Dogville


Close to a masterpiece. I'm not gonna tell you that Dogville isn't anti-American, because in a lot of important ways it is, especially in the sense that being anti-American is to doubt the essentially goodness of people or capitalism or democracy. I suppose I can understand critics who are repelled by such an negative view of humanity, but I was never one for art that patted me on the back simply for being what I am. If I ever write that book on anti-humanist art, the director of this film, Lars Von Trier, will certainly warrant a chapter.

There is a sort of Augustinian pathos to this film, a despair over the human condition that is palpably religious (all the more so in the final scenes). Yet despite all the hue and cry over the film as "deterministic" I'm not so sure it is as meticulously thought-out as that suggests. The final credit sequence, in particular, creates such a chaotic mix of feelings that I'm not sure WHAT I'm supposed to think about it. But there is, undeniably, a mechanical and methodical structure in the film that charts moral decay with stark precision. Almost like clockwork are the residents of Dogville reduced to animals. I think the film works less well as a politcal allegory than a religious one, but the political aspect can be summed up pretty easily: people are essentially bad and must be kept in check through institutions (socialism).

The religious aspect, on the other hand, can't be summed up so succintly. Words like hubris, arrogance, and forgiveness are exchanged in a theological dialogue worthy of Dostoevsky, but eventually it is decided that revenge is a crucial aspect of what makes us human, and what gives us dignity. If we cannot be held accountable for our actions, are we any more than dogs? Can we be human without mercy and forgiveness? That these questions are left unanswered and hopelessly ambiguous at the end of the film only makes it that much more crucial that we answer them.