Melancholia is stupendously pretentious crap that also happens to be frightfully boring. I found it far from beautiful or interesting or thought-provoking. As a metaphor for depression it strikes me as absurdly heavy-handed (“Depression: you think you’ve beaten it, and then WHAMO!”) As an exploration of our insignificance relative to the cosmos, especially privileged rich people who live on golf courses, don’t work, and devote their lives to trivia, it is even more heavy-handed (and really should have been re-envisioned as a Monty Python skit.) Personally, I think Lars von Trier’s real point is to make a highly self-indulgent statement about how horrible it is to die; except for depressed people, of course, who apparently are all too happy to depart from this vale of tears.

In my review of Another Earth, I pointed out that the “science” in science fiction only matters when you are saddled with a bad script. Here’s a perfect example. The script is terrible, practically nonexistent, and as a result I found myself really irritated about the “science” of the story. How could Melancholia be have been “hiding behind the Sun”? A rogue planet approaching the solar system would be visible for decades! Or, if they mean to suggest that it was in our orbit, just always on the opposite side of the Sun, its gravitational effects would have been observed ages ago, and more importantly what the hell would send it suddenly streaking directly at us? Why wasn’t there enormous upheaval – earthquakes, volcanoes, miles-high tidal waves – when that huge planet (it was the size of freaking Neptune) was so close to the earth? Why would it suddenly turn around and head back toward earth days after passing us by (did Superman push it back?)  When the planet is close to earth, why do all electrical things die … except the golf cart?! See what I mean: when there is no story and no dialog, all kinds of unfortunate things come into your mind.

My principle disappointment with this film is that I feel the preview directly implies that Kiki leaves her husband to have a lesbian affair with Charlotte Gainsbourg, and personally I was really looking forward to that. This movie could have used a steaming girl-on-girl scene between these two. Without it, what do you have? A hour of an excruciatingly boring wedding, an hour of mincing around waiting for the fucking planet to smash into earth, and 15 minutes of watching Charlotte Gainsbourg sob and quiver as she contemplates what it’s gonna feel like to be atomized in a high-speed extraterrestrial collision.

The character development is epically bad. It was over an hour before I realized that Kiefer Sutherland was Charlotte Gainsbourg’s husband, and that the country club (with the 18 hole golf course) that was hosting the wedding was in fact their house! If this seems strange, consider this piece of dialog: When Kiki asks if there is a room for her dad to stay the night, the fellow who seems to be in charge of the establishment replies: “I believe room 8 is available – let me check.” Room 8? Does this sound like someone’s house, given that we’re talking about the owner’s father?

Leave it to Lars von Trier to become the first director in history to get a bad performance out of Kristen Dunst. Jesus, I didn’t even think that was possible, but he somehow managed to take one the most flexible, expressive and emotionally vibrant actresses out there, and turn her into a zombie. Congratulations, Lars. But the joke is that Cannes actually gave her Best Actress! All the great roles she’s played – Elizabethtown, All Good Things, Crazy Beautiful, Mona Lisa Smile – and thanks to those idiots this is what she will be remembered for. Honestly, any actress could have done what little she had to do in Melancholia (mope around expressionless, show her boobs, and ride some guy in a long-distance sex scene in which she inexplicably pumps her arm like she’s jacking up a car.)

One last note – The 10 minutes of opening credits are positively stultifying: interminable still-shots of silly, boring, stupid-looking dioramas, with Wagner blasting over the top, just to let us know that this fucking movie is “serious shit,” man! It’s laughable, really, that this passes for artistry nowadays.

You want to see science fiction as a vehicle to explore the human condition? Netflix  Another Earth. Melancholia has very little to offer.