Antichrist (2009)

Todd McCarthy of Variety said it best, I think, when he said: "Lars Von Trier cuts a big fat art-film fart with ANTICHRIST." I couldn't have said it better myself.

Ever the craftsman, Von Trier built a reputation as an artist with films that often explore the insecurities of women. Though I have yet to see all of them, two of them, "Breaking the Waves" and "Dancer in the Dark," were among my 10 favorite films of the year in their respective years of release. I am still mesmerized and haunted by both of those movies.

Haunted, it turns out, will be a feeling I'll carry with me now that I've seen ANTICHRIST. Von Trier is quoted as saying that he thought up the film to help him get out of a deep depression. Thanks a lot, Lars. Because you've now thrown me into one. Or at least you've left me grasping in humiliation for ways to explain to my friends, co-workers and family why I sat through almost two hours of artistically-rendered hard core pornography and graphic, mutilation-glorifying violence. As a matter of fact, either my mouth was open in shock or my hands were literally covering my eyes for more than a half hour of the film. I didn't know that people actually did that...covering their eyes and peeking through their fingers, until I found myself doing it. And now I've seen what is for certain the craziest movie I've ever seen and I have no one to talk to about it. God forbid I recommend it to anyone. I'm not sure I could bear the conversation that would follow.

What will cause some critics to blindly applaud this film is the fact that it is so thoughtfully and even at times stunningly artistic. The opening scene is pure manipulation: a slow-motion, black and white look at a couple engaged in real sex (yes, with on-screen penetration) that is so electrifying that it continues in multiple rooms in their apartment, all while their toddler son is in the process of climbing out of his crib and up to (and eventually out of) a window sill. He falls to his death, preceded by his stuffed animal. It's in slow motion, gorgeously filmed, and set to a Handel aria. It looks dreamy, but the horror of the narrative, of course, is the fact that it is not a dream.

He (Willem Dafoe) and She (Charlotte Gainsbourg) (no actual names are used) are devastated by their loss, as we'd expect. And, as is realistic, the loss of their child causes them to grieve in different ways that threaten their relationship. This is a concept that is profoundly explored in the play "Rabbit Hole," which is soon to be a feature film itself. Here, we find that He turns rational, contemplative and emotionally restrained, helped by the fact that he is some kind of psychologist or therapist. She loses her mind and is checked in for psychiatric care because she is grieving "abnormally."

At first, I found it to be strikingly interesting that He continues to care for his wife by focusing more on his role as a therapist than on his role as a husband, with only sexual intercourse as a reminder of their intimate relationship. And the sex, by the way, happens frequently in the film and at the most stunningly bizarre moments. Whenever the two argue, one of them seems to be naked from the waist down, as if to say that intercourse has to happen at that point since they're halfway there.

After a while, however, I grew frustrated with the way He all but gives up on being a loving, understanding husband. He throws away her pills and forces her to confront her fears directly, mapping them out on a sheet of paper as a pyramid with her greatest fear(s) a question mark at the top point. Learning that a cabin in the woods where the family would vacation, called Eden, is a spot of particular anguish for her, he loads up the camping equipment and forces her to face it.

Then, the film becomes a horror film. The great outdoors become, as She refers to them, "Satan's church." And it's no coincidence that we refer to nature as female (Mother Nature), because Von Trier goes all misogynistic from this point on, the woman becoming the root of all evil, whether she be Mother Nature or just a grief-stricken wife and mother. There's not enough sex to make the pain go away and too much guilt to overcome. How could her child die in her moment of great personal pleasure? Before the end of the film, she will make both of them pay for it. Throw in some creepy woodland animals to represent the stages of grief outlined by Von Trier's chapter titles and references to her thesis work studying witchcraft (among other things), and you've got yourself a Saw film in the hands of an auteur.

In a striking visual towards the end of the film, the couple has sex (again) at the base of a hollowed-out tree in the forest, and we see human limbs sprouting from the tree. (That's the best I can explain it.) If you defy my advice and watch ANTICHRIST, you should seriously consider stopping the film at this point. I can't think of anything that can justify the final 20 minutes. They are filled with some of the most unthinkable visuals I have ever seen. I will not be able to wipe my brain clean again.

I have decided that ANTICHRIST is the new litmus test for the film arterati. There are certain to be some who will feel as though they can defend it and justify what it stands for. Those folks will have a hard time convincing me that there is anything of value in this film. Von Trier made it because he could. He seeks controversy from audiences for the sake of it, just as Madonna was accused of doing in the early half of her career. The only difference is, Madonna could justify her provocations. Von Trier cannot.

ANTICHRIST is not a fruitful study of what a couple goes through when they lose a child. It is not a work of feminism, either. In fact, it portrays female sexuality as a gift from Satan, rather than God. I must admit that I could not turn away from watching ANTICHRIST despite on two occasions telling myself - out loud - to turn it off or walk away. I watched it in that sick gaper's way that we look at car accidents. There is no more reasonable way to explain this film's appeal.

The sex in ANTICHRIST is not erotic. The psychology of the film is not revealing or helpful. The struggle of the couple is not cathartic. So what is ANTICHRIST? Well, as I said before, it's a trainwreck. A cinematic accident. And like all good accidents, you will never forget it. You'll only wish that you could. I refused to be seduced by Von Trier's attempts at art. And some day, I'll forgive myself for watching...

1.0 out of 4