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FILM COMMENT
July/August 2003
JOURNAL: COPENHAGEN
LARS VON TRIER MAY BE DENMARK'S GREAT INNOVATOR, BUT HE DOES NOT REIGN SUPREME IN THE KINGDOM OF DOGME
by KIM FOSS
above: dogville
''Lord of the Rings, kiss my ass,'' Lars von Trier said in a recent interview. In light of the domestic success of Danish films, his arrogance may seem justified. In Europe, only French audiences consume more locally made films than their Danish counterparts. Ever the man to challenge the status quo, Trier's importance for Denmark's filmmakers cannot be underestimated. He co-owns Zentropa with Peter Aalbæk Jensen (the closest thing Copenhagen has to a Harvey Weinstein) and thus helps produce a steady stream of new films - about one third of all domestic features in 2002.
One of the best of this year's releases is Per Fly's The Inheritance, a tight and extremely well acted examination of capitalism and the spiritual price you pay when you devote your life to making money instead of friends. This second installment of a trilogy dissecting Denmark's class system (the first, The Bench [00], was a study of Copenhagen lowlife set in one of its blue-collar districts) focuses on a poor little rich kid who is called upon to save the family business. Lives are sacrificed in the process, both literally and in a psychological sense. For those who believe that Scandinavia is a socialist welfare paradise, The Inheritance might come as a shock. Danish society has its fair share of predators, this one convincingly embodied by a restrained Ulrich Thomsen, the prodigal son from Thomas Vinterberg's The Celebration.
Although Trier remains Denmark's most famous/notorious living director, at home and abroad, a number of his colleagues have developed a following domestically, fueled by the liberating commandments of Dogme 95. That said, while the vow of chastity prohibits genre films, a large proportion of recent Danish cinema has been just that. Sometimes it seems as if every other successful Danish film is an intimate romantic drama or comedy about middle-class characters coping with love, family, and the advent of middle age. While the search for The Great American Novel continues in the U.S., Danes vainly await the arrival of a novel that truly encompasses the zeitgeist of contemporary life in Denmark. It hasn't appeared yet, but Danish filmmakers keep writing new chapters on celluloid.
Susanne Bier paved the way in 1999 with The One and Only, a sharp romantic comedy that broke local box-office records. Her latest offering, Open Hearts, has a more serious edge (and a Dogme certificate to prove it) but is nonetheless typical of this current trend: the story is set in motion by a car accident, just as it is in several other recent Danish films, including Åke Sandgren's Kaspar Hauser story Truly Human (01) and Annette K. Olesen's dramedy Minor Mishaps (02); and once again local heartthrob Mads Mikkelsen and Denmark's most prolific actress, Paprika Steen, play the leads, just as they have in several other recent films from the Kingdom of Dogme.
In fact there's been some criticism leveled at the increasingly safe casting in Danish films. After decades in the grip of stiff, theatrical performances, a new generation has finally shown that naturalistic acting isn't confined to foreign cinema. Unfortunately, there's now a tendency for directors to typecast the best young actors and target audiences with stories offering only slight variations from film to film. Some blame it on screenwriters, too, or rather their scarcity - a bit unfair, since Danish film's rebirth can be attributed in no small measure to the renewed energy channeled into writing.
The Mentor
and His Flock
The Danish Film School, regarded as one of the best in the world, has played a pivotal role in the emergence of a new generation of writers. Screenwriting teacher Mogens Rukov, in particular, has become a mentor to a number of the most interesting young filmmakers. His influence has been more constructive on films where he has served as an advisor, consultant, and script doctor rather than those whose screenplays slavishly adhere to his storytelling philosophy. Thomas Vinterberg's follow-up film It's All About Love (03) received polite reviews in Denmark but didn't fare well at the box office and was generally considered a failure because of, rather than despite, Rukov's participation (he co-wrote it).
The Rukov touch - metaphysics and pathos in equal measures - also bogs down Christopher Boe's Reconstruction (03), which nonetheless earned the 29-year-old director the Camera d'Or for best debut at Cannes last month. ''All is construction, all is film. And it hurts,'' intones the voiceover, as the screen fills with smoke. Boe's parallel-universe love story doesn't exactly pull your heartstrings, but it does tap into whatever Nouvelle Vague sentiments the spectator may harbor. At once film-school pretentious and boldly experimental, Reconstruction is characterized by the same cool aesthetics seen in Lars von Trier's early work. The film was (coincidentally) produced by Nordisk Film under the ''Director's Cut'' banner, a gimmick program that's a complete rip-off of all things Dogme, not least its techniques, which help keep production costs down. Whatever one may think of Reconstruction, Boe is certainly a filmmaker to watch.
