'Breaking' the laws of faith, love, and redemption

By Barry Levey

Think of a great, tear-jerking, triumphant movie moment. One of those classic, uplifting scenes where the race is won, the kiss is had, the angel smiles down from heaven. Now, imagine that moment occurring without the sweeping John Barry-esque music that lets our emotions know just the right moment to kick in. Chances are, it can't be done. There's a formula to that

Bess (Emily Watson) faces loss and banishment in 'Breaking the Waves' at York Square Cinema

kind of a movie finale, a basic rule governing the use of soaring movie themes. A basic rule that Lars von Trier's Breaking the Waves doesn't follow. When the heroine of this sweeping love story finds her ultimate redemption, at the end of over three hours, the tears may well up in your eyes, but all you'll hear is silence.

Letting our emotions think for themselves is only one of the unusual delights in Breaking the Waves, a film that ranks alongside John Sayles's Lone Star as one of the great independent films of 1996. Von Trier has crafted a bizarre tale of faith and sacrifice in remote Scotland that thwarts every expectation we have for the cinema. The narrative swerves wildly from the unpredictable to the unthinkable. The characters are so elusively realistic that after two-and-a-half hours, we still feel like we don't really know them at all. And where traditional tear-jerkers promise to "make you laugh and make you cry," Breaking the Waves never makes it quite clear when to do which. The film leaves one with the crushing feeling that every movie that came before was an insult to one's intelligence.

Von Trier and his brilliant star, London stage actress Emily Watson, deftly explore what it truly means to have faith. In their isolated village, everyone believes that having faith means believing in God and the Bible, without question or pause. Anyone who dares to suggest that women be allowed to speak in church clearly lacks faith. Anyone who can't keep her emotions in check and out of the public eye clearly lacks faith. Anyone who doubts that the wicked go straight to Hell only damns herself in the process.

Against this backdrop, Watson brings to vivid life the character Bess, a devoted member of the church community who slowly learns that true faith is not something one puts in the church, but something one puts in other human beings. Only by devoting oneself completely to another person, only by believing without question in the power of human love, does one truly celebrate God.

It is not an easy realization for Bess to make. Upon marrying her beloved Scandinavian Jan, an oil-rigger, Bess comes to know intimacy for the very first time. Her tendency to let her emotions run wild has Bess labeled in town as "not right in the head," but Jan sees Bess through a stranger's eyes, without the villagers' preconceptions. Tragedy strikes, however, and Jan becomes paralyzed from the neck down. Perhaps influenced by heavy medication, perhaps pushed by a perverted dark side, perhaps struck by divine inspiration, Jan concocts a plan to keep both him and Bess sexually satisfied. His proposal is so outrageous it is almost laughable, yet so sinister that Bess's love for him faces its ultimate test.

Bess concedes to Jan's request after deciding it is God's design. It is a testament to Watson's fearless performance that her conversations with God, in which the Lord speaks through Bess as a kind of medium, are believable and strangely beautiful. Is this woman really talking to God, or is she talking to herself? The audience comes to realize that it doesn't really matter. Bess is so devoted to her religion that even if she is talking to herself, it is a self that is filled by the Lord.

Bess's love defies the ethics of her pious community. In honoring Jan's wishes, she faces ostracism from the church, dishonor in her family, and the loss of the only friend she's ever had.

Kriten Cartright gives an astonishing performance, portraying Bess's devoted sister-in-law, Dorothy. Dorothy's loyalty to Bess is a double-edged sword: she manages to oppress Bess most just when she means to help her. Appalled by the kinky sex Jan has concocted for Bess, Dorothy vows to stop it. But, as Bess (and the movie poster) so eloquently states, "Love is a mighty power," and eventually Dorothy converts to Bess's new religion.

The performances are altogether stellar. Von Trier brings together an international cast that, like every aspect of the film, is understated. Aside from Watson's bravura performance, the actors unite for an ensemble feel that mimics the subtle music and cinematography. The latter is simply beautiful, somehow making the story at once plain and epic.

By having his cast and crew think small, von Trier frees the audience to think big all on its own. The silent finale of Breaking the Waves is quite simply one of the most impressive screen moments in recent memory, yet the best of the film is still to come. The greatest element of the picture is the way it leaves you when it's finished: alone with the silence, ready to undertake the painful, but ultimately rewarding, task of making up your own mind. Forget sweeping movie themes--Breaking the Waves is a film that treats its audience like grown-ups. Grown-ups that, like Bess, must face the glorious pain of thinking for themselves.

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