MANDERLAY (2005)

Lars Von Trier’s ‘USA— Land of Opportunities’ trilogy was cut short after its second entry, Manderlay, was a critical disappointment and a box office disaster. Dogville (2003), its predecessor, was already a huge gamble, with a $10M budget attached to a soul-crushing, three-hour long indictment of the US. Likely due to the star power of lead actress Nicole Kidman, it out-earned its production budget, as well as providing one of the most depressing films of the 21st-century. Von Trier is known for being a sadistic provocateur throughout his filmography, but watching the townsfolk of the fictional Dogville turn on protagonist Grace (Kidman) over the course of this lengthy exercise in misanthropy is punishing even by his standards.

On its subject of interest the film is muddled. Some viewers assess it as an allegory regarding slavery, but that hardly seems appropriate given that Grace is the one escaping to Dogville, and finds it to be a sweet and loving haven before the residents gradually turn on her. If one searches for real-life parallels, a convoluted metaphor is required to map onto Grace’s tragic arc; an Irish person fleeing the dire conditions in their home country due to the Famine, perhaps, then attempting to carve out a new life for themselves in the wonder of the US, before becoming an indentured servant through no fault of their own and having their freedom and dignity stripped from them. But that takes an unbelievable amount of guesswork to patch together something coherent from this protagonist’s struggles. The groupthink embedded in rural areas is certainly an important factor, but that’s hardly a problem that only plagues the US. The clearest metaphor that can be drawn is the outwardly sunny disposition of Americans towards strangers, belying a hidden distrustfulness towards anyone that is deemed worthy of contempt, whether that’s through bigotry, small-mindedness, or a hostile system that penalises criminals and those in need of medical treatment far more harshly than the government of Von Trier’s native Denmark.

Still, even if its thematic and allegorical elements don’t amount to much, the film’s impeccable craftsmanship and narrative storytelling is worthy of acclaim. Dogville was shot on a large stage with sparse pieces of furniture and other objects identifying each home. No walls are present, with the boundaries between rooms or houses delineated by white chalk drawn across the black floor. This means that even in scenes where two people are conversing in the same room, unseen and unheard by anyone else, we can still view the other residents in their homes or on the street. It’s an ingenious method of depicting the notion that there are no secrets in rural areas, especially in tight-knit communities like this one. Grace is granted the illusion of privacy, but each character in this ensemble is a slave to the opinions of the wider community, with the title of this small town reflecting the dog-eat-dog world that it envisions. Even the film’s camerawork, consistently hand-held and shot so intimately that it makes Dogville feel like a documentary (with some of the most un-flashy, direct editing you’ll find in cinema), forces viewers to reckon with the horrors that befall this uniquely kind and naïve protagonist.

This impressionistic reimagining of the physical realm of a rural community is upheld in Manderlay, though with far less effectiveness. Part of that comes down to how quickly viewers are thrown into this narrative and the small plot of land that its principal characters reside on. Dogville had the good sense to orient us in this world through John Hurt’s inimitable voice-over narration, along with well-written yet mildly pretentious prose for the iconic actor to set up an ironically pleasant tone. While Hurt reprises his narration here, it functions to explain the characters’ circumstances rather than illuminate them. There are no overhead shots to make us reckon with the boundaries on this property, nor are there opportunities to spend time with the residents before Grace’s arrival.

This time, the Dogville protagonist is portrayed by Bryce Dallas Howard, after Kidman, who had agreed to reprise her role, dropped out of Manderlay due to scheduling conflicts. Howard might not be Kidman’s equal in terms of acting calibre, but Grace’s particular brand of doe-eyed naivety maps on just as well to Howard’s inflections and line delivery, so it isn’t an unwelcome change. It’s also reasonable — logically, at least — for this story to begin not with the slave community at Manderlay, but with Grace, who is approached by a Black woman pleading with her to help a fellow slave who is about to be whipped for stealing a bottle of wine. It makes perfect sense for Grace, and not this slave community —which bafflingly still exists in this film’s 1930s time period, over 70 years since the US’ abolition of slavery — to be prioritised. While this protagonist was the all-suffering, powerless victim of the first film, here she is granted what Von Trier bitterly sees as a white liberal’s ultimate dream: to oversee a group of oppressed Black people and, as a kindly leader who insists that their subjects have all the freedom in the world, guide them towards more prosperous and fulfilling lives.

Whereas the conversations between Grace and her father Mr Mulligan (portrayed by James Caan in Dogville, and Willem Dafoe in this film) were illuminating in this aborted trilogy’s first outing, here the continuation of their bickering is trite and annoyingly self-satisfied. Dafoe is a fantastic actor, but his character’s delight in poking at Grace’s ego doesn’t work nearly as well as Caan’s dominant yet endearing presence. Only the latter actor feels like the kind of ‘tough cookie’ father figure that is necessary for this role, especially given Mr Mulligan’s background as a gangster who’s spent years trying to recruit Grace into his profession. Even still, the comedic elements of Manderlay take root here, if only for a moment, when Mr Mulligan grins knowingly when he suggests that she is interested in spending time at Manderlay to hear the former slaves’ words of thanks for emancipating them.

And it would seem that they have much to be thankful for, since the thorny issue of slavery is waived away with ease by Grace, who uses her father’s gun-toting henchmen to overtake the cotton plantation, turn the white slaveholders into slaves themselves (who will earn their freedom if they shun their outdated, prejudiced racial attitudes), and draw up contracts to establish the former slaves as sharecroppers. Having vanquished the terrible beast of oppression (or so she thinks), Grace eagerly takes up the mantle of the spiritual leader of these people. What follows is at turns insensitive and delicate in its portrayal of these former slaves. Von Trier’s commitment to the idea that slavery was not just an institution involving physical entrapment, but the deterioration of one’s spirit, is vividly realised, while he cleverly contorts Grace into a sympathetic yet hilariously out of touch white saviour figure.

Whether it’s an impassioned plea for one of the young Black men to take up the art of painting with tools provided by Grace (a speech delivered to the wrong Black man, since she struggles to tell them apart), or her fetishisation of the most righteous and independent of all the former slaves, Timothy (Isaach de Bankolé), there’s plenty of cringe comedy to laugh at and suffer through. Yet for as much as one feels like rolling their eyes at Grace’s pleas for understanding, it’s still easy to sympathise with her efforts. These circumstances are maddening, especially when the freed slaves are so reticent to take control of their freedom. Somehow, Von Trier is able to use this story and its themes to be impressively sensitive with regards to the psychological conditioning of this oppressed group of people, while proving hilariously wicked as a bitter provocateur.

One of the biggest problems with this director’s filmography is that many of his most harrowing works, despite generally succeeding in their depictions of soul-crushing misery, are often plagued by at least one contrived element. In Dogville that could be found in the town’s refusal to admit their horrific treatment towards Grace. That level of absurd denial might be reflective of reality to some extent, but it is blunt to the point of shallowness, where one momentarily forgets about the story’s misery and imagines the director as a puppet master guiding these characters to behave in a particularly reprehensible way. Manderlay manages to avoid some of these pitfalls by casting Grace in a benevolent yet absurd light, granting her all of the power in the world to usher in a better world for these long-suffering people.

Even when she is liked and appreciated by most of her new followers, awkwardness is infused in many of her interactions with them. All their lives they have been forced to defer to the interests of their white slaveholders, so there’s a very nuanced degree of discomfort with which they treat Grace. Contradictions run amok between the group and Grace, who shows them kindness, insists she doesn’t want to be seen as a leader, and, regardless of what she says on the subject, wants to feel appreciated for her efforts. While this movie has drawn plenty of ire for its approach towards slavery, and criticism for having a less absorbing narrative than Dogville (both valid complaints), Manderlay is at its best when it can be enjoyed as a farcical take on a white liberal’s dream brushing up against a harsh reality. Whether one buys into that central premise matters little, even if that clearly wasn’t Von Trier’s aim. In the end it’s best if one doesn’t align with the Danish director’s worldview, with Manderlay‘s shocking ending ringing so hollow in its attempt at a point that, try as it might, it’s hardly even offensive. You don’t shake your head or redden with anger; you simply roll your eyes at the ridiculous display, and mourn the fact that, deep within this film’s denouement, there’s a surprising degree of empathy on Von Trier’s part waiting to be unveiled.

On a technical level this film is still a bust compared to its predecessor, failing to match the first film’s cinematography, editing, or use of its unique physical environment. But it also offers a unique antidote with regards to its narrative arc compared to the utter misery of Dogville. It would be going too far to suggest that Manderlay is a reaction against Von Trier’s inclination towards misanthropy, since his filmmaking predilections overtake this film in a shocking, degrading ending that resolves itself far too neatly and does an injustice towards these characters (bar Grace). In fact, the entire film is too silly to take all that seriously, especially in retrospect, making this a rather forgettable watch in spite of some highly entertaining scenes. But while there are certainly low points in the narrative, with a dust storm arriving on the plantation, for instance, that takes far too long to allow its intriguing effects to emerge, Manderlay is a darkly humorous, incendiary takedown of the notion of freedom and all that it entails.

Like Dogville, its compelling notes never amount to a very cohesive or worthwhile critique of America’s history or cultural attitudes, but it’s a damn shame that the response to Manderlay was negative enough to kill off any chances of this trilogy’s final instalment. Little is known about the third film, just as it’s entirely possible that it was Von Trier’s crippling fear of flying, or lack of interest in exploring these topics any further (it took him decades to complete his TV series The Kingdom), that prevented this third outing from seeing the light of day. Whatever the case, even though Manderlay represents a step down in quality from its predecessor, it still presents a twisted yet enjoyable vision from one of cinema’s most prolific misanthropes.

DENMARK • SWEDEN • NETHERLANDS • FRANCE • GERMANY • UK • ITALY • USA | 2005 | 138 MINUTES | 2.35:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Lars Von Trier.
starring: Bryce Dallas Howard, Danny Glover, Isaach de Bankolé, Willem Dafoe, Lauren Bacall, Jean-Marc Barr, Udo Kier, Ginny Holder & Željko Ivanek.