|I took a break from Fifty Shades Freed for this?|
But you, you Lars von Trier, used this promising plot as an excuse to run every woman in the film through your exploitative, voyeuristic, and humiliating wringer. It's not a good sign for your film when you make your depressive heroine annoying, her sister impotent, and their mother a witchy harridan who makes the worst wedding toast in the history of cinema. (As an aside--worst wedding toast in the history of cinema is actually sort of a stiff competition. Old School, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Wedding Crashers--but the difference is, those screenwriters all knew that no one would ever say such a thing out loud at a wedding. Von Trier hasn't gotten the memo.)
Also, I've about had it with your pretentious, over-scored, self-indulgent opening set pieces. Though I suppose it was a fair introduction to the film's argument that women are most beautiful and magical when they've surrendered to death, and most hysterical and pathetic when they hope for survival. I might have even forgiven the misogyny--God knows I'm in good practice from my love for and compulsive rewatches of Fight Club--if everything in the entire movie wasn't such a heavy-handed half-baked Metaphor. When you already have a planet named Melancholia, you really don't need a wedding limo that can't get on the road, or a lost Edenic apple orchard.
Melancholia is notable for two reasons--the opportunity to see Alexander and Stellan Skarsgard act together, and the dubious honor of containing the most over-long and ultimately pointless wedding reception scene in modern cinema, unseating Deer Hunter. Other than that, I was alternately bored and pissed for two hours and fifteen minutes. I won't get fooled again, Lars von Trier.