Welcome to Unveiling The Mind. This bi-monthly column takes an analytical look at art that explores mental illness. In this month’s entry, I look back on Lars Von Trier’s 2009 feature, Antichrist. 

Around the time I watched Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist, I was in a rough place. Since childhood, I’ve struggled with on and off depression. Sometimes I’ve gone for great stretches of time without any suffering, then sometimes it’ll randomly appear. Perhaps because of having depression, I’ve been drawn to darker forms of art; I’ve adored horror movies for as long as I can remember. Eventually, I found myself a means to watch Antichrist and checked it out.

Upon watching the film, I was captivated. I want to say I saw Antichrist for the first time roughly 10 years ago. The film is the first installment in Von Trier’s unofficial “Depression Trilogy”; after Antichrist follows Melancholia and Nymphomaniac. Though I adore Melancholia and find elements of Nymphomaniac to be fascinating, Antichrist is the film that has stuck with me the longest of Von Trier’s works. 

Von Trier has stated that the film was the result of him striving to cope with a bad depressive episode. It’s worth noting that Antichrist involves a variety of themes, not just pertaining to mental illness. That said, I thought it would be interesting to revisit the film and critique how it examines depression and grief. 

There will be spoilers ahead.

Antichrist follows She (Charlotte Gainsbourg) and He (Willem Dafoe). The film opens with the two having sex; at the same time, the camera jumps to their small child crawling out of his crib. As the two continue to make love, we watch as the child eventually makes his way to a nearby windowsill, falling out and plummeting to the ground. With the child’s death, She and He enter a state of grieving. What is important to note throughout the film is how both individuals handle their grief. She takes the death more personally, whereas He appears to move on relatively faster.

In that opening scene, we are immediately brought into a bleak world. Later parts of the film contain a plethora of fantastical qualities (most of us know of the “Chaos Reigns” fox). But the nature of Antichrist is quite dream-like. The black and white colors and intensified classical music create a surreal entrance. So much is happening between the parents having sex and the child making his way out of the crib, yet, everything is shown in slow motion. As the viewer, though, we grasp the physical tension of the sex and absorb the terror of the child falling out the window. 

It is here where Von Trier implements the essential aspect to Antichrist’s horror – establishing an atmospheric depression the audience actively partakes in.

The color palette of Antichrist comes with sullen vibes; even with some bright colors appearing, there is always a dark tint to everything. On an auditory level, there are moments of brief dissonant and minimal sounds presenting unease. But there is also no sound sometimes, making each scene of violence jarring in its visceral delivery. Along with Gainsbourg and Dafoe’s acting, the technical aspects of Antichrist exude depressive energies. This is the type of film experience that, though it has much to offer, is also draining. 

For those who don’t suffer, it is tough to describe the pain that is depression. It is not a matter of just feeling “sad,” but a sincere sense that hope is lost. That you cannot possibly obtain peace or love. Movement and vision can feel like they are in a haze. The “color of life” can come across empty. It is like drowning in a thick syrup and not having the will to claw one’s way out. On that note, Antichrist achieves the sensory aspects of depression, making for an experience that offers some form of insight for those who don’t have depression (for the most part). 

One thing I have to address before moving forward is the film’s problematic elements, specifically that of the villainous and hysteric shift of She. One could argue that her brutal violence and lack of rationale may be aligned with other matters of mental illness, but I feel that, towards the end, Von Trier is more so trying to gross us out. Given that the film leads to such intense heights, I do not feel that the later portion of the story fairly represents grief or depression. All that said, I don’t feel that the majority of Antichrist is overly exploitative in its displays of mental illness.

Upon the death of her son, She enters a state of grief. One can sense the ache in her face, how her eyes stare blankly into life. Her grief comes out in shifting forms of self-harm and heightened sexuality. If she isn’t bashing her head into a toilet, she is aggressively trying to have sex with her husband. Her anguish gradually builds, unleashing in vicious acts (such as the mutilation of her clitoris).

To help his wife through her grief, He asks her what she fears; She says nature. In an effort to attempt exposure therapy, He says they will take a trip to Eden; this is a place in the woods where She spent a summer with her son working on her thesis. Over the course of their time in Eden, She begins to feel an overwhelming connection to the woods around her. Speaking to her thesis, she brings up how, “Nature is Satan’s church.” Obviously, this may be taken as a metaphor for human nature and our actions on earth.

Of my own opinion, one way I like to read this line is as a statement regarding “the nature of the brain.” Besides the impact medicine and other remedies may have on our minds, we don’t have immediate control over the chemicals in our brain. Upon re-entering Eden, the aggression of Gainsbourg’s character intensifies. In the woods, it appears as if her “nature” is taking over her. Along with her elevated aggression, the film portrays a variety of visuals associated with death. Von Trier is certainly pulling from some Freudian logic, adding to the iffy aspects of Antichrist’s narrative and thematic exploration. 

What further adds to these grim moments with She is how the viewer experiences them through the husband’s point-of-view. We get a few moments where we are left alone with She, but for the most part, our understanding of her is through dialogue and the husband trying to work with her. It is that dialogue that also serves to address the concept of mental illness. Many of the conversations the couple have are focused on coping with grief and other mental matters. As a therapist, He is driven to help his wife in a scientific manner, while She leans towards more visceral emotion (and eventually hysteria as her sanity snaps).

The dialogue is primarily present as to let the viewer in on the film’s observations surrounding mental illness. Given how intimate Antichrist is in its settings and characters, the audience feels even closer to the dialogue taking place. He strives to breakdown every feeling his wife is having with cold logic, rarely taking on a warmer, sympathetic approach. On the other hand, She is more emotional and reactionary to his advice. The two of them are clearly meant to represent the two sides of thought (in the broadest terms, logical and emotional). It is those debates and conversations between the couple that elevate the film’s depressive tone. 

In all the years since I’ve seen this film, I find myself still thinking about it. There are parts of it I find problematic and not to my liking – but I am still stunned by it. Part of that is because of how exposed of a film Antichrist is; nothing feels protected, the suffering is bare. Where many may feel like their agony with mental illness is invisible to the world, Antichrist puts that horror up front and before the eyes of an audience. Obviously, everyone with mental illness has a different experience; but in an atmospheric sense, it represents that dreadful hell.

The cinematography, sound, acting and the story all strive to fuel Antichrist’s depressive presentation. Whether it is through emitting a depressive tone or literally speaking to the subject of grief, Antichrist makes for an immersive experience on such haunting struggles. This is a film that takes the invisible specter of mental illness and displays it not only in a physical fashion, but in a way the viewer can truly feel.