Album: Anti-Christ Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
Artist: Kristian Eidnes Andersen (sound design) with
Lars Von Trier, Georg Frideric Handel, Tuva Semmingsen (mezzo soprano), Bjarte
‘Barokksolistene’ Eike (violin), Karina Gauvin (soprano), and Tempo Rubato
Ensemble.
Label: Cold Spring
Catalogue no: CSR272LP
Tracklist:
1. Intro
2. L’Ascio
Ch’io Pianga Prologue
3. Train
4. Foetus
5. Attic
6. L’Ascio
Ch’io Pianga Epilogue
7. Credits
Part 1
8. Credits
Part 2
Before I go any further,
I shall put my hand up and admit that I haven’t seen the film yet, although I
keep intending to but never actually get around to doing so. I have to admit
too that the only Von Trier production I’ve seen is The Kingdom and that was many years ago now (I did love it though).
In other words I am going into this blind and without any filmic context, which
some might aver could actually be a boon.
The ‘Intro’ rumbles in
with a seismic growl before discordant string-like noises weave a disturbing
note, in all probability setting the scene for what unfolds throughout the
film. Following that is the prologue from Handel’s L’Ascio Ch’io Pianga, a
sombre interpretation that also acts as a kind of emotional cue as to the tenor
of Von Trier’s vision. Semmingsen’s voice is absolutely sublime and expansive,
and its ethereality is no doubt assisted by its having been recorded in
Copenhagen’s Kastelskirke. ‘Train’ follows, a subtle but very short rhythmical
drone interlude, which in turn is followed by ‘Foetus’, a soft high wind
accompanied by rumbles and shimmering chimes. ‘Attic’ is a repeat of the intro,
and ‘L’Ascio Ch’io Pianga Epilogue’ is a shorter version of the ‘Prologue’
piece.
However, ‘Credits Part 1’
is on an altogether different plane, a keening wail and a mournful cry, a piece
tinged heavily with deep regret and coloured in sombre hues of angst and
bitterness. This is a fractured psyche writ large and laid bare, exposed to all
who would look. ‘Credits Part 2’ again speaks of pain, of loss and sadness, a
deep dark space that goes beyond the human and into something altogether baser
and more terrifying. A ghostly breath is but a prelude to a cacophonic piano
chord which eventually breaks into piece, followed on by rumbles and deep drones,
counterpointed by mid-range chords, both of which flare and contract, swoop and
dive, until their force is spent, or dragged down to earth by the gravity of the
dark emotions ever-present here, never to be able to regain flight. The
darkness here is total – a place for broken minds and bodies to hide in.
It’s fair to say that
it’s a short soundtrack, combining elements of avant-garde sound design and
drone, and then pitting it against the refined strains of a classical piece.
The dichotomous and almost antagonistic nature of the soundtrack works to its
advantage: on the one hand, we feel the pain of the couple after having lost
their child, but then we also feel for them when that loss results in a tragic
downward spiral of fragmentation and aberrant behaviours. Willem Dafoe’s
character experiences visions, while his wife, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg,
begins displaying violent sexual behaviours and sadomasochism. Purely from the
standpoint of someone who hasn’t seen the film, this mixture of the almost
demonic and soaring sublimity (exemplified by each style respectively) creates
a disquieting tension that would only highlight the couple’s divergent
reactions. One can only imagine how the loss of a child would affect the
parents – it’s both heart-and soul-breaking. Here is an essay in the ultimate
tragedy, and the ways that people cope with it.
Kristian Eidnes
Andersen’s sound design is extraordinary, utilising an arsenal of instruments
of his (and Von Trier’s) devising; blowing on blades of grass, rubbing stones
together, water, horsehair bowed against twigs, and recordings made inside
Andersen’s own body. These were them uploaded into a sampler, mixed together,
transposed in pitch, and layered. What came out was something unearthly and
unpleasant, creating a ‘horror’ ambience for a film that isn’t horror. It
creates unease and a heightened sense of psychological disturbance that’s more
than the sum of its parts. Less is more, as Andersen said in an interview – and
he’s right.
Forget the fact that, in
total, there’s only about 18 minutes of music, and instead revel in the anxiety,
turmoil, and disquiet that these short pieces inspire. Coupled with Handel’s
masterpiece, the musical, emotional, and textural tensions created as a result
lift it out of the ordinary, and the juxtapositions of all these elements
delineate their own narrative of two minds and souls forever shattered and
battered to the extreme, by an event that’s dreadful beyond imagining. Also,
marvel at Andersen’s ability to compress something as complex as a human state
of mind into sounds that explicate those emotions perfectly and succinctly –
now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to have to hunt the film down (and the
previous two in the Depression
trilogy – Melancholia and Nymphomaniac) and get the full
experience.
Antichrist
Original
Motion Picture Soundtrack will be released on September 6th on 12”
vinyl in two editions: Eden Olive etched vinyl (in an edition of 250 from Cold
Spring only) and standard black etched vinyl.
You can also order either
version from Bandcamp, in addition to a download:
For an insight into
Kristian Eidnes Andersen’s methods of creating the soundtrack then watch this
short video:
Psymon Marshall 2019.
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