Lars von Trier: The Natural

by Travis Crawford | Published April 8, 2004

Lauren Bacall and Lars von Trier on the set of Dogville (2004)

Von Trier's early work was defined by highly stylized technical bravura at the expense of characterization and narrative: The Element of Crime and Zentropa are awash in the complex cinematographic gimmickry of rear projection, color tinting and various photographic trickery that initially marked the Danish wunderkind as a sort of film school whiz kid, enamored with his bag of technical tricks (and not particularly fascinated with humanity). But then von Trier's cinematic perspective shifted to focusing on emotionally intense portraits of female martyrs, conveyed with his own peculiar sort of hyper-naturalism.

With his Danish television miniseries "The Kingdom" (recently reinterpreted by Stephen King for American viewers as "Kingdom Hospital") serving as an unlikely transitional work, von Trier abandoned the flashy aesthetics of his inaugural efforts for a more naturalistic approach. The actors' performances now took precedence over the cinematographer's bag of filters and gels. But his newfound love of low-tech-a change ostensibly initiated to minimize the artifices involved in creating cinema so that emotional intimacy can be conveyed with immediacy and passion-is, of course, its own sort of self-conscious artifice. This was not so apparent with von Trier's masterful Breaking the Waves, a draining saga of a wife's self-sacrificing love in 1970s Scotland that won the 1996 Cannes Grand Prix. But his technique became more obvious with The Idiots, a film now famous for its introduction of von Trier and his Danish cine-prankster pals' Dogme 95 manifesto, which dictated that their films be shot with a laundry list of "back to basics" specifications (only available light, no music score, handheld camerawork, etc.). Dancer in the Dark, the musical that finally garnered von Trier his much-prized Cannes Palme D'or (despite being arguably his weakest film), continued in a similar vein, though the film did not officially adhere to the Dogme rules.

Von Trier has continually crafted films that expand the boundaries of the medium, though with his less accomplished films, his playful instinct to provoke and experiment sometimes seems like the only real substance. His new film Dogville, however, is the director's best work since Breaking the Waves-and perhaps even his best film to date. The movie is a parable of small-town exploitation and revenge, with Nicole Kidman as a mysterious traveler arriving in a Rocky Mountain village in the 1930s. Von Trier's now-famous method of production design (the film's eponymous town is created entirely through stagebound markers and facades) represents the director's most successful effort at fusing a spare cinematic aesthetic with an emotional purity and honesty.

MM spoke with von Trier about his moviemaking methods just prior to Dogville's American release.

Travis Crawford (MM):There's a comment that I've always loved in Stig Björkman's documentary on you, Tranceformer. You remarked that film is a startlingly superficial medium, but if you can accept that reality, you can use the medium to express sincerity. Do you still feel the same way now?

Lars von Trier (LVT): Oh, that's the problem with saying stuff at a lot of different times in your life-you're always confronted with it later. (laughs) I think that the theatrical style that Dogville represents is taking that idea of artificiality one step further. The whole medium has to do with make-believe-it's not life that you see up on the screen. But part of the thrill is that we have to work as an audience to make it into a story, or a character, or life, or whatever. So if you simplify it even more and make it more abstract, you have to work even harder, but it can be more fulfilling also. That was my theory, anyway.

MM: How did you originally arrive at the idea to shoot Dogville on stage sets?

LVR: The story of the film was inspired by this Bertolt Brecht song from Three Penny Opera, "Pirate Jenny." When you simplify, there are a lot of questions that arise: What should you keep and what should you take away? It's not simple to stylize it; there has to be meaning. One of the rules we had was that whatever prop would be there would be something that, at one point in the film, was needed. If you look at the props in the film, you will know that, at a certain point, they will be used for something. And that's also a technique from computer games.

MM: Your work is defined by each film's specific stylistic or technical approach, like the sets in Dogville, the Dogme manifesto of The Idiots, the multiple cameras in Dancer in the Dark. What comes first for you: the method of moviemaking to be followed by an appropriate story vehicle for the technique, or the story and characters, followed by the moviemaking approach?

LVR: It varies. In the case of Dogville, I did the story first, and in fact originally wrote it as something that should be shot on location. The good thing and the bad thing about my situation now is that I don't have to ask anybody. But if I keep on doing these films-and the next film will also be done with chalk marks on the floor-then eventually nobody will give me money to do another one! (laughs) But with The Idiots, the rules were there before the story, and with Zentropa, we worked with a lot of back projection, and that was the idea before the story came. But in Dancer in the Dark, the [method] came later.

MM: Since Breaking the Waves, you've moved from films that have focused on showy technical wizardry, into more naturalistic, realistic work-but these films are every bit as stylized as Zentropa or Element of Crime. Do you see this development into spare naturalism as being its own form of artifice?

LVR: I don't. I can see the line between the first film and what I'm doing now, but I don't analyze it. I don't have a goal where I find out what strange effects I should put into it. It's more based on feelings; it's intuitive. I can look in the mirror and say that I haven't been prostituting myself too much. But I want to do three of these types of films-and I will have to do something in between so I can cheat my distributors into believing people will come to the cinema.

MM: On the subject of cheating distributors: why is there a two-hour cut of Dogville in addition to the full-length, three-hour cut?

LVR: Yeah, yeah. (long sigh) I edited the three-hour version but, contractually, we had to deliver a two-hour version also-which is fine with me. I had a good friend, Anders Refn, the editor of Breaking the Waves, and he edited it down to two hours. I'm sure it's probably a better film (laughs), but the other film is really my film. The two-hour version is fine, but it's not the way I would've edited it.

Film has a lot of compromises all the time, but you also have people like me who take themselves very seriously. It goes from the Hollywood system to the auteur system, but all aspects of life are compromises-even your private life. That's what being a human being is all about, making compromises. But then it's a matter of how clever you are at it. I'm sure the three-hour version is too long, but I have this little thing where all the films that I like are too long. All my favorites are far too long-I'm a great fan of Barry Lyndon, and that film is far too long. The Fellini films I like, they never end... There has to be a certain amount of pain for the audience!

MM: Well, that's why it's art, right? Was it difficult directing such a large ensemble cast of forceful personalities in Dogville?

LVR: I wouldn't say difficult, because they're all very good actors.
I was surprised that all these people wanted to work on this film and not be very well paid. But in order to do my best work, I have to make my actors feel good. And I was ashamed to see Philip Baker Hall just sitting in a rocking chair for so long, just reading Mark Twain.
He was a patient and fantastic man, but I didn't feel good about it. And the same is true for some of the others.

I think they did well, but of course it's much easier when you just have two people in a room and you can give them all your attention. So in that sense, it wasn't a big pleasure. But all of them are people that I would love to work with if there were only one or two. It's a bit like children. I have four children, and when you're with one, you're a human being. But when you're with two, you're a policeman. (laughs) And no offense meant, because I'm not saying actors are children. I'm just saying you want to give them your attention.
It's ridiculous to have a child if you don't give it attention, and it's ridiculous to work with an actor if you don't give the actor attention.

Stellan Skarsgård and Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves (1996)

MM: Your last two films have been set in a mythical, set-bound America-and the same will also be true for your next two films, Manderlay and Washington, correct?

LVR: Yes, when you have seen them, you will know all about America!

MM: What's the fascination with America?

LVR: Since I've never been there, it's a very mythological place to me. I'm sure if you saw the nouvelle vogue films, you would find France a very exotic place. I'm very happy to have not been to America, because it's more mythological that way. A lot of the films I love come from America. It's like making a film that takes place on Mars, except I have a lot of secondhand information about America.

MM: When Dogville premiered at Cannes last year, there was a certain critical contingency that found it very anti-American..

LVR: But I don't think it was American criticism, it was just political criticism, because I get the same from other places. Either you agree with the content of the film on a humanistic level, or you don't. It would be nonsense to be offended by this film if you were American, because I can only represent a man who has seen America on film and television. And my knowledge of human nature doesn't come from America, it comes from Denmark; whatever characters you invent come from your life. I've been reading Steinbeck and I have this feeling about America, and this is what I'm trying to put into this film. But it might be untrue to everyone else but me. These films may in some way be about America, but no more than Breaking the Waves is about Scotland, or Zentropa is about Germany.

Jean-Marc Barr in Zentropa (1991)

MM: So is The Idiots about Denmark? It's your only film in recent memory actually set in your home country.

LVR: I would say it's very Danish-but I'm sure very few people would agree with that. In right-wing circles on the Internet, I'm said to be very anti-Danish. But maybe I'm anti all nationalities. We have to get rid of all these "nations," because that's nonsense.

MM: Have you had any input into the making of "KingdomHospital," the U.S. TV adaptation of your series "The Kingdom"?

LVR: No. I had a talk with Stephen King about it, and he had some ideas that sounded exotic. I would love to see it-it will be funny, I'm sure.

MM: And you're okay with them remaking it?

LVR: Oh, yeah. I've found that whatever people do to the work you create is out of your control. Either you spend your life going around the world checking copies and projection rooms, or you just say, "This is what I've done, this is my original, now do with it what you want."

MM: Who are some of your influences? You've mentioned Brecht and Fellini, and I know that you're an admirer of Carl Dreyer's work.

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