Prepisano iz Vjesnik (21.5.2003)
Lars von Trier’s "Dogville" is such a wild ride, isn't it? It’s one of those movies that just sticks in your brain because it refuses to play by any of the usual rules we expect from Hollywood storytelling. Instead of giving us these lush, immersive sets, he strips everything down to the bare essentials—literally drawing the lines on the floor like a stage play—and forces you to focus entirely on the raw, uncomfortable tension between the characters. It's gritty, it's unapologetic, and honestly, it's pretty polarizing. You either find it absolutely brilliant or completely maddening, but there's no middle ground when you're dealing with a director like von Trier.
With "Dogville" arguably being his strongest work yet, Lars von Trier actually delivered on the hype and single-handedly rescued the Festival from a sea of total mediocrity. It was this raw, unbridled energy and a flood of genuine ideas; the director managed to craft this biting, razor-sharp critique of America—even though he’s never actually lived there—but honestly, it didn't stop him from leaning hard into his own unapologetic perspectives.
CANNES, May 20th (From our special correspondent for Vjesnik) – Honestly, I feel like an American, even though I’ve never actually set foot in the States, but hey, I’m incredibly well-informed since the media has been relentlessly bombarding us since we were kids with every single little detail about that country. I guess I’d paraphrase Kennedy with my own little twist on his famous sentiment: "I am American."
I’d love to get swept up in that sense of absolute freedom everyone talks about in America, but honestly, looking at the results of these election campaigns just kills the mood for me. I’m certain America is a beautiful country, but I’m starting to wonder if I’d actually want to head over there right now, because this version of America definitely wouldn't be the one I have in my head. It feels like the country is being held hostage by a total cultural mismatch. My film *Dogville* isn't some direct critique of America itself; rather, it’s more of a commentary on my own perception of the place. At the end of the day, good and evil live inside every single person and every single society—it's just the circumstances that act like a megaphone, cranking up the volume until those traits finally burst through the surface.
That’s just how Lars von Trier talks—he’s this powerhouse Scandinavian director who’s easily one of the most inventive artists working in the US and Europe right now. He’s got this undeniable genius and a flood of original ideas, fueled by this raw, unbridled energy that just keeps him moving. This provocative guy is constantly pushing his own limits, whether he's diving into avant-garde concepts, sparking the whole Dogme 95 movement, or taking classic genres and flipping them completely on their head. Honestly, he plays with every single facet of filmmaking you can think of, from the pure aesthetics and dramatic structure to the technical grit and deep emotional impact.
So far, he’s actually managed to shape three pretty striking trilogies. You’ve got his first "European trilogy," which kicks things off with those early works like Element of crime (1984), Epidemic (1987), and Europa, Europa (1991). Then there’s the second one, which is really focused on women—it actually takes its name from that children's book, the Golden Heart Trilogy, about this little girl who’s always ready to sacrifice herself. That set includes his heavy hitters like Breaking the Wave (1996), The Idiots (1998), and finally Dance in the Dark (2000), the one that earned him the big Palme d'Or at Cannes.
*Dogville* kicks off the whole "USA – Land of Opportunity" trilogy. It opens with this prologue followed by nine distinct chapters, all tied together by the narrator—played by John Hurt—who keeps peppering the story with these incredibly cynical observations about everything unfolding on screen. The whole thing plays out within this highly stylized, top-down stage set that gives you a bird's-eye view of a tiny little town, situated somewhere in the middle of some remote, forgotten corner of the American provinces near the Rocky Mountains. It’s set during those repressive 1930s years, depicting a community totally cut off from the rest of the world, where people just drift through these seemingly idyllic, yet deeply modest and troubled lives that feel entirely fake and suffocatingly small.
Building a highway straight into a small town can trigger a whole new chapter of life—it’s rarely the idyllic fairy tale people expect, but it's definitely a massive, provocative shake-up. It’s just like when this mysterious, stunning woman named Grace rolls into town and completely flips the script; at first, the locals give her the cold shoulder, but before you know it, they're totally exploiting her, turning her into nothing more than a commodity to serve their every whim.
Hypocrisy, a thirst for revenge, that totally flippant attitude toward women—especially those who actually stand on their own two feet—plus all that narrow-minded provincialism and closed-off exclusivity... it’s basically everything you'd expect from the version of America that Lars von Trier lays bare, showing off his massive talent through his uncompromising way of handling the characters he crafts himself as a screenwriter.
His Grace is right at the heart of everything here—she’s this woman carrying a heavy secret, someone who is ready to sacrifice absolutely everything, just like all his other heroines in his past films, but there's a twist: unlike any of them before, she ends up transforming into this cold, ruthless avenger.
Even if he claims this isn't some grand metaphor for America—arguing that a story like this could unfold in any isolated little bubble—it feels like Lars von Trier is clearly out to settle a score with them. But since we’re talking about a top-tier artist, this showdown isn't some cheap or basic jab; it goes way deeper than just the plot or the setting, reaching instead into the very way the movie is actually built. Instead of leaning on all those slick Hollywood gadgets and high-end special effects that let directors make things look "realer" than what your average filmmaker could ever dream up, Von Trier decides to flip the script entirely. He pulls everything back to square one, staging the whole thing—the streets, the shops, even the characters' apartments—on what looks like a massive theatrical stage where everything feels improvised. From a distance, you see the blueprint of a city, but get closer and it’s clearly just a theater set. Conceptually, when you look at how these people interact, it’s pure cinema, and through the lens of his own vision, it’s exactly what he needed: a sense of being both everything and nothing at once. It’s the perfect way to capture his vision of America—this strange construction of life that exists somewhere in a dreamscape, a place where even a dog isn't really a dog.
It’s funny how people will jump down any other director's throat for being "old-fashioned" or too theatrical, yet when von Trier pulls off this incredibly modern, innovative return to pure dramaturgy—focusing on the raw power of the script without leaning on flashy tech or cheap special effects—suddenly everyone is totally onboard.
Nicole Kidman is absolutely killing it in the lead role as Grace; honestly, it might be the best performance of her entire career. It’s such a massive shame how much she's been pushed around by big Hollywood productions lately, because as a true artist—something I think she knows deep down—she really only finds her spark in a profound, intimate piece of filmmaking like this one from Denmark.
Branka Sömen
