ANTICHRIST (2009) ¢ ¢ ¢
D: Lars von Trier
Charlotte Gainsbourg, Willem Dafoe
Another ticket to hell, punched and stamped by your friendly tour guide, Lars von Trier. This time, your fellow passengers are Charlotte Gainsbourg and Willem Dafoe as a married couple traumatized by the accidental death of their young son. He's a psychologist and she's an emotional wreck, and he thinks if they spend some time together at a cabin in the woods, he can help her though the grieving process and bring her back from the abyss. Instead, she becomes more unstable, and finally goes over the edge. The last half-hour is the art-house equivalent of torture porn. (When Charlotte gets out a long pair of scissors, you might want to consider looking the other way.) Even allowing for the director's impressionistic view of the world, the story doesn't make much sense, and how much of the psychology involved is insightful and how much is claptrap, I couldn't say. But add this movie to what's come before, and two things are plain about Lars von Trier. He's got a vision like nobody else's. And his attitude toward women is real fucked up.
