Irina Janakievska
posted 13 February 2007

It is refreshing to see a movie with no delusions of grandeur. After the Wedding quite simply (and quite beautifully) tells a story. The film is pivoted on the juxtaposition of two men - a guilt-ridden altruist running from his past and a stubborn millionaire determined to place his family first.

Susanne Bier is one of Denmark's leading and most influential contemporary filmmakers. In After The Wedding, Bier once again works with screenwriter Anders Thomas Jensen, with whom she previously collaborated on Brothers (2004). The film follows in the footsteps of Thomas Vinterberg's acclaimed Dogme-style drama, The Celebration (1998) as another immaculately executed and stark family portrait, but Bier has taken the best of the Dogme discipline and liberated it with finesse. After The Wedding has deservedly received a nomination for Best Foreign Language Film at the 79th Annual Academy Awards.

Jacob Petersen (phenomenally performed by Mads Mikkelsen), an idealist, a humanitarian, is fiercely dedicated to his project - an orphanage in a Bombay slum. Despite his reluctance to leave India and part with the children he has grown so fond of, particularly a little boy called Pramod (Neeral Mulchandani), in order to secure financial backing and keep the orphanage open, Jacob has to travel back to his native Denmark to meet face-to-face with the wealthy businessman, Jørgen (Rolf Lassgård) offering $14 million for his project.

The first meeting between the two men is ended by Jørgen in an oddly perfunctory manner, with an ambiguous promise to Jacob that his project will most likely get the funding. Jørgen then insists that Jacob attends his daughter Anna's (the endearing Stine Fischer Christensen) wedding the next day. The wedding itself is the critical juncture in the film, the scene for unexpected revelations for Jacob. 'After the wedding' there is a subtle succession of masterfully exposed personal secrets, repressed anguish, twisted relationship dynamics and moral dilemmas. We discover what drives Jørgen to manipulate the people around him into adhering to his unshakeable will. Jørgen gives Jacob a final offer - $20million - on one bizarre condition. Jacob cannot go back to India, he must stay in Copenhagen. Jacob has essentially met his Mephistopheles.

It seems idealism also has a price tag. It is truly one of the more perverse paradoxes of modern times that the dreadlocks-sporting, Che Guevara T-shirt wearing armies of socialist, do-gooding humanitarians have to rely on the money generated by the Saville Row suited city slickers who have substituted their soul for cold hard cash. It is the power of money, and its role in dictating global policy, that makes war or breaks peace, and governs the destiny of humanity. A tainted love affair indeed. While charity is supposed to minister to the poor of the world, it derives its main revenue from the poor by virtue of perpetuating the international systemic inequality it pretends to fight. It 'doth mock the meat it feeds on' as Shakespeare's Iago would say. Ask (Red) Bono. Ask Shaw's Major Barbara. Ask Jacob Petersen.

Jacob's dilemma is like that of many well-intentioned humanitarians. Undoubtedly, he is absolutely intent on doing something good, but what are his true motives? Does his conviction stem from a genuine, selfless desire to help humanity? Can this genuine desire only be demonstrated by a direct physical involvement in the alleviation of poverty? Could he come to a point where he would do something he thought impossible - leave India, his project and Pramod knowing that there will be sufficient funding to continue the project without him? If he did that, would he still remain true to his cause and to himself, or betray who he believes he really is? Such devastating self-questioning leads us to confront another crucial dilemma of contemporary times. As global inequality increases, the need to act becomes imperative. And yet, it seems the possibility of balancing these global socio-economic demands with personal responsibilities becomes even more elusive.

Despite the wealth of thematic accents, the film is absolutely character-driven. The performances are understated and extraordinary. At times it feels like the sophisticated script is simply there to confirm what the actors have already conveyed to the audience - through stolen looks, almost imperceptible movements. Mikkelsen meticulously conveys an emotional posture so honestly self-controlled, that we feel Jacob's genuine search for truth, we see his discomfort at being uprooted from his spiritual home in Bombay, and forced into a state of alienation and practical imprisonment in Denmark. Ultimately, Jacob asks Pramod whether he would like to be his son, and come back to Denmark with him. This gut-wrenchingly affecting and human attempt to combine his personal and moral imperatives fails, and he remains hopelessly stuck, forever displaced between a past that has eluded him, and a future without any of the benefits that such a past would have entailed.

Lassgård as Jørgen is a domineering tour-de-force. The most powerful scene of the movie is when Jørgen finally confronts his impending death before his wife Helene (played by a wonderful Sidse Babett Knudsen). Instead of an accommodating scene between husband and wife where in a very gentle way, they say goodbye to one another - the scene is raw, horrific, full of undercurrents of violent desperation to hang on to life. There are several shots of animal head mounts decorating Jørgen's study, frozen in the moment of their last breath. It is a stark comparison - Jørgen, the raging bull of a man, full of life, fighting against his hunter, mortality.

This film is beautifully realised. I loved the expertly conveyed contrast between the fairly small, privileged and almost monochrome world of Copenhagen, and the colours and vibrant joie de vivre of Bombay. I loved little touches such as how the nature of the light assumed an ochre-crimson quality every time Jacob, confined to his minimalist, barren Copenhagen hotel room, escaped to Bombay with his thoughts. Visually, the movie appears to be more like a slide show of still life photographs capturing shadow/light plays shakily projected, or a series of Edward Hopper's dry-realist paintings full of bleakness, simplicity and nostalgia, interspersed with close-ups seemingly mundane actions by characters that nevertheless convey so much, be it tenderness, vulnerability, love, despair.

It is not often we stumble across such an emotionally honest and powerful movie which nevertheless remains unpretentious, does not bask in its own virtue, and is beautifully crafted. This is arthouse chic to be taken seriously.