after 24 hours' reflection on the last post on Lars von Trier and Dancer in the Dark, i have decided that his crimes are far worse than i imagined.

and yet, curiously, i am all the more eager to forgive him.

(yeah, i still understand he surely doesn't give a shit. not the point.)

it's one thing to blind your protagonist, and betray her, and rob her at the most horribly inopportune moment, under the most incredibly tragic circumstances, and slip that gun into her hand at still worse moment, and time every one of the unexpected intrusions and rushes for help at the preposterously wrong moments to see and hear the most incriminating little snippets and nothing more, to create her far too simple to grasp any of the obvious routes out--except, curiously, the wily exit she does concoct, which works out perfectly, except for her, and . . . and on and on and on.

. . . one or two or perhaps six of those might be necessary, but this relentless piling on is just sadistic. especially to such a delicate, innocent, and delightfully rapturous creature. why not just club a fresh litter of cocker spaniels to death and be done with it?

and Breaking The Waves is coming into clearer focus, too. he really abused the hell out of Emily Watson's equally innocent character, if i recall.

a serial offender. of one of the heinous of all crimes available to the writer: charactericide.

we're omnipotent in these worlds we create, we can rape, rob and pillage to our hearts content, but should we?

i mean, seriously, there's a point, right? like abusing the mentally retarded. which this character nearly qualifies for, actually.

picture a film with a delightful retarded person, who was betrayed by a close friend, and then brutally tortured in all manner of emotional and physical abuse. at what point do you say, this is just a guy with sadistic fantasies--perhaps he should be forbidden from carrying firearms.

and yet . . .

though i see his authorial crimes more clearly this evening--all spilled out before me on a bike ride to get some carry-out, oddly enough; and the food got cold rushing in to type 3/4 of this in before i lost it--clearly, he can't help himself.

and clearly, it's a great talent he's servicing.

incredible stories. vibrant characters. stunning visuals. intense joy, even if he is always stepping in to (metaphorically) chop the petite little fingers right off a cheerful girl.

but he's trying his heart out. clearly. and succeeding a great deal.

the sadism is unnecessary, he could have and will make much better films without it. but he didn't know how. he's an artist, he had a vision, he believed in it, he followed it, and we suffered a bit for some of it, profited from the rest.

at least he had one. a bit screwed up, but how else you going to get anywhere? take a risk and see where it leads. at least he's in there swinging. swinging his little heart out.