While interesting in their own right, all of Dancer in the Dark‘s genre-bending experimental tendencies are used in the service of a tale that packs an enormous, old-fashioned emotional punch. Few movies are this emotionally potent. If you cry easily at films, be warned.
Dancer in the Dark won the Palm d’Or for Best Picture at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival, and also secured for its lead actress, pop singer Björk, the Best Female Performance award. It is a most unusual film: a melodrama, shot like a documentary, in which characters break out into song and dance as in a musical. It’s not even shot on film, director Lars von Trier opting to use digital video instead, sometimes employing as many as 100 cameras at once to capture a scene.
The story components will be comfortable to anybody with a passing information of melodic drama. Selma is a Czech settler who has come to America to pursue a fantasy. Unbeknown to everyone around her, she is going visually impaired, an intrinsic infection that she knows her child will inevitably succumb to without remedial medical procedure, something she works extended periods in an industrial facility work in the desire for paying for. An admirer of musicals, she now and then escapes her day by day drudgery by envisioning she is featuring in her very own melodic, making a romanticized reality in which she can sing, move and see, where the issues of this present reality just have no importance. Be that as it may, similarly as she is near sparing the sum required for the activity, occasions take a dim and in the long run sad turn.
Everything turns out badly for Selma throughout everyday life and in that court. She escapes into her adored melodic classification, and all the generally horrid members in the preliminary start to move to the tune she sings. It sounds absurd, but Bjork and Gray make one feel the emotion—not a poignancy of the real world but rather the tenderness put away in our screen recollections of every one of those musicals that von Trier is deriding.
This drama does not stop in the court. We pursue Selma to jail, where she is become a close acquaintence with by a lady monitor (a youthful Janet Reno, stern yet kind). Selma has abandoned her twice-earned cash at the center where her child is to have his task. Sparing his sight will finish her solitary reason throughout everyday life. Be that as it may, her uncomprehending companions find where the cash is and need to utilize it to pay a decent legal counselor to spare her from execution. With all their sensible counts about her best advantages, they are prepared to pulverize the individual they want to spare. Questionable of the result, Selma sings and moves her by means of dolorosa to the hangman’s tree joined by the protect. The story moves definitely to her execution with each desire for pardon falling flat. At that point, at the time before she passes on—the vision of expectation—Kathy breaks into the execution chamber to hand Selma her child’s eyeglasses; he has had a fruitful task and didn’t really needs them. A snapshot of satisfaction and amazing quality goes before the device entryway opens. Von Trier’s screenplay is a series of buzzwords that draws its poignancy from those exceptionally platitudes—not from reality but rather from the medium it derides. The passionate power that influences individuals to sob in Dancer in the Dark comes not from its reality but rather from its specialty. We sob above all on the grounds that Bjork, either in light of the fact that she was propelled or was constrained by von Trier, gives an execution not at all like some other I have ever observed.