*originally published on flipscreened.com on 05/04/2021
In 2011, Danish auteur Lars Von Trier released Melancholia, the second instalment in his film series entitled the ‘Depression Trilogy’— also an apt title for my life so far. Sandwiched in between Antichrist and Nymphomaniac, the sci-fi film starring Kirsten Dunst and Charlotte Gainsbourg might be his most personal work to date. A decade later, its themes of an impending doom feel more relevant than ever. Rewatching the film in 2021, the overall concept reminded me of another era-defining film— Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Released in 1964, smack-dab in the middle of the Cold War, the film taps into the audience’s genuine fear of a nuclear attack. Its title suggests accepting an unchangeable fate, also the central theme in Melancholia. The biggest difference in Von Trier’s film is that the protagonist, Justine (Kirsten Dunst), doesn’t need to learn— she’s been expecting mutually assured destruction her entire life.
When you think of the happiest day of your life, what comes to mind? For a lot of ‘normal’ people, the answer would be their wedding day. Justine’s sister Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and her hubby John (Kiefer Sutherland) make it their duty to ensure Justine has the happiest day of her life. After all, Justine is marrying someone she loves— certified nordic beauty Michael (Alexander Skarsgård). They serve as wedding planners and host the reception at their stunning, castle-like estate, surrounded by an 18-hole golf course. In the beginning, you can practically feel the couple’s love emanating from the screen. Even as their limo battles the narrow, winding road to the house, threatening to turn punctuality into a myth, their spirits remain unscathed. They’re so head-over-heels in love, so newly married, on the precipice of their shared journey, that not even a stubborn roadblock could dull their sparkle. Yet. As they approach the mansion, Justine looks to the open countryside sky and notices a glowing red star, slightly bigger than those around it. “What star is that?” she asks her brother-in-law. “Antares. The main star in the Scorpio constellation.” It’s always nice to have some Scorpio representation in film, and though it’s never addressed, Justine definitely is one.
As they stride into the reception, basking in a downpour of love and well wishes, the scene is nothing short of enchanting. Crystal chandeliers wink from the ceiling, and their esteemed guests are dressed to the nines. Just when it seems the night has peaked for our radiant bride, enter Justine’s boss— certified nordic elder, Jack (Stellan Skarsgård)— with a speech fit for the Oscars. He lauds Justine for her work as an advertising copywriter, her ability to come up with golden taglines at a moment’s notice. He tops it off by promoting her to her dream position of art director. Any guest would fawn over Justine’s fortune and how picture-perfect this night has been. Justine’s father (John Hurt) notes that he has “Never seen her look so happy.” On the other hand, *narcissistic mother alert* Gaby (Charlotte Rampling) doesn’t share the same sentiment, telling Justine to “Enjoy it while it lasts.” For Justine, the slightest barb from her toxic mother is all it takes to flip her night on its head, leaving her visibly upset.
Though the film starts on the evening of her wedding, viewers can glean from Justine’s interactions that a dark cloud of depression has been lingering over her long before we’re introduced. “We agreed you weren’t gonna make a scene tonight,” Claire says to her. All of Justine’s loved ones have banded together to make this one shining moment happen for her—a lone, grand evening. But alas, for someone wrestling with depression, it can never be that simple. Justine’s shift in mood echoed with a tonal shift in the film, her struggle to just be present and happy is palpable. She walks out onto the vast green alone, hopping in a golf cart and speeding to a gazebo with a huge telescope. She looks at the stars, homesick for another life. Antares.
Justine goes back and forth between the reception and the metaphorical pits of despair in her mind. She listens to her new husband’s toast, proclaiming himself the luckiest man on earth. Her innate response to a compliment that bears the weight of living up to it is immediate escape. Justine retreats to the bedroom of her nephew Leo bedroom and shuts her eyes. Her sister Claire comes to her aid, trying to reason her back down the stairs. Justine, despondent, explains, “I’m trudging through this grey, wooly yarn pulling my legs. It’s really heavy to drag along.” It doesn’t take a poet to unpack the metaphor. Groom Michael and the rest of the guests wait for the Bride to cut the cake, but like any depressive would on their wedding night, she takes a bath instead.
Justine struggles relentlessly to grasp onto anything but hopelessness, but its impossible to feign. Before rejoining the festivities, she rehearses her smile in the mirror, a hollow routine. “Happy?” her father inquires earnestly, quite the loaded question. Sitting there, she observes her dancing guests with a cold detachment, dissociated from it all. The looming emptiness is not something that can be filled by love. Depression is an inherently selfish disease, and when it gets to the point of self-sabotage— as it does at this point in the film— it drags everyone around you down with it. Like dominoes, those who love her are now falling away. Her new husband leaves. Her supportive dad leaves. Her mother departs, but not before shooting Justine an I-told-you-so glare. Her sister is profoundly disappointed “Sometimes I hate you,” she says. And just like that, over the course of one evening, Justine goes from having everything to having nothing. “I tried, Claire,” she moans. And we believe her— we saw it. As the events of the last six hours dawn on her, Justine looks up to the sky and notices a change, “The red star is missing from Scorpio,” she says.
Up until part two of the movie, the audience might assume the title is only referring to Justine’s state of mind. Boy, are they wrong! “I’m afraid of that stupid planet,” says Claire, referring to the floating death rock that is rapidly travelling through space towards Earth. John, ever the self-proclaimed expert on everything, assures her they’re not in danger, “Melancholia is going to pass right in front of us and it will be the most beautiful sight ever.” A couple of weeks after the wedding from hell, Justine is worse than ever, sporting a clearly DIY haircut—a classic sign of turmoil. Claire makes Justine’s favourite meal, meatloaf, in an effort to cheer her up. “It tastes like ashes,” she cries. Claire and John’s son Leo (Cameron Spurr) shows his aunt the path of planet Melancholia, which is inching closer. John is in a frenzy, simultaneously frothing at the mouth to witness the spectacle and doomsday prepping. Justine is, well, impartial. “If you think I’m afraid of a planet then you’re too stupid,” she says. A manic depressive scared of death? Unlikely.
In the dark of the night, Justine and Claire observe the big blue planet beaming its tint onto earth, sitting parallel to the moon. Enamoured, Justine strips nude and basks in Melancholia’s glow, harbouring its power. Claire is disturbed by her sister’s sexual tension with the death rock. Claire tries to reassure herself that the planet poses no threat, but her nerves aren’t buying it. Justine’s challenges Claire’s anxiety. What she says next reveals the most about her character thus far. “The earth is evil, we don’t need to grieve for it.” She won’t miss this floating mass of poverty and hatred, and neither should Claire. Justine doesn’t stop there, “Life is only on Earth and not for long.” Does she know something we don’t? Or are depressed people just more in tune with their existential reality?
The fateful night has arrived. Justine, Claire, John, and a sleeping Leo sit outside on the terrace and watch as a blue hue rises over the horizon. Captivated, they observe as the giant sphere reveals itself. Justine remains stoic, because for her, the worst case scenario for them would be the best case scenario for her. John asks Claire if she is afraid. “No, it looks friendly,” she replies. As John predicted— and proved with his homemade pseudo-science-metal-death-planet-measuring-device— Melancholia passed by and is now moving away from Earth. They toast to life, or whatever. Claire calms down, now able to enjoy and revel in the remarkable miracle they just witnessed.
The relief is short lived. Like an infinite sadness, even brief moments of joy are a blip. By the next morning, Melancholia is back, edging closer than ever before. Horses in the nearby stables are shrieking in panic. John is found dead next to an empty bottle of pills. Melancholia has now filled up the sky. A storm brews, cars won’t start, hail pellets fall from above. Claire, with young Leo in her arms, gives up trying to escape— there’s no way out. She climbs back to the terrace where Justine waits, docile. Auntie of the year steps in to comfort Leo. She suggests they should build a magic cave of protection by collecting sticks and arranging them teepee style. All three sit in the homemade fort, Claire takes her son’s hand for the last time, and then her sister’s.
It happens faster than you’d think— in seconds the sound of planets colliding boom over the orchestral score and a blue cast overflows the screen. Melancholia fills the atmosphere and crashes into Earth, engulfing the cave and all three of its inhabitants in flames. Cut to black. Credits roll. The ending should feel bleak, but instead there’s an overwhelming sense of peace. Justine— a character with murky morals and an untrustworthy narrative— was right all along. Not only was she right, she was empowered, shooting literal beams of electricity from her fingertips, sourced from total annihilation.
Whoever hurt Lars Von Trier unintentionally planted a seed within him that eventually became this film, so shoutout to them. If you watch the rest of his ‘Depression Trilogy’, you might find that Melancholia is the most intimate, hopeful, and sanguine of them all despite what the title implies. Those who suffer from depression struggle to find substance in anything. We watch Justine attempt to find it in many different places in the first half of the film, only to come up empty. Catharsis comes from watching her find it in the second half, even if it is from carnage. Mental illness can be a complete hindrance in real life, but in the Von Trier cinematic universe it’s a superpower.
It all comes back to Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove. There comes a time when attempting rational thought just becomes wasted breath. In each movie, we follow the protagonist on their journey of blissfully accepting their fate. Both films end with massive, catastrophic explosions that feel more like a firework celebration. The biggest similarity these movies share is their ability to provide myself— and hopefully, lots of others like me— comfort in dark times. Like today, when the end feels closer than ever, where death and devastation are a daily occurrence, us folks who are already consumed with dread need a little something to identify with. For us, Justine is our Superman.