Hiding behind government handouts

Not so melancholic about destroying the planet

By Philip Cross

It was widely noted that the films screened at the recent Cannes film festival were a tad pessimistic about the future of mankind. Over half of the 22 official films dealt with some form of systemic collapse, mixed with a heavy dose of vengeance, clearly the psychological hangover from the 2008 financial crash. Since artists supposedly are well attuned to emerging trends in society, this bodes ill for the world’s ability to cope with its lingering economic turmoil. Of course, most artists don’t know diddly about economics, as reflected in the exalted status they extend to the proverbial “starving artist.” Try selling the ideal of a “starving economist” to my chosen profession.

Much of this artistic pessimism derives from the film Melancholia by Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier, a legend in the industry despite (or because of) never being a commercial success in North America. He laid out the apocalyptic anti-business vision that other filmmakers are now following.

A brief synopsis of Melancholia. A young couple is late for their wedding, because their stretch limo can’t navigate a corner that a Smart car would handle with ease. Tsk, tsk, ostentatious consumption at your own wedding deserves to be punished. The best man is also the employer of the bride, and says in his moving toast to the groom that “if I had to choose between a woman for my dear friend Michael and an employee, I would always choose the employee.” He adds to the festive atmosphere by promoting her at the wedding, and then pressures her to have sex with his nepotistic nephew. Understandably, the bride has a major bout of melancholia and has to be coaxed to rejoin the ceremony.

She tells her boss that the fundamental challenge for their business is “How do we hook a group of minors on our substandard product, preferably in a habit-forming way.” The implication is that all business models, apart from the film industry, are based on products like cigarettes that prey on people’s weaknesses, not things chosen rationally to improve your life like kitchenware. The boss says approvingly of the bride, “She can’t stop working, not even on her wedding night.” And you complain about getting a couple of work-related emails after hours. But finally she drops the loyal employee act, and tells her boss “I hate your firm so deeply, I couldn’t find the words to describe it,” presumably giving voice to all the downtrodden masses in the audience.

OK, at this point you are probably saying, so what, Phil? A wedding seething with greed, power, intrigue, lust, jealousy and hate: sounds like any of the half-dozen nuptials I have attended this summer. But now the plot gets weird.

Turns out that there is a huge planet called Melancholia that, according to the film, has been “hiding behind the Sun.” Now my specialty is not astronomy, but since Copernicus it has been known that the Earth revolves around the Sun, so how does a planet hide behind the Sun, ready to leap out at us when we least suspect? Probably best to let that one go as poetic licence.

Scientists predict Melancholia will pass by the Earth, but as our heroine’s estranged sister says, “What if your scientists have miscalculated?” Good question. After all, those bozos couldn’t spot a planet the size of Jupiter hiding behind the sun. While science is reassuring, the horses are restless. Which are you going to believe, rational science or intuitive horse sense? No contest in von Trier’s view of the world, which is why I plan to launch the Equine Equity Fund, with stocks picked by horses. One neigh means sell, two says buy.

Melancholia narrowly averts the Earth on its first pass, but then loops back on a menacing track. Cars stop working (damn technology) and the horses go quiet as doomsday approaches. The Earth is obliterated, but the director says, “It’s the most happy ending I’ve ever made,” because the two sisters reconcile just before oblivion. So Humphrey Bogart was wrong: The problems of two people count for a lot more than a hill of beans in this world.

Mercifully, the DVD commentary comes with a psychologist — if ever viewers needed counseling after a film, this one is it — who observes that “if catastrophe happens, it makes the melancholic happy in a quiet, knowing, accepting way.” This perfectly describes the attitude of a smug minority to the world’s ongoing financial quagmire. They subconsciously want to see the global economy sink into a depression, ruining countless lives, so they can triumphantly say “I told you so” about the pitfalls of capitalism and materialism.

Let there be no mistake about the not-so-hidden agenda at work here. This director and his disciples at Cannes are not just predicting our economic system is doomed; they are wallowing in this reverie. They hate our science and technology, our standard of living, our way of life, our very existence on this planet: “Life on Earth is evil,” asserts someone in Melancholia. Instead of proposing solutions, they want to deny billions of people in developing countries the opportunity to rise out of poverty, now that most governments outside of North Korea have figured out the not-so-difficult path to economic growth. These nihilists and anarchists don’t want to save the planet, they fantasize about destroying it, all the while with their hand out for government subsidies of their films.