“To
be honest I really don’t care” is not simply a line from Lars Von Trier's musical
Dancer in the Dark. The statement epitomizes
a mood of cynicism diligently masterminded by the director. The movie is imbued
with an unwavering skepticism about the promises of Eisenhower’s America and
life in general. Dancer in the Dark loosens
connections with logic and betrays all expectations of coherence. The choice of
the musical genre sounds like a sarcastic laugh at the attempts to rationalize
life.
Selma,
a Czech immigrant and a single mother who works in a factory lives a condition
of Comodification to use Marxist terms. Her task consists of pressing large metallic
plates one after the other. She loses sight gradually but pretends to be a
normal worker so as not to lose her job. Selma escapes this vortex by
withdrawing in a musical world where “ nothing dreadful ever happens”.
She
strives to save every penny for her son’s eye operation. Selma lives with her bespectacled
boy in a trailer rent by a cop named Bill (David Morse) in what seems initially
as a friendly and protective atmosphere. Bill is engrossed in a financial anxiety
exacerbated by his wife’s colossal spending. Selma appears at first as Bill’s close friend but
the type of relation they share is unclear. The story takes a dramatic turn
when Bill steals Selma’s savings. The spiral of events takes Selma behind bars
where she waits for a death sentence.
Bjork,
the famous Icelandic singer is deglamorized from head to toe so as to fit in the
skin of an alienated, frail, Czech immigrant. One must admit that her
performance is beyond praise. Bjork sets the path for an avant-gardist acting
style loaded with striking authenticity paired with implausible characterization.
Peter Stromare plays admirably the role of Jeff, a simpleminded man who is
persistently persuaded that Selma may accept him as a boyfriend. The only voice
of logic incarnated in the film is that of Kathy played by French diva Catherine
Deneuve who questions Selma’s choice for self-sacrifice.
The
opening images of Dancer in the Dark
may trigger a feeling of discomfort with the bouncing work of hand cameras. But
the viewer gets used quickly to this unconventional style of shooting as Selma’s
lovable character unfolds itself.
Viewers
looking for plausibility may be disappointed. Dancer in the Dark is deliberately absurd and cynical. Lars Von
Trier makes the choice of implausibility and it becomes clear that he is not
operating at the literal level. His movie is metaphorical and metonymical both in form
and content. The escapade into the world of musicals marks the disconnect with
reality. It is a staunch disavowal towards the morose life of the American proletariat
whose prospects of social ascension are aborted on a daily basis.
Yet,
Lars Von Trier’s cynicism never fails to shock the viewer. Selma is forced to
leave the musical rehearsals and withdraws gradually into darkness. The Danish director
leaves his heavy signature on the movie when Selma is executed. This unpredictable
outcome leaves the audience puzzled as regards the real meaning of
happiness.
Does
Selma represent hope or does she epitomize the fall of the tragic hero. One
think is sure; the movie achieves the cathartic effect of the Greek tragedies.
So don’t forget to have a handkerchief nearby and enjoy the movie.
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