The script is gritty, yet poetic. The post-apocalyptic scenery is abysmal, yet beautiful. Colorless, yet brimming with visual elegance. There's a moment a little ways into the film where the characters are in a cave. Light reflects off a waterfall, and a small rainbow splashes a bit of color onto the practically monochrome palette.
I think that single moment brilliantly sums up the film.
The Father barely notices the rainbow. His eyes have begun to grey, like the old man…
I remember picking up the book when I was eleven years old. It scared the bejezus out of me. I have a vivid memory of the image my imagination painted of a young woman skinny dipping in the ocean at night, feeling a sudden and painful tug from the darkness beneath her. The silence, the vulnerability, the helplessness - it's enough to paint a horrifying moment indeed.
The opening sequence of Spielberg's Jaws captures that moment perfectly.
In light of…
You know, this actually made sense to me. I was bracing for a fevered surrealist nightmare, but this felt much more like a coherent narrative than anything else.
I found myself eerily reminded of Bergman's Persona more than once - was that just me? Not only a sense that the two lead women might just be the same person, but a similarly energetic claustrophobia that pulsates in the silences between them. There's sexual energy, but there's also sincere compassion and…
The subject matter here is frightening in weight alone, and it is the fact that Klara herself couldn't possibly know what her own foolish little comment meant that is particularly horrifying. A monster is created, and an innocent man becomes victimized to a von Trier-esque extent. But we can't see the monster. It stays in the shadows and manifests itself in the forms of paranoia, emotional manipulation and even violence. The monster's nature is untruth, and its weapon are the…