"What Does God Say When He Speaks To You?": A 'Breaking The Waves' Retrospective
Essay / Film Retrospective
Lars Von Trier can be called a lot of things, but not boring. The king of psychosexual melodrama, who famously bullied BjΓΆrk and was banned from Cannes for flippant Nazi jokes, is a completely unique figure in independent cinema.
Iβve decided to start my series of retrospectives on classic independent films from my youth with one of his earliest works: 1996βs Breaking the Waves.
While it isnβt his first film (itβs his fourth, following an experimental, war-themed trilogy), it is his first real foray into the themes and style that would later come to define his work.
Von Trier was instrumental in the Dogme 95 movement, a semi-strict set of rules for filmmakers to follow. This film is somewhat inspired by those rules, although, like many Dogme 95 films, it doesnβt adhere to them rigidly.
Breaking the Waves centres on a woman named Bess, played by Emily Watson, in her debut acting role, no less. She belongs to a secular Christian community in Scotland, an incredibly joyless and dogmatic one. She, however, is a free-spirited woman who marries someone from outside the community: an oil rig worker named Jan.
The character of Bess is a fascinating one, a testament to both the script and Watson's incredible performance. Itβs left to the viewer to decide on the content of her character and what she represents in the grander scheme of things. Her poor mental health is alluded to early on, but itβs easy to side with her against the strict and oppressive patriarchal rule of her community.
Is she simply a woman seeking to live a joyful life? Or is she a harlot betraying God? Jan idolizes her, and in a key scene, claims she is βstronger than any one of us,β which hints at her potentially divine nature and power.
This question is central to the film. As it becomes more and more psychologically melodramatic, you find yourself questioning her new behaviours and her particularly unique brand of faith.
Jan has an accident and begins asking strange things of her, requests she eventually rises to meet. These events are interspersed with her inner dialogues with God, who is sometimes closer to her and sometimes further away.
It goes without saying that her new βactivitiesβ are frowned upon by the community, as word slowly gets back to them. She remains steadfast, however, viewing her actions as a kind of mission from God, to keep Jan from succumbing to death.
Her faith evolves into a kind of gnostic, personal relationship with God, one outside the grim and lifeless church of men, which tellingly has no ringing bells. Her back-and-forth dialogues with God, are they genuine communions of the self, or minor schizophrenic episodes? Is she mad, or is her faith steadfast?
This dichotomy, for me, is the most alluring part of the film, as a non-denominational Christian myself, prone to similar behaviours.
Itβs said that a profound and sincere faith is often confused with a state of madness, especially in individuals with histories of mental illness, where faith and psychosis can become almost indistinguishable.
I donβt want to ruin the ending, because this is a beautiful, if hard to watch, film. So I wonβt speak on whether there is any resolution, or if the questions are left lingering. I will say that itβs a beautiful ending, and perfectly calculated.
The film is presented in chapters, each with stunning title sequences and amazing music, making the whole thing feel almost novelistic. It captures the grimness of 1970s Scotland in a very accurate way, itβs almost like a snapshot of a place you feel youβve visited, even though you know deep down you never have.
The film is under-celebrated in Trierβs filmography, and youβll see discussion of his edgier, nastier later films far more often than you will of Breaking the Waves. For my money, though, this dream-meets-nightmare slice of reality is undoubtedly one of his best.