In the recent revelations regarding harassment and abuse in the Western film industry, there are two voices holding undercurrent. One which speaks of “surprise” at the events, bordering on all-out disbelief. Then there’s the other which says, “Well, duh – it’s a capitalist, male-dominated industry. Of course these things are happening.”
One figure who magnetises these voices is Lars von Trier. While the Danish director’s filmography follows in the vein of Scandi-cinema, particularly the inclusion of sex and nudity, it is how he utilises these which drives controversy – predominantly in the debasement of Trier’s female characters. In some circles, Trier is celebrated for featuring female protagonists (yes, the standard really is that low), but female protagonists do not a feminist film make. It is worth questioning Trier’s feminist merit when plots continuously centre around a woman’s torment and ruination.
There’s “Breaking the Waves” (1996), in which a young bride willingly prostitutes herself for the belief it will cure her husband’s paralysation, only to be raped, beaten and killed. There’s “Dancer in the Dark” (2000), where Bjork plays a blind, impoverished immigrant who murders and steals before being hanged. In 2017, Bjork made allegations of Trier’s sexual harassment during filming, stating that the incidents made her aware “…that it is a universal thing that a director can touch and harass his actresses at will and the institution of film allows it”.
Trier denied these allegations, and so in the press followed opinions of other women who previously worked with him. Charlotte Gainsbourg, who starred in each film of Trier’s “Depression” trilogy, gave hers: “Well, yes, maybe he’s capable of that. But he didn’t do it with me. And I never felt that he was forcing me into anything, so I don’t feel it’s doing him justice. But then maybe he was that way with her, I can’t say.”
What’s striking about Gainsbourg’s comment is the insertion of “But he didn’t do it with me” – a disclaimer which often features in accounts of abusers. The logic, in its irrelevance, implies disbelief.
This equates to a dangerous leniency: that a person capable of harming another can be effectively pardoned, as long as they have not harmed everyone. It’s a get-out-clause which features in all societal and political spheres, applying especially to white men in positions of power. As Bjork and Gainsbourg state, the #metoo movement resulted from a power-dynamic inherent to the industry.
And so, another example of Trier’s degraded woman is Joe; the protagonist of “Nymphomaniac” (2013), one of Trier’s most explicit films to date. While it follows a story arc similar to many of his previous films (i.e. a woman is punished), it could be observed that “Nymphomaniac” is a direct acknowledgement of Trier’s reputation – as he states, “I like to be the man everyone hates.” Interesting, then, how Trier chooses to utilise a female character to demonstrate his values in this regard. For his efforts, the clues which enable Trier’s role in a system of harm – one which entails abuse, misogyny, and racism – are illuminated here.
“Nymphomaniac” follows Joe (Gainsbourg with a suitably androgynous name) as she recounts her lifelong sex addiction to an asexual virgin, Seligman (Stellan Skarsgård). The narrative structure is inspired by that of a novel, with chapters and deviations – and while this asserts a fantastical nature to the story, I question whose fantasies are at play here.
The account begins by depicting Joe as a child, exploring what she describes as “the sensation” – rolling around on wet floors, or climbing sports ropes at school for longer than necessary.
How this develops into addiction is not detailed. However, the relationship between Joe and her father is tender and intimate, which suggests an accustoming to male affection), while her mother is described as a “cold bitch”. This pattern continues through the film – men are depicted as open (particularly if sex is involved), while women remain frosty or hysterical. This could be a cynical representation of patriarchal gender dynamic, in which women compete with one another, but Joe’s continual allegiance to the male throws doubt on whether this representation is deliberate or sympathetic.
Then follows Joe’s attempts to “take ownership” of her sexuality – first by losing her virginity to Jerôme (Shia Labeouf). To do so, Young Joe (Stacy Martin) turns up as the a-typical schoolgirl in pigtails and Mary Jane shoes – which is maybe a tongue-in-cheek representation of age. However, in the events that follow, Joe reappears continually as the a-typical male fantasy: a canny teenager willingly sucking off multiple strangers on a train (this segment even starts with a rear shot of her and her companion strutting down the carriage to the tune of “Born to be Wild”), or a coy secretary teasing colleagues into bathroom liaisons.
The consummation of Joe’s virginity is delivered in a total of five thrusts from Jerôme (or “2 + 3” as described), which Joe finds humiliating (even though her emotional reaction is short-lived, and offset clumsily by her cliched appearance). However, in time she finds herself working as Jerôme’s secretary and falling in love with him. This is a strange redemption for Jerôme, who morphs into a hugely accommodating husband – here lies another Trier trope whereby the husband asks the wife to find other lovers (importantly, this is due to Joe, having been with countless men, discovering the loss of any sexual sensation with Jerôme – a punishment, perhaps?). Eagerly, Joe dresses as “The Piano Teacher”, and pretends to have a broken-down car in order to lure men in. Of course it works – because isn’t every man’s fantasy a vulnerable piano teacher?
Where does young Joe keep discovering these sexual costumes? Her story does not evolve into an ownership of her organic sexuality – it degrades through various fetishised forms, including a sexual relationship with a teenage girl. If there is anything Joe takes ownership of, it is her objectification – but she is ultimately punished for using it for her own gains – namely, beaten and urinated on.
In fact, a chapter involving Joe’s emotional torment at abandoning her husband and young child for a visit to a sadomasochistic dominator is overshadowed by that dominator – the focus in these scenes is charged by the power waged over her, and her continual return to submission to face punishment (which she enjoys).
The term “nymphomaniac” is often used diminutively to describe a woman’s apparently enlarged sexual appetite – or, predictably, that which would be unremarkable if it were a man. Later in the film, Joe attends a support group for sex addicts, but finds that she cannot live without sex and so proudly proclaims herself as a nymphomaniac. In what was maybe intended as her liberation, it falls short as Joe’s sexual experiences so far (masturbating on a busy commuter train, ejecting an overbearing older man from her home, etc) have been presented with the comedic “nudge-nudge wink-wink” which female sexuality (or nymphomania when referred to in its most belittling form) so frequently receives.
However, once Gainsbourg appears as the older Joe, the angle shifts – her quest becomes distinctly less “sexy”. The fact that Gainsbourg’s androgyny is perhaps less conventionally attractive than Martin plays a role here. Even during Joe’s younger days, where she is apparently sleeping with multiple men per night, this is observed with wry detachment, featuring only the provocative or amusing parts. Older Joe, however, is embellished so much as to declare herself as masculine when she discusses ridding herself of her “nymphomania” once and for all:
Joe: I will stand up against all odds… Just like a deformed tree on a hill. I will muster all my stubbornness… My strength… My masculine aggression.
Problematically, the suggestion here is that the natural antidote to female sexuality (in its diminutive “nymphomania” form) is the anti-feminine. The fact that Joe’s character evolves into a violent and unforgiving debt-collector actually helps the audience to identify with her. So that when her final punishments and humiliations arrive, they can be considered as unfortunate (although still deserving). It’s similar to the relative androgyny of heroines in horror films – the requirement of an anti-feminine element so that the (mostly male) audience can root for her.
Importantly, in “male” Joe’s quest for pleasure, she is attracted to a group of black men who stand at the corner of her street. A sexual scenario with what she describes as “dangerous men” turns her on “enormously,” and so she deftly arranges to have sex with them. Until this point, men of colour have only appeared within photographs of phalluses – and Trier only deviates further from this to feature two “dangerous men” as erect, incomprehensible and sex-driven. An unfortunately reductive, if not racist depiction.
In this regard, it is difficult to say whether Joe or Seligman represent Trier’s personal views most genuinely – but here the director’s aim at deliberate controversy is illuminated, particularly in this exchange after Seligman disputes Joe’s referral to the men as “negros”:
Joe: Well, excuse me, but in my circles it’s always been a mark of honor to call a spade a spade. Each time a word becomes prohibited, you remove a stone from the democratic foundation. Society demonstrates its impotence in the face of a concrete problem by removing words from the language.
Seligman: I think society would claim that… That politically correctness is a very precise expression of democratic concern for minorities.
Joe: And I say that society is as cowardly as the people in it, who in my opinion are also too stupid for democracy (…) The human qualities can be expressed in one word: Hypocrisy. We elevate those who say “right” but mean “wrong” and mock those who say “wrong” but mean “right.” By the way, can assure you that women who claim that negros don’t turn them on… they’re lying.
In the final chapter, Joe’s closing punishments arrive – first in the form of Jerome, delivering “2+3” thrusts into Joe’s teenage girlfriend. Trier grants Jerôme further redemption by refunding him ownership – not just over Joe, but of all women. The message is as though sexuality is a sphere in which men can seek eternal victory over women. Of course, the suggestion that women will “lose the game” even when participating in the way of men is true – but that Joe is degraded in this way demonstrates that Trier is not on her side.
Then comes Seligman, who throughout the film has remained sympathetic towards Joe by offering poetic license and consolation, but closes the trial by attempting to have sex with her. After all, she has slept “with thousands of men”. But as he appears, flacid and non-comprehending before her, this is probably the most accurate conclusion of “Nymphomaniac”: that the point has been missed entirely. Joe is destined to continue a life of loneliness and sub-humanity – unfortunate, then, that Trier did not grant her humanity to begin with.
‘Female protagonists do not a feminist film make: how Lars von Trier let slip his misogyny’ is an article written by Rose Cleary. You can find out more about Rose on her site.
