The House That Jack Built (2018)

Directed by: Lars von Trier | 155 minutes | drama, horror | Actors: Matt Dillon, Bruno Ganz, Uma Thurman, Siobhan Fallon Hogan, Sofie Gråbøl, Riley Keough, Jeremy Davies, Ed Speleers, David Bailie, Ji-tae Yu, Christian Arnold, Cohen Day, Rocco Day, Jerker Fahlström, Osy Ikhile, Marijana Jankovic, Johannes Kuhnke, Alice Nordmark, Ola Normelli

Lars von Trier’s new film is off to a promising start, starring Matt Dillon and Uma Thurman in an American setting. Dillon is Jack, and Thurman gets a ride from him. “You might as well be a serial killer,” the nameless lady tells Jack. ‘Sorry, you just look like one’. Thurman’s acting seems contrived, as is often the case, and Dillon doesn’t think of a serial killer at the time, more of a sleepy countryman. We have certainly come across too few in real life, because the camera immediately zooms in menacingly on the jack in the trunk.

It becomes more unlikely when the Thurman character asks Jack to drive her back. During that drive back, she unfolds an argument about the great freedom that serial killers enjoy in the land of unlimited possibilities. Is she a journalist, does she have a fetish, or does von Trier just want to disrupt the viewer? The latter certainly, and if it is acted well, that is not a punishment. ‘The House That Jack Built’ picks up where ‘Nymphomaniac’ left off. Jack opens up about the beauty of the French cathedrals, and their resemblance to the perfect murder. And boom, we’re off.

Well, Jack stays with us, let’s keep it that way. The image essay about the cathedrals has just started and continues. We find that exciting. Von Trier can be blamed for much, not that he does half the job, and ‘THTJB’ is not a vegetarian salad. The average viewer will certainly not be surprised by shooting an entire family as hunting cattle with ‘The Four Seasons’ by Vivaldi as background music. We are thinking of investigating the limits of the artist, and where this affects crime, but we are not simply convinced of the coherence of the basic material.

Von Trier tells about architecture as an obsessive-compulsive, philosophical background to interpret the actions of the serial killer. Undoubtedly he refers to ‘Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer’ (1986), which also refers to an investigation into limitlessness; For example, Jack might yell at a police officer that he killed 60 people, with the officer in question simply replying, “Have you been drinking?” And prey of the day Simple (Riley Keough) allows herself to lean on Jack’s charms, while this American Psycho has already marked the contours of the mutilations on her breasts.

Fascinating? Yes. Even the voice-over of the convincing Dillon does not irritate. Not even when this degenerates into long discussions with a mysterious interlocutor (Bruno Ganz). We do like the Von Trier method, which sends you in a direction you wouldn’t be looking for yourself. Isn’t that the artist’s job? In our eyes, he must be a cool seducer, with perfection as the goal. We see the connection to the serial killer. The romantic artist tries to abolish the boundary between spirit and matter. If he does not want or cannot disappear behind his work, but focuses on his own ego, he derails. As long as the film remains, we’re fine with that.