- What is my age:
- My hair:
- Short silky fair hair
- I understand:
- English, German
- My Zodiac sign:
- Body piercings:
- I have tattoo:
- I don't have tattoos
A self-diagnosed nymphomaniac recounts her erotic experiences to the man who saved her after a beating.
Innocuous items—a mug full of pens, a bottle of vitamins, a porcelain deer—grew in size, a grotesque sprawl that hovered, claws-raised, over the screen below.
I watched all four hours of the two-part film through strained eyes, the shadows eventually morphing into stringed black creatures before dissolving as daytime encroached. I remember them because they evoked the very sensation that comes over me when I watch a new Lars von Trier film: judgment and condemnation. As if I willed them to life to consider my sin.
There is inherent shame that comes from my fascination with von Trier. It is the shame of being a woman, and therefore a target of his artistic rage.
Text me to fuck in trier
Watching von Trier is entering into a deranged agreement. All parties are guilty, and good morale is sacrificed.
But to enter willingly as a woman adds an extra layer of malignancy. The film tracks Jack as he hones his sadism, weaponizing his latent misogyny and picking off women—any woman, really, but the ones that annoy him most are ased the cruelest fate.
Fuck the canon (or, how do you solve a problem like von trier?): teaching, screening and writing about cinema in the age of #metoo
He drives her to a nearby mechanic, and she taunts and annoys him—accuses him of looking like a serial killer, practically begging him to do her in—until he eventually murders her by bashing her face with a tire-jack. We see, throughout the movie, glimpses at the : the bloody, caved-in skull of a beautiful woman who was murdered for simply seeing through the veneer of a destructive male ego.
This continues on, each segment wildly outdoing itself. Jack strangles a woman Siobhan Fallon Hogan in her home and then drags her body behind his car, her face shredding into goo on the asphalt.
Kirsten dunst on lars von trier -- and that nazi joke
He insults his girlfriend Riley Keough before trapping her in her apartment and amputating her breasts, one of which he later re-fashions into a wallet. He stores his victims in an industrial freezer, he takes photographs of their bodies in rigor mortis, posing them to the desired effect.
I, of course, find no comfort in the images of bloodied female bodies, their anatomy splayed carnally and ridiculously in progressively deranged ways. But I share none of that resentment. The film, to me, re as both self-critical and critical of the audience who paid to sit through it.
Jack is a comically inept criminal, and yet he evades persecution over and over, as men are wont to do. I could think of no better way for a controversial filmmaker to bow out: With a blatant condemnation of himself and the systems that let men like Jack win.
Lindsey Romain December 28, Latest blog posts. Latest reviews.
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