Posted: 10/02/2002

Dancer in the Dark

(2002)

by Steve Smith

Singer Björk shines in this dark and powerful musical drama.

About halfway through Dancer In the Dark, director Lars Von Trier’s award winning musical, one thing becomes abundantly clear. Like Titanic or Pearl Harbor, the ending ain’t gonna be happy. At a key point the lead character Selma, played by Icelandic electro-pop music sensation, Bjork, confesses to a friend her love of a certain type of movie. “In the musicals,” she says, “nothing dreadful ever happens.” In many ways Dancer In the Dark is a simple, albeit sadistic, attempt to upend that age-old convention.

With the exception of the musical numbers, Dancer In the Dark was shot exclusively with hand held cameras. Some have found the movie insufferable for this reason alone (think home movies shot by an eight year old, or The Blair Witch Project), it can get dizzying, the urge to grab the screen and steady it is very strong. The theater I saw the film in posted signs warning patrons prone to motion sickness that they may become ill. But if a little “rough around the edges” look doesn’t bother you, by all means proceed. As it turns out, the amateurish and improvised feel of the production only serve to mask the deliberate machinations of a remarkable and wholly unique film.

The story is unapologetic, over-the-top melodrama. Selma is a Czech immigrant to the United States who has a disease that is causing her to go blind. Her son suffers from the same disease, and will also go blind without a very expensive operation. She has saved most of the money when an act of betrayal by a friend sends her on a path to destruction.

A chain of events, which can only be described as an emotional steamroller, is begun. Slowly, irreversibly, the film progresses in the only course open to it, determined to crush both character and audience alike. Unflinchingly, Lars Von Trier’s camera documents the trauma. Selma gives, as explanation for her actions during crucial moments, the phrase “I listen to my heart,” and Dancer In the Dark is merciless in its exaggerated depiction of where following such a naively romantic philosophy gets you. Indeed it often seems its only point. An interesting thing occurs, however, which prevents the film from entering the realm of shallowness and outright cruelty it flirts with, Bjork’s performance.

Rumors of horrible clashes between director and star, Bjork’s vow to never act again, Palme D’or and Best Actress at Cannes, it would be easy to dismiss it all as hype if it were not for an extraordinary performance at the center of an ambitious film. Bjork doesn’t perform, or act so much as strip to a state of frightening honesty and allow us to witness her exploration of some devastatingly raw emotions. None of which rang false to me given the circumstances created by the film. The anguish is real. So real that it arguably subverts an already subversive film.

Dancer In the Dark exists only to punish Selma for her romantic folly, her “I listen to my heart” ethos. But Bjork refuses to be subjugated to the will of the film. The strength of her performance becomes convincing testimony as to the power of the heart. It becomes nearly impossible to think Selma the ridiculous character the movie wishes us to believe she is. The consequence is a philosophical schism at the center of the film due to the profound difference in sensibilities at work. Usually something to be avoided, in this rare instance two diametrically opposed forces, that of the film itself in its construction and that of Bjork’s portrayal of the central character, develop together, are set on a collision course with one another, and result in a glorious new life being breathed into the film, independent of its intentions. A timeless argument seems to be taking place in the very marrow of the film.

Dancer In the Dark is powerful, ambiguous, bold in its defiance of both conventions and interpretation, and it is a musical. How can you discuss a musical without mention of the music? If you are familiar with Bjork’s musical work already, nothing here is likely to change your opinion. It is patently Bjork. If that phrase is meaningless in your life, let me say this. Unlike most musicals, where music comes from nowhere and songs just kind of happen whenever someone starts singing, the songs in Dancer In the Dark are rooted very much in the real world of the film, though they take place exclusively in Selma’s head. They stem from natural sounds. The buzz, clank and whirr of machinery in the factory, the chug of a locomotive, the sound of marching, all provide leaping off points and industrial percussive backdrops to the music that plays out in Selma’s imagination. Sometimes a jubilant cacophony of sounds, sometimes a soaring profession of love or a dark cloud of grief, all the songs are marked by one of the most unique and talented voices in modern popular music.

Steve Smith is a freelance writer and film lover living in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

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