Speaking on The Louis Theroux Podcast, Dafoe doesn't just stand by the film – he excavates layers of meaning that many viewers, myself included, might have missed beneath its notorious scenes of extreme violence and psychological horror. “It really speaks to interesting things about women's power, men's fear of women, the struggle between the logical and the magical in life,” Dafoe reflects, and suddenly we're looking at “Antichrist” through a different lens entirely.
The film's setup is deceptively simple: a couple retreats to a cabin in the woods following the death of their child. But von Trier, working through his own documented depression at the time, transforms this premise into something far more complex. Like Nicolas Roeg's “Don't Look Now,” another meditation on parental grief, “Antichrist” uses horror as a vehicle for exploring the deepest recesses of human psychology.
What's particularly fascinating about Dafoe's defense is his revelation about von Trier's state of mind during filming. Each day, the director would tell his leads that he might need to direct remotely from a trailer the next day – a heartbreaking detail that adds another layer to the film's exploration of depression and despair. Yet he showed up, every single day, channeling his struggles into what might be his most personal work.
The film's near-miss at Cannes, where it apparently came close to winning the Palme d'Or, speaks to its divisive power. Jury president Isabelle Huppert's passionate defense of the film (which did win Charlotte Gainsbourg Best Actress) suggests that beneath its provocative exterior lies something worthy of serious artistic consideration.
Dafoe's most interesting observation is that von Trier “identifies with the women more than the man.” This complicates the frequent accusations of misogyny leveled at the film. Through this lens, Dafoe's character – the rational, logical therapist-husband – becomes not the voice of reason but perhaps the film's true antagonist, representing a patriarchal approach to grief and healing that the film ultimately rejects.
Like many of cinema's most challenging works, “Antichrist” reveals itself differently with each viewing. My own journey with the film mirrors what many viewers have experienced – initial revulsion giving way to a deeper appreciation of its artistic ambitions. While its extreme elements will always be part of its legacy, Dafoe's reflections remind us that provocation can be a tool for exploring profound truths about human nature.
In the end, perhaps “Antichrist” is best understood not as a horror film but as a dark fairy tale about grief, gender, and the limits of rational thought. Von Trier's personal struggles during filming imbue every frame with an authenticity that transcends mere shock value. As Dafoe notes, the film's prologue and epilogue represent “great cinema” – bookends of beauty surrounding a descent into darkness that might be more meaningful than we initially realized.
What remains most striking about “Antichrist” is not its notorious scenes of violence, but its ability to generate substantial discourse years after its release. When an actor of Dafoe's caliber continues to defend and explore its themes, perhaps it's time for all of us to take another look at what von Trier was really trying to say.
Do you think controversial films like “Antichrist” deserve reappraisal over time, or should initial reactions remain the final verdict? What role do actors' post-release reflections play in shaping our understanding of challenging cinema?
