Word: antichristã
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...sure, “Antichrist?? is rife with all of these things. Just as sure, the film never provides—nor so much as even suggests—a measure of forward-motion that would constitute a remotely critical synthesis for all the bizarre, absurd, or utterly inane things that manage to find their way into the 100 minutes that comprise it. Instead, Von Trier seems satisfied with a set of auteuristic half-measures intended to flummox or thwart critical impingement. When Willem Dafoe’s unnamed therapist-husband character exclaims toward...
...satisfied, almost sly look that the child gives the camera as he turns from the scene of his parents—Freud’s “primal scene”—that remains the only concept throughout all of “Antichrist?? that stands, free of contradiction, parody, or comment...
...enormous joke on his audience when Gainsbourg remarks grinningly to her husband, “Dreams are of no interest to modern psychology. Freud is dead, isn’t he?” A half hour of ejaculated blood and severed female anatomy later, “Antichrist?? has done as much as show that if Freud isn’t dead, he’s certainly fair game for some extreme and rather thickheaded interpretations...
...especially distorted register in some of the film’s most intense moments. But finding the natural extreme of a career that counts a visually stirring and intellectually stunted film like 1991’s “Europa” as its peak leaves “Antichrist?? on the level of an aesthetically-conscious “Evil Dead.” The second half is a mixture of out-loud laughable dialogue and uncomfortable gore (an exceptional combination of the two, when the talking fox devours its own entrails) that, however unintentionally, makes...
...what begins as confusion wavers and then diminishes into the reality: “Antichrist?? is an embarrassment audacious enough to reassure only a man like Lars Von Trier. A self-styled radical better known for narrative transgression and the outmoded Dogme 95 manifesto than any one particular film, Von Trier reveals himself finally and totally in “Antichrist?? as the spoiled child of the art house: an auteur who insists that his films merely stand as pieces around which he himself can be discussed. In so blatantly passing off exploitation...
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