Movie-making at its most basic

Danish director Lars von Trier has returned to the basics in his latest film, Dogville. Von Trier gained a modest amount of fame in the mid-90s by co-creating the "Dogme95" school of filmmaking, which emphasizes a return to simplistic techniques, and he has utilized this method in his most recent project.

In order to drive out what the Copenhagen-based collective saw as the "decadence" of modern cinema, proponents of the Dogme style of filmmaking adhered to a strict "Vow of Chastity" while making their films. Shot entirely with hand-held cameras and utilizing only sound recorded on location, Dogme directors sought to eliminate superficiality and artifice from their films by employing the most direct and simple techniques in their filmmaking methods, often avoiding all but the simplest sets and props and completely cutting atmospheric music.

Although not technically a Dogme film -- the movie makes use of a musical score and some digital effects -- Dogville holds true to the principles of the movement, eschewing ostentatious productions techniques to create an intimacy with the viewer that, at times, can be almost disturbingly candid.

Dogville is the story of a small, isolated town in Colorado. The townspeople of Dogville are almost absurdly poor: one family makes their living by sanding the edges off cheap drinking glasses and selling them back at a profit; another picks apples from a nearby orchard; yet another owns a sad-looking general store.

Despite their cripplingly poverty, the people of Dogville are relatively happy and sedate in their meager existence until Grace, played here by a bleached-blond Nicole Kidman, wanders into the town after fleeing a group of gangsters.

Tom, an aspiring writer and would-be intellectual, convinces the people of Dogville to hide and shelter Grace, if only to prove that they are as moral and humane as they appear on the surface.

To repay the townspeople for their kindness, Grace begins to do odd jobs for her protectors. Yet, as Grace's dependence on the town for protection increases, her jobs become progressively more difficult and the citizens of Dogville begins to treat Grace as a slave; the men rape her, the women spit on her. Eventually, Grace finds herself chained to a giant steel wagon-wheel to prevent escape, and the gentle veneer of Dogville's residents is stripped away to reveal monsters.

Viewers expecting the picturesque peaks of the Rockies to serve as a backdrop for the film will be disappointed. In Dogville, we never see Colorado itself, or even a cheaper Canadian equivalent. In fact, we never see a town at all.

Von Trier filmed the entirety of Dogville on a soundstage and, keeping with the Dogme filmmaking ethic that seeks to eliminate any distance between the viewer and the events being captured on film, all we see is that soundstage - i.e. no buildings, landmarks, or landscape.

From the air, Von Trier's town looks like a giant blueprint. The buildings don't have any walls and are only delineated by chalk outlines that have been conveniently labeled "Tom's House," "The Church," or "The Old Mine." There are some props in the film -- chairs and tables in most homes, a bell for the church -- but these are minimal and most things in Dogville are drawn out in chalk whenever possible, including a family's beloved dog.

Even though it is a little bewildering to see characters knock on invisible doors at first, there is a point to von Trier's unorthodox set design. Because there are no walls in Dogville, we can see what everybody in the town is doing at all times. This transparency creates a sense of inescapable, almost stifling, closeness. Under these conditions, the townspeople's treatment of Grace seems all the more horrible and inhuman.

The film's minimalism also means that the credibility of Dogville hinges on the believability of its actors' performances. Fortunately, the cast is impressive to say the least, bringing together foreign stars like Stellan Skarsgard and Udo Kier, younger actors known for their work in independent films like Chloe Sevigny and Jeremy Davies, and finally some heavyweights like Philip Baker Hall, James Caan, Lauren Bacall, and the aforementioned Kidman. These actors take roles that could have been cartoonish in less competent hands and imbue them with an undeniable authenticity.

Between the unconventional set and talented actors, Dogville does succeed in telling a difficult story with a certain grace and subtlety. The degeneration of Dogville's residents from sympathetic helpers to monstrous abusers happens so imperceptibly that their treatment of Grace, almost too cruel to believe in retrospect, is nightmarishly real while watching the film.

If Dogville fails anywhere, it is only because it is not entirely the anti-American film that von Trier apparently intended it to be. Except for the fact that everyone in the movie speaks English and that we are told the action takes place in Colorado, there is nothing that distinguishes Dogville from an isolated village high in the Alps. There's nothing distinctly American about the inhabitants of Dogville or their actions; or, at least, nothing that von Trier makes abundantly clear.

In the end though, von Trier should be commended for making a film as powerful and disturbing as Dogville. Even with its A-list actors, Dogville would have been ridiculous if made in a more conventional way. Von Trier proves that, in some cases, simplicity is one of the most effective tools of a filmmaker.