Melancholia: this is the way the world ends...


 

You can read this.  Nothing I could say in words would "spoil" the experience of this film.

I sat down to write my way to some kind of understanding of what had just happened to me while watching this film…and I’m not sure I ever got there.  But I’m going to leave it as I wrote it.

I think you’ll “get it,” even so…

Stumble along with me.  We might all stumble into something memorable…

I suspect…it will be just like it was in the movie, the real end of the world.

Not the Biblical one, but the one that is probably inevitable but hopefully hundreds or thousands of years away, still.  The one Lars Von Trier did such a frighteningly matter-of-fact job of portraying in Melancholia, a film now in rotation on cable.

I watched it by accident—channel surfing.  And I kept wanting to stop watching it.  It was one of those movies that is like watching paint dry, except that something eccentric, shocking or puzzling happens every few minutes and keeps you there.

This film is particularly eccentric.  I didn’t know who was who or why anyone was doing whatever they were doing for most of the first half of the film.  At the beginning, Kirsten Dunst, in a stunning gown fit for a young royal, is marrying some guy she keeps running away from to do crazy things that don’t make sense until you realize that she knows the end is near. 

In fact, she is the only one in the film who isn’t trying not to know it, except her own rather unusual mother, who comes to the wedding mostly, it seems, to expound upon the futility of it all.

She’s embracing her despair like a petulant child who asks for a special dessert…and then throws it on the floor and cries after it splatters on the ground.  Sometimes she’s acutely depressed, to the point of refusing even to stand up on her own. 

She has stopped bathing.  She has stopped eating.  She wants everything.  She wants nothing.

But she does strip naked one night to lie in thrall, gazing seductively up at the planet that has become a second moon and will move closer and closer and closer until it sucks up the earth and everything else in its path.

All kinds of metaphors there.  For life, death, love, marriage—I began to really want to ride the thing out after that.  I knew there was a lot more to it than this spare little story.

Her sister is the lady of the estate.  She wants to believe that her husband…and whatever other elusive “something” that has always saved her, will save them all again this time.  She buys pills to swallow in case, but in the end it is her husband, who was so sure that his scientific calculations about the monster planet missing the earth by a hair, who gobbles them down in the stable beside his beloved horses.

They believed in their noblesse oblige.  Deeply.   And then, it’s the failing of that he cannot face—far more than the planet that makes a fool of him, it is the fact that he cannot buy or call upon science to save him, that he cannot handle.  He “should” be able to fix this.   To find a mathematical formula or…some expensive something or other, that will save his little family.

He bought himself an expensive telescope with which to see what he told himself, his little boy and everyone else was a historic even the like of which mankind would never see again.

How right he was.

And when he is made to understand his powerlessness in the face of this thing that does not care how rich or brilliant he is…he dies, alone, unable to face the family he cannot save.

His death tells us what he never tells his doting wife and son.   And so we endure with those still living, those last mesmerizing and harrowing last 10 minutes or so, when all pretense falls away—even for the viewer. 

We sit with them, watching that planet grow larger and larger—so beautiful.  And so terrible.   What would you I do, I kept asking myself.  What would I say?  How would I comfort my own child?  Would I be able to comfort my own child?  What…in God’s name…would any of us do?  When there is nothing we can do…

At the end, it is Kirsten’s emotionally decimated character who finally creates a little fairy tale about a magical safe haven, a story as fragile and yet comforting as the little “tipi” she, her little nephew and her by then nearly catatonic sister build with a few fallen tree limbs.   Neither the story nor the tipi will save them.

But they sit there in their little circle, with their eyes closed tight, awaiting a fate there is no story for.

And in so doing, they offer us one suggestion about what to do now, well before “the end.”   It is to do as they did, both in the face of great peril and perhaps even great joy.  We should be still.  We should...shut up, sit down—stop, in those momentous times in our lives.  Lives which will end just as surely end as theirs did with in that awful…awe-inspiring way. 

And so, in this story, in the last minutes, they simply sit there.  On the grounds of the picturesque country estate, in the shadow of a house straight out of Brideshead Revisited…when it begins to rain…and hail…and then…

There’s a rumbling and a burst of flame—and they are cinders, flying. 

The screen goes black.  And…I don’t remember any music or sounds.  Just silence.  Which…is what it might be like, I suppose, after.

But I think mostly Von Trier didn’t want to let us off the hook with music.  No, “Oh!  Movie’s over!  Who wants pizza?”

Nobody’s eating after this one.  Not…for a while, anyway.

I couldn’t even talk for an hour after I saw it. 

Little messages from the movie will be bubbling up for some time to come, I’m sure.  For now…I recommend that you sit down and see Melancholia, if you can bear it.  I can’t spoil it for you.  My words are nothing compared to the actual experience.

I remember…I said the oddest thing, when the fire came.  Something one of my Bible thumping elder women used to say, when they were deeply moved by sadness or "the spirit."

I said, “My Lord…”

I’m not a believer as they were.  This movie hasn’t made me one.

It did, however, deepen my belief that there are forces greater than us.  And that by ignoring them…we may fail to see the wonder of this place we somehow came to live in, for reasons we may never truly understand.

What will it be like when, like that beautiful blue planet that finally obliterates that fictional film world, those forces conspire to force us to acknowledge them?

Van Trier does not answer that question.  He simply dares to have us live it and see if we find any answers in it.

Failing that, we can at least be humbled, for a short time, by what we feel as we experience the end as he envisioned it.

I was.  I still am.

My, Lord…

Views: 256

Comment by Alan Milner on October 5, 2012 at 8:42am

Jan and I have been discussing this issue on another post, so, here, let me just say that the myth is that the world doesn't end every day.  It does, 154,800 times a day, which the number of deaths on any given day on this planet.  And, as Qu'ran says, when you save a life is is as though you have saved all of creation....the obverse is obviously true.  Each time someone dies, the universe that person knew about dies as well.  The idea of all of us dying all at once, however, has a terrifying quality of loss behind it.  Not all of us. Not all at once.  Because, then, there's no one to remember us, no one to mourn, no one to grieve.  

Comment by Alan Milner on October 5, 2012 at 1:54pm

Sorry, Jan, that boat has sailed.  There are people all over the internet who do care about you.  We may be disembodied voices, but sound has weight.   I'm one of them, by the way.  There are a lot of others.  

Comment by Alan Milner on October 6, 2012 at 5:49am

Ah, but some of those other slaves remembered him, and passed his stories on to the next generation, and the one after that until, gradually, he became a mythic being endowed with superhuman powers that were distant recollections of the strength of his will and perhaps his distant descendants remembered his stories about freedom and used them as a prescription for rebellion.  And eventually they put a name to the legend, and called him Moses.   Two men were responsible for fomenting the American revolution, Thomas Paine and Benjamin Franklin.  We extol one but barely remember the other but, together, they lit the spark that started the fire.  Most peoples deeds die with them because they are small deeds only known to a small circle of friends.  Great men and women do great things and those things are remembered for centuries, millennia without end.  Immortality is found in the continuity of human memory, in collective consciousness.  We don''t often realize this, but the things that we put out here on the internet may well be here a thousand years from now.  Maybe not these words, because individual web sites are perishable.  But things get repeated, copied, and stored in multiple locations.   Maybe not here, but certainly somewhere on the internet my poetry will go on after I am finished here.  I hope so, because even putting them into print would not guarantee their longevity any more certainly than recording them here.  We are all works in progress, all fictions becoming facts.  As you complete your life's journey, the notes you leave behind will be read long after you have shuffled off. That may not give you much comfort, but perhaps you might take a breath and realize it wasn't all in vain after all.  We nourish each other.   That's something. 

Comment by Alan Milner on October 6, 2012 at 8:38am

I look at my bookshelves, which groan under the weight of hundreds of books I've never read but always meant to.  There's not enough time to read 1/1000th of a percent of that which is worth reading.  This is why I am often embarrassed when I take up other people's time with my drivel.  And I know I write drivel, because I have read great writing, and I know the difference, but I write as well as I am able to, always knowing that the best I can offer is merely more background noise.  However, we, here, collectively are creating a new art form, a collective consciousness reflecting upon itself, and that's very, very exciting.   And isn't it interesting how we have ended up in this dialogue following an article about a movie I never heard of, much see viewed,and how no one else, not even the author of  the article, has chimed into the discussion.  It's like having a dialogue on stage in an empty theater. 

Comment by Kenneth Sibbett on October 6, 2012 at 2:19pm

I have not seen it, but I will damn sure be channel surfing to find it. Great Review~

Comment by Alan Milner on October 6, 2012 at 7:00pm

I keep books because the books are a window on my consciousness.  My selections tell me how my interests have evolved.  Of course, I've read quite a few, but these days I find that fiction doesn't grip me the way it once did.  My attention wanders.  History, science, psychology, economics. philosophy, religion, semantics...these hold my interest.  

Comment by Rodney Roe on October 6, 2012 at 7:24pm

I probably enjoyed your writing about the movie more than I will the movie.  On an intellectual level I know that we are powerless specks  in the universe.  On an emotional level I still like to think that we all matter.  Your description reminds me of a movie from the cold war era - can't remember the name - where both sides pushed the launch buttons ensuring mutual destruction.  At the end the focus was on a farm family in the mid west with a missile silo next to the house.  The silo opens and the missile heads toward Russia.  The father and children go to the bomb shelter, but the wife/mother, seeing the end more clearly begins to make the beds.

Comment by Rodney Roe on October 6, 2012 at 7:33pm

Keka, I probably enjoyed your writing about the movie more than I will watching the movie.  On an intellectual level i know that we are just specks in the Universe.  On an emotional level I still like to believe that we all matter.

This reminds me of a cold war movie - can't remember the title - where, after both sides had launched missiles the final scene is of a Midwestern farm family.  As they watch the missile leave the silo in their field the father gets the kids ready to go to the bomb shelter.  The wife/mother having a more clear understanding of the end begins to remake the beds.

Comment by Alan Milner on October 7, 2012 at 5:01am

A long time ago, a naturalist friend told me that I shouldn't feed bread to ducks because they can't digest it.  I don't know if this is true or not because I never researched it.  However, you can save a lot of time and money if you let the ducks fend for themselves.  21 loaves of bread seems like a lot of bread per day.  You could purchase duck feed much more cheaply at the local hardware store and simply put it out for the birds.  (I am quite specific that bread is no good for ducks, which are carnivores, by the way.  They eat fish and insects....not grains or grass. .  

Comment by Rodney Roe on October 7, 2012 at 4:48pm

Some ducks - canvasbacks, mallards, pin tails, teal, etc.commonly referred to as puddle ducks - eat vegetation.  Other ducks commonly referred to as diving ducks are primarily meat eaters.  Shoveler s sift muck through their bills and eat a mix.  Divers like mergansers and shovelers which are tippers,taste fishy' and are not sought out by hunters.  What any of this has to do with the end of the world we know is not clear.  What is clear is that their lives and their self-determination would be of no more significance or power than our own.

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