The Commune (Kollektivit)
(Denmark/Sweden, 111 min.)
Dir. Thomas Vinterberg, Writ. Thomas Vinterberg, Tobias
Lindholm
Starring: Ulrich Thomson, Trine Dyrholm, Martha Sofie
Wallstrøm Hansen, Helene Reingaard Neumann, Fares, Magnus Millang
 |
| Trine Dyrholm in The Commune Courtesy Pacific Northwest Pictures |
After hitting a career-high with his sumptuously sensitive
adaptation of Far From the Madding Crowd (one of this blog's favourite films of 2015), Danish director Thomas Vinterberg
heads home with The Commune. It’s a
true homecoming in several ways for the director who, along with Danish enfant terrible Lars Von Trier, is one
of the names behind the stripped-back, no frills Dogme 95 style. Far from the Madding Crowd might be as
far from the chastity of the Dogme school as a filmmaker can get (aside from
Marvel movies), but Vinterberg finds higher ground after the bigger project. The Commune draws upon Vinterberg’s
childhood experience of growing up in a commune and the filmmaker interrogates his
relationships with women in this excellent period drama/love triangle that
adapts the filmmaker’s unique voice to the accessible sheen of mid-sized
prestige pics like Madding. It’s one
of the year’s best and most surprising films.
The Commune stars Danish film stars Ulrich Thomson (In a Better World) and Trine Dyrholm (ARoyal Affair) as married couple Erik and Anna who decide to purchase the former’s childhood home. Erik’s father’s house is too big for the couple and their daughter, Freja (Martha Sofie Wallstrøm Hansen), as the husband notes that the big empty space causes a family to drift apart. Anna, somewhat presumptuously, suggests they use the extra space for communal living and invite friends to help share the rent. She makes the suggestion only after she’s asked some friends to join the family, though, and The Commune gives Erik and Anna a rocky first step as their family enters a new phase.
Anna experiences this dynamic most gravely. While she’s the
mind behind the happy commune, and she radiates like a free spirit when the commune
grows, she tests her desire for “shared living” when Erik informs her of an
affair. He’s doing it with one of his students, Emma (Helene Reingaard Neumann),
a leggy blonde who looks a lot like a youthful trade-in on the still beautiful Anna.
Anna, rather than lose the man she loves, invites Emma into the home with the
“more the merrier” spirit of the commune. Poor life choices, not unlike
Bathsheba Everdene leading on Mr. Boldwood or marrying Sergeant Troy while
trying to keep Mr. Oak’s affection. Hearts, like houses, are fickle things when
shared.
Dyrholm anchors the film with a masterful performance as
Anna. The Communes opens after
Dyrholm won a well-deserved Best Actress prize at the Berlin Film Festival and
she gives the kind of performance that would sweep the accolades of next winter
if the film were an American production. Dyrholm is shattering as Anna loses
her grasp of everything she holds dear. A latter act on-air breakdown in her TV
studio is a tour de force of silent
acting as feelings of regret, loneliness, guilt, rejection, and loss puncture
the composed mask she wears at home and at work. The commune’s a world where
everything is meant to be open, though, and this performance is very affecting
as an example of a soul caught between idealism and reality: what hope is there
for happiness when Anna gives everything to the commune and her husband’s concern
is only “me,” “me,” and “me”?
The Commune
captures the bittersweetness of this surrogate family as it tries to create a
utopia in a world that simply moves at a different pace. Vinterberg, writing in collaboration with Tobias Lindholm (A War, A Hijacking), delivers a film that's both intimately personal, yet as open and accessible as the inviting space that Anna and Erik strive to create. The house thrives in
an aura of golden gaiety in its early days as the convivial spirit of the
housemates reflects the eagerness to better the lives of others to which all
good communities should aspire. They discuss matters openly and plainly, giving
voices equal weight and using dialogue and mutual respect to ensure that
everyone has the best experience possible. They take turns cooking meals and
pitch in to help friends with less financial security. The atmosphere invites
acceptance and confidence, which the film notes in Freya’s plunge into the
sexual revolution. The energy of the commune motivates her just as much as
Erik’s infidelity does, and Vinterberg contrasts these two budding
relationships to show how romance fades or thrives if relationships are built
with respect and love.
All good things fade, though, and Vinterberg notes the rapid
dissolution of the commune’s utopian spirit in one unexpected dramatic turn that
deflates the warmth in the air. The
Commune, now drenched in a cold silvery hue, asks what happens when the
honeymoon ends and reality returns. A tempest of emotions rolls into the
commune with this twist of fate, most notably Anna’s bitter realisation that
she risks losing everything—her husband, her family, and her successful career
on television—by encouraging her family to take a risk and embrace the
uncertain thrill of change.
The vibrancy and urgency of Vinterberg’s aesthetic is even
more prevalent when natural light sparkles into the frame. While Far
from the Madding Crowd remains Vinterberg’s most cinematic work with its
sumptuous canvas, The Commune is
equally fine for how well it situates the director’s sensibility within the
means of a fuller production. It’s more polished than his Oscar nominated The Hunt, yet The Commune doesn’t feel like Vinterberg selling out. It just takes
the foundational elements of story and character from the director’s work and
uses the extra layers of lighting, costuming, and music to give a bittersweet
sense of a fleeting Camelot.
The Dogme elements come into play with the centrality of the
singular setting. The commune, like a big soundstage, boat, or farmhouse, gives
a locus to the drama as most of the action centres within its walls. The space
is open and freeing, as Vinterberg shows us with the gaiety that ripples
through the air. It’s also a place of suffocation and isolation.
There’s no feeling worse than living in a community and being alone. The Commune most eloquently—and
devastatingly—conveys the crush of idealism when Vinterberg holds close on
Anna’s grief-stricken and watery eyes. The
Commune shows a fine director in his element and a great actress in her
prime. Good company, indeed.
The Commune opens
May 19 in Toronto at TIFF Bell Lightbox.
It opens in Ottawa at The ByTowne on June 9.
