Fez — Danish filmmaker Lars von Trier has spent decades making movies that test how far cinema can go before it becomes too much. He is praised as a major modern director and criticized as a provocateur, often at the same time.

What makes him worth talking about is not just controversy — it’s the method behind the chaos: he builds films around rules, pressure, and emotional extremes, then watches what those limits do to the story and the people inside it.

What he believes about filmmaking

Von Trier co-founded Dogme 95 in 1995 with Danish director Thomas Vinterberg, a movement that tried to “strip” cinema down to basics. The idea was simple: less polish can feel more real. Dogme’s “Vow of Chastity” pushed filmmakers toward real locations, natural light, and simple production choices instead of studio tricks.

Even when von Trier is not following Dogme rules exactly, you can still feel the mindset. He often shoots close to faces, lets the camera move in a nervous way, and keeps scenes raw so they feel like they could fall apart at any moment.

His films also show another belief: cinema should not only entertain. It should expose something — about grief, shame, desire, belief, or power — even if that exposure feels ugly.

How his stories work: control, then collapse

Many von Trier films start with a clear structure and then break it. He sets up a “system” (a marriage, a community, a workplace, a moral code), and then forces a character into choices that reveal what the system is made of.

He also returns again and again to characters who are pushed into extremes — especially women — then asks the audience to sit with what happens. That approach is exactly why people argue about him: some see brutal honesty, others see cruelty. The films do not try to settle the debate for you.

His filmography, with what each era is trying to do

Von Trier’s career is easier to understand as a series of “phases,” each one exploring a different way to control emotion.

He begins with stylish, controlled early films like “The Element of Crime” (1984), a noir-like investigation told in a dream logic, and “Europa” (1991), a hypnotic post-war story that plays with voice, history, and guilt.

Then he moves into raw emotional drama, where faith and devotion turn into pain. “Breaking the Waves” (1996) follows a young woman in a strict community whose idea of love becomes a kind of sacrifice.

With “Dancer in the Dark” (2000), he builds tragedy around a working-class immigrant mother who uses musical fantasies to survive a harsh reality. That film became one of his best-known works internationally.

He later experiments with society as a “lab.” “Dogville” (2003) uses a stripped-down stage-like setting to show how a town’s kindness can flip into cruelty when power shifts.

After that comes what many people call his “Depression Trilogy”: “Antichrist” (2009), “Melancholia” (2011), and “Nymphomaniac” (2013). These films are more personal in tone, more symbolic, and often more intense.

In “The House That Jack Built” (2018), he goes even further into dark satire, following a serial killer and turning the story into a debate about art, violence, and self-justification.

How I got into his work: why ‘Antichrist’ (2009) pulls you in

I got into von Trier through “Antichrist” (2009), and it is still the film that explains his power in the clearest way — if you can handle it. The story follows a couple (played by Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg) after the accidental death of their child. They retreat to a cabin in the woods to grieve, and the film turns grief into something physical: fear, violence, and loss of control.

Willem Dafoe’s performance is one of his most artisitc performances — quiet, tense, and emotionally exposed — because the character is trying to “think” his way out of pain while the world around him becomes irrational.

What makes “Antichrist” (2009) feel like more than shock is how it uses horror language to describe a mental state. It’s not asking you to enjoy the violence. It’s asking you to watch what grief does when it mutates into blame and obsession.

My personal favorite: ‘Melancholia’ (2011)

If I had to pick one von Trier film that stays with me, it’s “Melancholia” (2011). It is calmer than “Antichrist” (2009), but in some ways it is heavier, because it treats depression as a kind of truth the world refuses to accept.

The plot moves in two parts. First, a wedding night slowly collapses as the bride, Justine, can’t perform happiness even when everyone demands it. Then the film widens into a cosmic threat: a planet called Melancholia is moving toward Earth, and people respond in very different ways — panic, denial, control, surrender.

The sharp idea is this: the person who is already depressed may be the most emotionally prepared for the end, while the “stable” people fall apart when their plans stop mattering. It’s not a comforting film, but it is precise, and it hits without needing constant shock.

Where to start, if you’re curious

If you want von Trier with strong emotion but less extremity, start with “Melancholia” (2011) or “Dogville” (2003). If you want the raw, faith-and-sacrifice side, try “Breaking the Waves” (1996).

If you go straight to “Antichrist” (2009), be warned: it is graphic, disturbing, and built to confront the viewer.

Von Trier’s films are not for everyone. But when they work, they don’t feel like “titles” or “style.” They feel like a director trying to force cinema to say the quiet part out loud.