June Butler casts her eye back over Lars von Trier’s 2011 drama, Melancholia.

Director Lars von Trier draws from personal experience of dealing with depression to produce what is arguably one of the finest and most definitive comments on the topic. Not one minute in this stunning movie is out of place—it is measured, statuesque, and utterly beautiful in every single way.

Melancholia forms what von Trier named his ‘Depression’ trilogy with the film preceded by Antichrist (2009), followed by Nymphomaniac I and II (2014). The film is starkly outlined from the onset, featuring music from the prelude to Tristan and Isolde by composer Richard Wagner. The story focuses on two sisters, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), who have reached separate crossroads in their lives.

An ominous and mysterious blue planet called Melancholia seems to be on a collision course with Earth, but astronomy experts are not taking the looming, potential disaster seriously. The film opens with a flash-forward. Von Trier’s brave decision to let the end of the story become the beginning, ranks among one of the most effective placements to this style of plot device I have ever seen. Justine stands in a maelstrom of precipitation as dead birds plummet from the sky. Time seems to have stood still with leaves and branches plunging in slow-motion from the heavens. The prelude to Tristan and Isolde swells and sounds, its dramatic tones marching in tandem with the developing catastrophe. Von Trier is allowing viewers to make a fair guess at what is about to happen, which is absolute obliteration. Justine is in the crossfire of avian carcasses, her hair wet with rain while clouds of debris surround her. All around is mayhem. Earth’s atmosphere is imploding. Claire carries her son and sinking deep into the grass below her feet. Each step forward is agony. 

Jumping back in time, Justine is newly married, and preparing for her wedding reception at the country estate of her wealthy older sister Claire. Claire’s husband John (Kiefer Sutherland) tries to veto the plan but is eventually won over by Claire’s entreaties. Both have their own set of emotional issues—Justine appears to shirk responsibilities; Claire is careworn and sad almost as if she bears the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

While travelling to the post-wedding dinner in their limousine, Justine and her new husband Michael (Peter Sarsgaard) get stuck attempting to navigate a winding country road. Hours pass with the driver and Michael trying to wrangle the car out of its close confines. Eventually, Justine and Michael give up and make their way to the reception on foot. There, Justine gazes up at the milky sky and points out a star gently glowing in the firmament. She asks what it is called. John announces that the star is Antares, from the Scorpius Constellation. Justine continues to study the shimmering light with a degree of trepidation.

Justine suffers with a form of depression and almost sleepwalks through her reception. Every demand made of her, such as politely greeting guests and dancing with her new husband, comes at a cost and Justine mutely fades into a near-catatonic state. Justine’s separated parents have attended the party—at one table sits her father Dexter (John Hurt) who is shamelessly flirting with a number of attractive women alongside him. Gaby (Charlotte Rampling), Dexter’s ex-wife is at another table and acidly throws insults in her ex direction.

Between the sisters, there is a marked difference in how they view life—Justine attempts to dispel her gloom by shirking responsibilities and appearing gleeful and childlike. Claire, by contrast, is entrenched in sorrow—both women are dejected and unhappy, it is simply a different style of desolation.

There are intergenerational factors at play. Justine takes after her father, replicating Dexter’s forced joviality at the wedding reception. Claire is taciturn and wary, in a manner more akin to her mother. The vicious asides between Dexter and Gaby continue without abating during the dinner—both parents are intent on outmanoeuvring the other’s show of aggression. For Justine and Claire, the inherited trauma of being raised by two extreme narcissists is apparent from their coping strategies—Justine’s mechanism is to ignore the tragedy of their upbringing, Claire’s response is to descend ever lower into the abyss. It is noteworthy that moments of greater tension are mostly played out in crowded or small spaces. Early scenes inside the limousine are one example. Von Trier uses extreme close-ups to force intimacy on viewers—there is literally no getting away from the unfolding drama and audiences are held in abeyance as each step inches toward annihilation—there is an inexorable, menacing, relentlessness about Melancholia with unease building from scene-to-scene.

Kirsten Dunst and Charlotte Gainsbourg lead a stellar cast, and the special effects are jaw-dropping. Heart-wrenching and mesmerising, Melancholia is in my top three favourite movies of all time—if I’m going to watch a film about the end of the world, I want Lars von Trier to be in the director’s chair. 

Melancholia is available to stream online now. 

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