Dancer in the Dark

There’s an element of distance in watching films. The very nature of the medium is to transport you, to show you things you’ve never seen. Huge amounts of money are spent to generate scenery and special effects.

Occasionally, though, a film turns up that doesn’t have the same goal, and it’s all the more shocking because of it. It forces you to sit up and pay attention, because it’s no longer far away. Dancer in the Dark is one of these films. For good or for bad, you are pulled into director Lars von Trier’s world, trapped, and not allowed any way to distance yourself.

Icelandic pop diva Björk stars as Selma, an immigrant working in a factory in the 1960s, who is fighting a hereditary blindness and scraping together money for an operation on her son before he is blinded by the same disease. She is reminiscent of Dickens’ deserving poor, loyal and sacrificing to her son and friends despite her lot in life. We are quickly made to sympathize with her, as we see her dreams and fantasies, especially her love of musicals and her desire to star in one herself. She’s an object of pity; neither the characters nor the audience want to deny her her fantasy.

Most noticeable, and most contributing to the closeness of the film, is the way the scenes are shot. The movie is filmed with a handheld camera, and its movements are quick and unsophisticated. The characters are not, seemingly, placed in the frame carefully and proportionately. Instead, it feels amateurish; and this is what makes it so close. You are reminded of your own home filming experiences – family gatherings, birthdays, parties – captured with an inexpensive camcorder. As the characters interact, the camera clumsily captures the scene as if you yourself had held it. The dialogue and action thus come across more as a memory you never knew you had than something a writer created to entertain us.

The camera then becomes almost a character itself. It parallels the lead, Selma – a character with a dream, yet too poor and unsophisticated to ever fully realize it. We are made to feel pity for the camera; it has something to say, a message to bring us, but it’s held back by its own amateur status.

What brings the film to life, though, are the musical scenes – Selma’s fantasies about her life turning into a full song-and-dance sequence. Each song starts from the world around her: the rhythmic noises of a factory machine or train or another everyday object. Selma is pulled into the rhythm, and in her mind the world is transformed. Handheld cameras are no longer used; instead some 100 stationary cameras capture the scenes in color much more vivid than any of the other scenes. The people surrounding Selma join her in her offbeat dances, joining her fantasy for a brief, shining moment.

For that moment you soar with Selma. You feel and see her mind – but at the end of the scene you wake into a jarring reality. Each time she dreams, she wakes up to a situation worse than before.

As the movie continues, you become increasingly discomforted by its ideas. You get the sense that Selma is a beautiful spirit, trapped by a cruel God into a certain lifestyle and circumstances. She tries to rise above it in life and through her dreams, but she is not allowed to. The trickster God allows her to hope, but uses the expression of that hope to bring about its own demise. We feel the injustice; we are angry at God for Selma’s sake.

This is the feeling the movie finally communicates. First, it makes us feel pity; second, joy at fantasies similar to our own; finally, anger at providence. He tells us that we are given our lot in life, and no amount of trying can get us beyond it. We cannot break free.

One has to respect Von Trier for his abilities. He is able to pull the film together in many ways – in ways most directors don’t even consider. One has to wonder, though…. Is his reality the true reality? Or is it his own twisted view on fate? Are we doomed to a path that we cannot get out of? Is God truly maleficent? Does he live simply to trick us?

I think not. Von Trier’s worldview is inherently incompatible with a Christian one, and the theme reflects it. Therefore, view this film with discernment: Watch that, enamored with its emotional rides, you do not feel anger towards God. Filmmakers are successful if they can communicate their worldview through the entire film – not simply through a preachy voiceover at the end. Watch it, and respect Von Trier, but do not be misled.

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