Rating:
by Derek Smith 4/5/09

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I have always been a bit confused by many people’s distaste for Lars von Trier’s Dogville, not because I can’t understand how its provocations could rub one the wrong way, but because it is often dismissed as puerile and obvious in its observations of America’s relationship with immigrants, or perhaps simply outsiders (no mention of the “O” word, I promise).  What often goes over-looked or under-valued is the stringently paradoxical nature of the world von Trier creates and that despite the stripped-down aesthetic which lays everything bare and the hilariously literal John Hurt voice-over, there is a fascinating duality at work in every character, and seemingly every line delivered by every character, as well as the director himself, who mockingly chides Tom Edison for relying on illustrations to teach his moral lessons when his film is clearly doing the same.  In terms of the originality of its themes, von Trier even beat Cronenberg to the punch in examining America’s history of violence buried beneath good intentions, protestations of moral superiority and the thin veneer of a utopic surface that quickly disappears once the sociological equilibrium is upset.  Vastly different films these two, but I think LVT digs a little deeper.

Despite the attacks on America’s small town values and their latent xenophobia and hypocritical conservatism, Trier takes more than a few shots at those who would normally yelp with glee at these small-minded folk getting their comeuppance.  His Grace is a virtual paradox, symbolically the immigrant, the damsel in distress, yet in reality, a spoiled rich girl whose compassionate, selfless nature is revealed as arrogance born from a deep-seeded belief in her own innate superiority.  Tom Edison, on the other hand, is an intellectual whose illustrative concoctions are meant to impart his own carefully formed conclusions without the inconvenience of having them tested on him.  In essence, Trier uses these characters to challenge the preconceptions of his audience, both in how they would normally view the townspeople as well as the man making all these accusations.

The town of Dogville itself is open in the most literal sense - with no doors, walls or barriers, nooks and crannies within which to hide their malevolent thoughts and misdeeds  - yet in practice its openness, its willingness to help Grace, its begrudged acceptance to attend Tom’s lectures and its reliance on a moral code to constantly justify their own transgressions on human decency all mask the injustice that lies at its rotten core and protect the town from being held accountable for their hypocrisy.  Dogville is self-contained, not only in its remote location, but on a sociological level as well.  It is an ecosystem of its own, thriving on the ignorance and prejudices of its inhabitants and arcane moral principles that allow it to remain assured of its own quaint perfection even as the townspeople constantly violate them.

As an allegory, Dogville succeeds by leaving no one off the hook – not Grace, not von Trier and not the audience.  Grace’s vengeance at the end is frighteningly cathartic, a release of justified rage against a town that refused to accept responsibility for their mistreatment of her.  Von Trier clearly baits the audience into sympathizing with Grace, using this sympathy particularly to challenge liberal’s own belief in open-mindedness.  If we’ve spent 2 ½ hours being increasingly infuriated at the hypocrisy and closed-mindedness of the residents of Dogville, how can we very well accept, even celebrate, their being given a great big dose of their own medicine?  But would it be right for Grace to leave the town be and allow their crimes to go unpunished?  Is this entire illustration even valid or does it leave Trier and us in the same position as Tom where we can mull over the strength of our own moral fiber without having it put to test?  Whatever answers you may or may not come up with, Dogville remains an important film if only for forcing you to address them.