Dancer In the Dark

Note to readers: this review contains spoilers. While I do not believe the revelations contained herein will in any way compromise the viewing experience, those who wish to see Dancer In the Dark without having previous knowledge of certain plot points would do well to bail out now and return after they have seen the film.

Lars von Trier has always been a controversial feature, due in large part to his titanic ego. Proclaimed by no less an authority than himself to be one of the greatest working filmmakers today, von Trier was incensed when neither Zentropa nor Breaking the Waves captured the top prize at Cannes (in 1991 and 1996, respectively). So, when his latest feature, Dancer In the Dark, finally took home the gold (as in the Palm D'Or), von Trier's supporters were expectedly thrilled, and singer-turned-actress Björk's victory in the Best Actress category sweetened the triumph. Dancer In the Dark wasn't necessarily the audience favorite for best film honors - as was attested by hisses and catcalls when the announcement was made - but the resentment was probably directed more at von Trier than at his film, which is a haunting examination of a miscarriage of justice and the lie underpinning the "American Dream".

Dancer In the Dark takes place in Washington State during 1964. The characters all live in the same small town and many of them work for an hourly wage at the local J. Anderson Tool Company. Selma (Björk) is a Czechoslovakian immigrant who came to the United States with her son, Gene (Vladica Kostic), to find a better life. She lives in a trailer on the property of a local policeman, Bill (David Morse), and his wife, Linda (Cara Seymour). Selma's best friend is Kathy (Catherine Deneuve), and she is courted by the shy, undemanding Jeff (Peter Stormare), who hopefully offers her a ride home from her job each day despite her assertion that she's not looking for a boyfriend. When she's not working, Selma spends her time at the movies watching Hollywood musicals and practicing for a local production of "The Sound of Music", in which she plays Maria.

Selma and Bill are close, and, late one night, they trade secrets. He is broke, and, unless he can find a way to make his mortgage payment, the bank will foreclose on his house. Not only will he lose his property, but he is sure that his materialistic wife will dump him as well. Selma, on the other hand, is going blind. She suffers from a hereditary, degenerative condition that she has passed on to Gene. There is an operation to cure it, but the procedure is expensive. Selma has been scraping together every dollar she can save so that Gene can have the surgery. When Bill hears this, he wonders if Selma's nest egg might prove to be the solution to his problem, but his plan to get the money has catastrophic consequences for everyone involved.

Dancer In the Dark is disturbing in the same way that movies like Dead Man Walking and The Green Mile are. The three films deal with what it's like to be on death row - the choices made that place one there, the terror and uncertainty of whether each day will be the last, and the soaring hopes and crushing defeats of stays granted and appeals denied. Dancer In the Dark is not a legal drama - in many ways, guilt or innocence becomes a moot point. When von Trier's cameras settle into the prison, they stay focused on the human element. In that way, he is able to condemn the system without becoming preachy.

Had von Trier presented the film in a straightforward, Dogma-esque dramatic fashion, it would no doubt have been powerful. However, in keeping with his iconoclast reputation, he elected to fuse in elements of an homage to old Hollywood musicals (including an overture). As a result, there are about six instances in which all the action stops so the characters can sing and dance their way through elaborate production numbers. Like Kenneth Branagh's musical re-interpretation of Love's Labour's Lost, it doesn't always work, but it is consistently interesting. And it certainly takes a hell of a lot of guts to incorporate traditional musical elements into a dark, thought-provoking drama. No wonder a portion of the Cannes audience didn't know what to make of the film.

Of course, the singing and dancing serve a purpose beyond that of honoring Hollywood's greatest lost genre. For Selma, music represents a retreat from a life that, if viewed starkly, would be unbearable. Many immigrants arriving in this country find that the harsh reality does not match the gauzy dream, either for newcomers or for those who have been here for a long time. Nevertheless, even in the face of this hard truth, Selma remains irrepressible. As in Roberto Benigni's Life Is Beautiful, the fantasy elements - presented here as lavishly produced production numbers - offer a means of escape. Even after her vision is gone and her life is in tatters, Selma still has her music to hold on to. Admittedly, the songs (all composed by Björk with words by von Trier) aren't the kind of catchy tunes that viewers will be humming in the car on the way home. In fact, they bear little resemblance to anything turned out by Hollywood during the heyday of the musical, but they are effective in the context of this film, because, like so much else on von Trier's canvas, they have a strangely haunting power.

It would be impossible not to note the similarities between Dancer In the Dark and Breaking the Waves. Both films focus on a grave wrong committed by society and of how a relative innocent must pay the price. Selma shares many characteristics with Bess, the Waves protagonist brilliantly played by Emily Watson - they have pure hearts and would willingly sacrifice themselves for what they perceive to be a greater cause. There are common elements in Björk's and Watson's performances, as well. Both connect deeply with their characters and bring that emotion out on screen in a visceral manner than cannot help but affect even the most cold-hearted viewer. No other director may wring from Björk the kind of performance that von Trier did.

As is always the case with a von Trier film, style is often as important as substance. Like Breaking the Waves, Dancer In the Dark is rooted in the precepts of the Dogma "vow of cinematic chastity", although a couple of departures have disallowed Dancer In the Dark from receiving the official seal of approval. (To date, von Trier, who is one of the primary authors of Dogma, has only released one film under its umbrella: The Idiots, which received very limited North American distribution.) Dancer In the Dark credits the director (who, according to Dogma rules, is supposed to remain anonymous) and uses post-production work to enhance the musical numbers.

Viewers susceptible to motion sickness may have trouble with Dancer In the Dark, especially if they sit close to the screen. As in Breaking the Waves, von Trier employs a very unsteady hand-held camera and uses frequent pans during conversations. It's a dizzying approach that may disorient some audience members. Also as in Breaking the Waves, von Trier has desaturated the color, making Dancer In the Dark appear murky and washed out (emphasizing the dreariness of life). The exception is during the musical numbers, which are filmed in full, vibrant hues employing traditional editing and steady camera work. The contrast between these sequences and the "normal" ones is immediately noticeable.

The acting standout is Björk. She is capably supported by fine performances from, in particular, David Morse as the decent-but-flawed Bill and an underused Catherine Deneuve as Kathy. For an actress of Deneuve's stature and ability, it's surprising that von Trier didn't offer her a meatier role. Cameo roles are filled by Stellan Skarsgård (whose career has gone into high gear since he appeared in Breaking the Waves), Udo Kier, and stage and screen veteran Joel Grey, who gets to participate in one of the song-and-dance numbers.

Regardless of whether an individual has an opinion of von Trier or not, his movies speak for themselves - loudly. The filmmaker is a talented risk-taker, and instances of failure in his features are often more invigorating than instances of success in the work of less ambitious directors. Dancer In the Dark does something almost inconceivable in the way it merges two disparate genres (the musical and the tragedy), and, although there are a few hiccups, the result represents a thought-provoking, emotionally resonant, and innovative cinematic experience.

© 2000 James Berardinelli