Silent House and Melancholia

I'm going to do for Silent House as I did previously with The Lorax, augment an entry on a perfunctory (or in this case, awful) film with thoughts on one more worthy of analysis. Let's get the rancid vegetables out of the way so we can indulge in the dessert, shall we? The trailer for Silent House intrigued me with its gimmicky single take premise and how it didn't spell out what the menace was. That trepidatious good will quickly evaporated as it became clear that my least favorite genre trope, walking around aimlessly in a dark house, would be the order of the day. But the warning signs were abundantly clear from the start. Awful acting by the men playing Olsen's father and brother made it impossible to believe for one second any of these people were related. The aesthetic was repetitively unappealing, the lighting scheme a chore to squint through and the sound design as predictable and jump scare heavy as I'd feared.

The thing that takes Silent House from forgettable matinee time waster to callous and ugly exercise is the third act reveal that Olsen is the one who's been tormenting her father and uncle as revenge for their sexual abuse of her in her youth. Not only does this decimate the films internal logic, it uses a gravely serious issue to fashion a stupid, unearned twist for a boring, inconsequential movie. If you're going to take things to that nasty of a place, you better be ready to get your hands dirty and treat it with the gravity it calls for. A few blurry, strewn Polaroids and a pool of blood aren't enough to justify bringing your film to what is for some people, an extraordinarily sensitive place. Silent House's crimes are many. From the unnecessarily exploitative nature of it, to the High Tension style twist that doesn't hold up to the fact that once it's over, you realize you've been watching a woman hide from herself for the last 85 minutes. Garbage.

Thankfully, this week saw the bluray release of Lars Von Trier's Melancholia, a film I've been dying to see since I first heard of it, which feels like an eternity ago. It never came to a theater I would deem up to snuff in the audio visual department, so I patiently awaited the bluray and did my utmost to avoid spoilers. I enjoyed Dogville quite a bit, but thought Antichrist was a revelation. Melancholia did not disappoint, if anything, it exceeded my expectations. Far from being the nihilistic descent its story would suggest, Melancholia is a surprisingly compassionate and restrained look at the place of human life in the vast cosmos. It is as gorgeous and painterly as Antichrist, but nowhere near the punishing experience that film was. The first half is a slyly comic take down of human attachment to ridiculous rituals. An opulent limousine getting stuck in a winding driveway. A boring reception with innumerable speeches, each more uncomfortable and cringe inducing than the last. Tired guests waiting around endlessly to cut the cake or catch the bouquet.

Perhaps best of all is Kiefer Sutherland, who turns in a genuinely terrific performance as Dunst's shamefully wealthy brother in law, who can't stop complaining about how much things cost or how well appointed his manor and golf course is. Gainsbourg is equally magnificent as her more put together sibling who begins to lose her composure as earth's destruction becomes imminent. I think too much has been made about these sisters swapping identities with the encroaching apocalypse. I feel that both characters act as they would in reality. Claire has more to lose and acutely feels the panic of her beautiful life and family slipping away, whereas Justine's crippling depression makes it possible for her to face the obliteration of all life with detached stoicism. She's never ebullient about it though. This film is pure poetry, bathed in gold the first half, drenched in blue the second as looming Melancholia holds sway.

Like Antichrist, the film is cathartic, thought provoking and deeply archetypal. It is confrontational as well, but not as blunt. It's as if the edges were sanded down, the characters easier to relate to, the imagery more comforting. Even if people don't like what Von Trier has to say about the relative value of human life, there's nothing offensive about the film and its languid indifference toward existence. It's gorgeous to look at, honest about where it stands and respectful of emotional attachment, if not possessing it. It's an impressive achievement from a true auteur, a film that shows him growing as both human and artist.