Dogville (2003)

Dir. Lars Von Trier / 178 minutes / Cert 15

I expect three things whenever I sit down to watch a Lars Von Trier film. I expect extremity, I anticipate something a bit (okay, a lot) different and I don’t reckon upon coming away with a smile on my face. I’m happy to say that Dogville delivered on all three counts.

Running for almost three hours and divided up into nine chapters (plus a prologue) the 1930s set film is ‘the sad tale of the township of Dogville’, an isolated fifteen-person community located in the Rocky Mountains populated by seemingly good-natured folk who want for nothing and appear to make the most of what little life has handed to them. Their simple existence is shattered by the arrival of Grace (Nicole Kidman), a fragile (and if the DVD blurb is to be believed) beautiful fugitive pursued by gangsters and in need of a place to seek refuge. Championed by Tom Edison Jr. (a wide-eyed Paul Bettany), the townspeople unanimously agree to shelter Grace, who, by way of payment, agrees to work for them. She quickly establishes herself as a valued member of their close-knit society, but with the search for her intensifying, her acceptance is short-lived and the residents of Dogville soon reveal their true colours.

I am almost invariably drawn to characters who are seen as outsiders, so therefore I was onside with Grace from the off. In a bit of an anomaly, Kidman gives an astonishing leading performance and the rejection, exploitation and manipulation she endures is horrific and crushing. I am wary of divulging specific plot details, but one character’s betrayal in particular left me distraught. This is a film that will seriously challenge your faith in the goodness of humanity (I’m just glad I watched with a plentiful supply of chocolate to cushion the pain) as its powerful portrayal of human nature is vicious, visceral and violent. The fact that evil manifests itself in such an ordinary, mundane setting (we have gooseberry bushes and squirrels darting between children’s legs for Heaven’s sake) serves to make the film all the more disturbing. John Hurt’s characteristic smooth-as-silk narration, which reassuringly pervades throughout, lulls the viewer into a state of false security. The use of an omniscient storyteller creates the impression that the film is a kind of perverse fairy-tale, a slice of whispered folklore passed down through the generations, the legend of Dogville with its grotesque monsters and its damsel in distress.

I would have rated the film highly regardless, but the icing on the already delicious cake comes in the form of how Von Trier chooses to present his narrative visually. The action takes place almost on a soundstage, a blackboard on which the actors can perform. The story-space is heavily implied and realised largely through crude chalked outlines, perhaps a metaphor for the primitive and rudimentary nature of both the town and its inhabitants. For example, the gooseberry bush is a basic-level helpfully labelled black-and-white abstract squiggle. It is originally quite an odd concept to adjust to, but once you get used to seeing and hearing character’s knock on invisible doors, the minimalistic Brechtian-inspired theatre staging feels completely unique. With the boat already pushed out so far (the fact that Tom is constantly engaged in self-reflection parallels the desired effect that Brecht strove to provoke in his audiences), part of me wishes Von Trier had gone all the way and completely embraced his key influence and had character’s break down the fourth wall and directly engage with us (as the audience).

In short, this is a long, demanding film about the arrogance of forgiveness. But it’s well worth it. Nine-and-a-half kernels of popcorn out of ten.