This is our first clue that we are in for it. The childвЂ™s death is disturbingly aestheticized, a thing of beauty rather than the stuff of tragedy. All of this action is shot lavishly and set to AlmirenaвЂ™s poignant aria вЂњLascia chвЂ™io piangaвЂќ (вЂњLeave that I might weepвЂќ) from HandelвЂ™s opera Rinaldo.

The prologue sets up the narrative premise for the entire film: While He (Willem Dafoe) and She (Gainsbourg) engage in passionate, slow-motion, nothing-left-to-the-imagination sex, their toddler, Nic, manages to descend from his crib, open the baby gate, climb up on a desk (in the process knocking three metal figurinesВ—a bit like toy soldiersВ—labeled вЂњPain,вЂќ вЂњGrief,вЂќ and вЂњDespairвЂќ to the floor), and plunge poetically out an open window to his death at precisely the same moment that his parents arrive at orgasm. Indeed, what are we to make of a film that announces itself with a simple title shot featuring the words вЂњLars von TrierвЂќ and вЂњAntichrist,вЂќ the second t in the title written to form the symbol for вЂњfemaleвЂќ (в™Ђ)? Are the name and the epithet set intentionally in apposition? Does von Trier mean to claim the title Antichrist as his own? Does he want to suggest that the Antichrist is female? Or rather, in the state of depression in which he claims to have written the film, did von Trier simply spend too much time dabbling in Nietzsche, whose Anti-Christ he says he has kept on his bedside table ever since he was twelve? In a world so steeped in apocalyptic sensibilities, what labor do this film and its provocative title perform? And, in the end, can we really be expected to care what the answers to these questions are?ДЄntichrist is divided into four chapters, bookended by a prologue and an epilogue, both shot in black and white. Whoever set up the theater for the screening clearly had a sense of humor, something one cannot fail to appreciate as a salutary antidote to the toxic glibness of von Trier, who proclaimed himself the вЂњbest film director in the worldвЂќ this year at Cannes. Waiting for the screening to begin, a small group of critics paged absently through the press kit while serenaded by a cleverly selected sound track: Serge Gainsbourg (the father of AntichristвЂ™s female lead, Charlotte Gainsbourg) and Brigitte Bardot performing their 1967 pop hit вЂњBonnie and Clyde,вЂќ and Johnny Cash and June Carter singing their duet вЂњJackson,вЂќ a song about failed passion, sexual bravado, and the ever-present threat of intimate humiliation. LARS VON TRIERвЂ™S ANTICHRIST had provoked audiences at Cannes to boos, laughter, condemnation, and the occasional declaration of genius two months before making its way into a small theater in Greenwich Village on a gorgeous summer morning this past July. Lars von Trier, Antichrist, 2009, still from a black-and-white and color film in 35 mm, 109 minutes.

Antichrist movie 2009