There were certainly more male and female genital shots, including close-ups of cunnilingus and surgical insertions during an abortion, while an erect penis that appeared fairly clearly to belong to Shia LaBeouf hoved into view at a number of points. Last month, the Berlin Film Festival premiered the uncut Volume I, running at 145 minutes, as opposed to the theatrically released 117, but the differences were less substantial than expected.
Still other versions will be released internationally, length depending on varying levels of acceptability in different territories. It’s one film released as two separate “volumes,” totaling nearly four hours, reduced from an original five-and-a-half (von Trier reputedly approved the shorter cut without actually seeing it). Nymphomaniac is not an easy object to define. This is especially evident in a comment made by Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård), a Jewish scholar who remarks early on that anti-Zionism is not the same as anti-Semitism, “despite what certain political powers say”-an aside seemingly aimed at the Cannes Film Festival, which pronounced von Trier persona non grata after he joked about being a Nazi at the Melancholia press conference. Nymphomaniac pushes this self-absorbtion to new extremes, and certainly confirms that the director is engaged in a testy dialogue with his detractors at points, the film resembles those records that rappers devote to venting their spleen at haters of their last release. The unveiling of Nymphomaniac was preceded by several months of teaser extracts on the film’s elegant website, while any temptation to take the film too seriously (or to think that its creator does) was undercut by artwork showing its actors gamely displaying their “orgasm faces.” Meanwhile, von Trier’s refusal to speak publicly since Melancholia (his mouth is taped shut in his latest self-mocking publicity portrait) has further enhanced Nymphomaniac’s mystique.Īll this, however, adds to the increasing tendency of von Trier’s films to feel oddly hermetic: whatever the ostensible subjects, each of them seems really to constitute the latest bulletin about what’s on von Trier’s mind, his current state of discomfort with the world or with film language. But there’s no denying he’s a master showman.
Many regard von Trier as simply a controversialist, out to get a rise from critics and audience alike. You may find yourself relishing his inventiveness and audacity while recoiling from the narcissistic, sometimes bratty knowingness of his will to provoke. There are plenty of filmmakers whose work occupies the love-it-or-loathe-it category, but Lars von Trier is a rarity, in that his work can be loved and loathed simultaneously.
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