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[Zentropa Entertainment photo]
Moviegoers might find it hard to warm up to Icelandic singer and actor Bjork, center, who plays sad Selma in "Dancer in the Dark."
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Got an urge for a dirge?
It's no Singing in the Rain, but Dancer in the Dark will surely grab you. You might not like it, but there it is.
By STEVE PERSALL
© St. Petersburg Times, published November 2, 2000
Dancer in the Dark is a film to be judged by what it attempts as much as what it accomplishes. Honestly, Lars von Trier's rate of success is no better than half. He makes viewers squirm one minute and practically swoon the next, daring us to stick around while presenting good reasons for an early exit.
Some moviegoers won't last through this ragged little gem. Those who do may grumble all the way home. Dancer in the Dark will polarize audiences like Magnolia and The Blair Witch Project did last year, an inspiration to viewers who get it, and an irritation to those who don't.
But, wait a few days and see how many scenes linger in your mind. There's a good chance your impressions will change, either way, as von Trier's film establishes a life beyond its running time. Dancer in the Dark is a movie that ripens with hindsight, so even complainers may develop some respect.
The story involves a factory worker named Selma, a Czech immigrant to the Pacific Northwest in the early 1960s. Because of a hereditary condition, Selma is going blind. She works extra shifts to save money for an operation to prevent her son from the same fate. It's a grim life, made a little brighter by her obsession with old Hollywood movie musicals.
Von Trier uses the opposing dynamics of Selma's real and fantasy worlds to create a strangely moving film experience. A lot of dreadful things happen to Selma, so many that Dancer in the Dark would be a pitiable downer, if not for von Trier's brilliant conceit: When things get tough, Selma stars in a musical of her own making, where tragedy is expressed in song and dismal surroundings achieve fascinating rhythm.
These aren't slick interludes, although the color scheme does brighten in Selma's hallucinations. The music springs from ordinary sounds, the rumble of machinery and the shuffle of footsteps, like a stripped-down version of Stomp. Selma is played by quirky pop singer Bjork, whose tonal quality is comprised of sliding wails and Teletubby enunciation. Nobody will leave humming the soundtrack.
But, who would expect such a wretch to sing like a bird? Or hobos to instantly become sharply choreographed dancers on a moving train? Von Trier respects the conventions of movie musicals while defying every rule. He removes the polish, replacing it with Selma's mental compromise between what is, and what she wishes it to be. Even the cheerful My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music is transformed into a dirge.
It's a daring stunt paying off only if a viewer tolerates the film's crude stylings and overstuffed melodramatics. Nothing is uplifting in the movie; it's just that the musical numbers are a little less downbeat. The only optimism comes from observing a filmmaker on an adventure into new territory, daring us not to applaud his efforts. Von Trier is that kind of cocky, and this movie succeeds on his gall alone.
Dancer in the Dark has much in common with Von Trier's celebrated Breaking the Waves, in which another naive woman in pain finds dementia her only salvation. Shaky hand-held cameras, rambling improvisation and hopscotch editing are still part of his demand for immediacy and realism. Neither is pleasant to watch, but even feeling annoyed is more response than most films arouse these days. Keeping us curious in spite of that annoyance is the mark of a true artist.
Bjork is the reason viewers will either love or hate Dancer in the Dark. She's in every scene, giving Selma an awkwardness bordering on incompetence, completely unattractive and maddeningly passive. The role would be a tough sell to audiences no matter who played it. At times, it's hard to tell where Selma's inadequacies end and Bjork's begin.
The performance has a cumulative effect of sorrow. It's perfectly in tune with von Trier's approach, which is to flush away all expectations of what sparks our sympathies. Some viewers won't tolerate Bjork's odd tics and bizarre voice. Others, like Cannes Film Festival judges who named her best actress, will consider her splendid.
Supporting roles exist solely to make Selma's life harsher or expose her helplessness. Catherine Deneuve isn't called upon much as Selma's supportive co-worker. David Morse portrays a cad whose criminal instinct leads to a stunning act of violence, sending the story into even deeper depression. Peter Stormare, the stone-faced killer from Fargo, plays a simpleton whose crush on Selma she literally can't see. Joel Grey's lone scene, courtroom testimony delivered with dance, is a cagey link to the equally inventive melancholy of Cabaret.
For each moment that thrills, there's another making viewers gape in disbelief. Dancer in the Dark was also named best film at Cannes, a decision that was cheered and booed with equal gusto by the audience. It deserves both reactions, usually for admirable reasons. Love it or hate it, you probably haven't seen anything this abrasively original in a long time.
Dancer in the Dark
Grade: A-
Director: Lars von Trier
Cast: Bjork, David Morse, Catherine Deneuve, Peter Stormare, Joel Grey, Cara Seymour
Screenplay: Lars von Trier
Rating: R; violence, profanity
Running time: 140 min.
Now playing: Tampa Theatre and Beach Theater
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