After all, this almost three-hour long meditation on a serial killer was about him, right? It was touted as a movie about how he sees himself as a filmmaker and how the public sees him and, in some respects, what is expected of him. Going into The House That Jack Built, I was fairly certain that Von Trier was going to make it as graphic as he possibly could. ![]() Considering how often “shocking” is the main theme of his films, there comes a point where the ‘shock’ just isn’t worth anything anymore. ![]() Boredom and that slight burning rage I get if a movie remotely resembles one of Wes Anderson’s. But funnily enough, my overall feeling when watching Lars Von Trier movies is boredom. There have been pieces of his movies that I’ve liked I’d even go so far as to say I enjoyed the first half of Nymphomaniac and I almost liked Melancholia, or at least had high hopes for it. It’s obvious he fancies himself a truth teller, someone above the stink of normal living, who bestows his wisdom upon us via mostly female suffering. Lars Von Trier, on the other hand, borders more on the famed internet term “edge lord.” He has some of the same need to shock and appall, but it’s in a way that feels like he wants to rattle the reality of everybody feeling safe and small in the theater. A lot of his movies have that excitement a young film student would have when they consider just how upsetting or gleefully strange they could make something. Once, in quoting a friend of mine, I referred to Gasper Noe as a troll, with the follow up that I loved that about him.
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