Here is a serial killer movie, lasting two-and-a-half hours, directed by Lars von Trier. Is there any part of that sentence that doesn’t lower your spirits?

The House That Jack Built
Director: Lars Von Trier

Here is a serial killer movie, lasting two-and-a-half hours, directed by Lars von Trier. Is there any part of that sentence that doesn’t lower your spirits? I’m not constitutionally averse to the genre, the running time isn’t wholly unacceptable, and previous works by this director (for example Breaking the Waves) have indicated a serious talent, if not a well-adjusted personality. Alas, The House That Jack Built pushes endurance way beyond the pale, so eager is von Trier to épater his art-house audience and position himself as the de Sade of cinematic depravity. 

It says something for his credibility that he has managed to secure a very good cast. Matt Dillon plays Jack, a loner whose cultural discernment embraces church architecture, Glenn Gould’s virtuosity, William Blake, Bob Dylan, the rituals of hunting and the principles of vinification. But it’s his modus operandi as a sadistic killer that has earned him the nickname “Mr Sophistication”.

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