I watched these two because both of these artsy-fartsy films got really good reviews, and I wanted to see what the big deal was. Famous last words. In the end, it didn't matter much to me that Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life got 84% Fresh on Rotten Tomatoes or that Lars von Trier's Melancholia rated 78% positive. I hated them both, or, perhaps it's more diplomatic to say that I couldn't get into these movies. Viscerally they utterly failed to move me. This isn't to say that they aren't well-crafted projects. In a number of scenes, they are striking to see. Both of these movies were pushing the envelope of film as abstract art, and in both huge orchestral soundtracks paired with eye-popping visuals make me wonder if the directors thought them all up while under the influence of - ah, shall we say - potent recreational substances of doubtful legality.
These films are prime examples of beautiful tedium. Both of them move with an excruciatingly glacial pace, with Melancholia being the worse offender. Compared to them, watching paint dry or grass grow would feel like watching Usain Bolt stretch his legs. (Look, if I want weird slow-paced arty panoramas, I'll watch 2001: A Space Odyssey, OK?) Worse, the characters don't get under your skin. In Melancholia particularly, I eventually found everyone to be hatefully and self-indulgently gloomy (and, if I may snark, I totally do not buy how the Kirsten Dunst character *spoiler!* so cavalierly threw away the beautiful Alexander Skarsgard. Am I right, ladies? Come on). The air of self-important pretentiousness smothers everything in sight. I felt as if I were drowning slowly and inexorably in the murk of so-called art.
Maybe, as this other critic said, I watch Lars von Trier movies to remind myself why I hate Lars von Trier movies. Sorry, torturous and claustrophobic despair is not very congenial. As long as I'm on the topic ... Von Trier's total lack of subtlety this time was like a sledgehammer to the cranium. In his movie, there's a rogue planet called Melancholia that's about to smash into the Earth while Kirsten Dunst mopes, complains that her meatloaf tastes like ashes, and mumbles something about life on Earth being evil. Seriously, the planet-killer is called Melancholia. Why not just name it Creepifying Existential Horror? Doesn't anybody remember this brilliant Onion satire of Lars von Trier movies? I will also have you know that after Melancholia I was so catatonic that I actually listened to One Direction to wake me up with some silly cheerful teenage pop. One Direction. Damn you, Lars von Trier!
Oh, yeah, I know people will say that I just didn't "get" the movies or make some other such predictable reply whenever a critic doesn't like a movie that a lot of other critics like (then again, de gustibus - Peter Travers loved him some Stay, but I - and a bunch of other folks - hated it). Trust me, I love movies. I loooooove movies, if the sheer number of reviews I've done instead of my real research is any indication. I love art movies too, but some movies I will not recommend no matter what other critics say, and these two are among them. I hadn't seen anything so crushingly numbing or depressingly disappointing since The Lovely Bones. Heck with it all. I want to see The Dark Knight Rises again to counteract all the slow gloominess. Ennui only works for so long. We are men of action, as Westley did say, lies do not become us. Neither do somnolent indulgences of self-important film with overwrought aspirations of profundity.
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