainsbourg until it ejaculates blood. This is a very, very sad penis.
At first this grisly turn of events may lead longtime von Trier detractors (or even his fans) to wonder if the director is turning the tables on the male of the species, after subjecting his female leads to the tortures of the damned in some of his best-known work. A few minutes later, Gainsbourgh’s character snips off her own clitoris with a rusty pair of scissors and, whoops, so much for that theory.
Exactly what von Trier is up to here is anybody’s guess; those who are already disposed to hate him will assume it’s just more of his usual bad-boy provocation, but the scarier possibility is that he’s actually sincere this time around. (Whether there’s any discernable border between provocation and sincerity in von Trier’s mind is another good question I can’t begin to answer.) During the opening sex scene between the characters ponderously identified as He and She in the credits, their toddler steps through an open window and plunges to his death. She is overcome with guilt; He, who happens to be a psychiatrist, makes the horrendous mistake of trying to be both her loving husband and her grief counselor.
To that end, the couple decamps to a cabin in the woods, where strange things begin to happen very, very slowly. In addition to the aforementioned genital violence, there’s a rain of acorns and a talking fox whose proclamation “Chaos reigns!” has already become the new “I drink your milkshake!” in arthouse geek circles. There’s also plenty of psychobabble, doled out in hushed tones by Dafoe in long, dimly-lit claustrophobic scenes inside the cabin, as well as some effective “nature strikes back” creepiness in the woods surrounding it.
On a technical level, Antichrist is impeccable, beautifully shot throughout no matter how disturbing or dull the onscreen subject matter. On a narrative level, it’s gobbledygook, as if von Trier has dredged up the details of a nightmare and filmed them in an attempt to get at some primal truths about men and women. No doubt some will find it a profound experience, but for those of us without master’s degrees in Jungian symbolism, Antichrist doesn’t add up to much more than the feel-bad movie of the fall.
Saw VI — In this tender, understated coming-of-age story… oh, wait a minute, that was Saw V. Expect the usual convoluted torture scenarios in this latest installment of today’s top horror franchise.
Cirque du Freak: The Vampire’s Assistant — While most reasonable people can agree that the last thing we need now is another vampire franchise, this one at least has the good sense to include Salma Hayek as a bearded lady.
Amelia — Hilary Swank takes to the skies for another grab for Oscar gold in this biopic of the aviator who disappeared in 1937 while trying to fly around the world. Richard Gere and Ewan McGregor co-star.
