A SOAP (En Soap) A-
Denmark Sweden (104 mi)
2006 d: Pernille Fischer Christensen
One has to go back to Volker Spengler’s magnificent performance
in Fassbinder’s In
a Year of 13 Moons (In einem Jahr mit 13 Monden... (1978) to see a
transsexual portrayed with such probing depth.
But that film has a searing anguish, haunted by a pervading sense of
death that hovers over every aspect of that film. This film is more about the loneliness and
desperation of disconnected souls, almost like a primer for the various phases
of love, how it’s a circuitous route before one fully understands its
ramifications. This is a beautifully
realized chamber drama that moves effortlessly back and forth between austere
realism and quirky comedy, that largely takes place in two apartments, one on
top of the other in the same building.
Slow in developing, using chapter titles with a brief black and white
grainy visual that ends in a still image, as a humorous narrator with a voice
like Christopher Lee relishes telling us in brief a recap, including a hint of
what’s yet to come, inviting us to stay tuned, like a serial series, as chamber
music plays in the background. Also,
there is a familiar shot of a cherry blossom tree in different stages of bloom,
shot in different lights, like the passing of the seasons.
Actually this film features sensational performances from
the two leads in this film, with each contending for the performances of the
year. Trine Dyrholm plays Charlotte, a
blunt-spoken, free spirited thirtyish owner of a beauty salon who, with no
backdrop to the story, moves out on her long-term boyfriend Kristian just as he
passes his residency to become a doctor, which begins a series of one night
stands with guys that in her eyes just can’t get enough of themselves, finding
the male species insufferably boring.
She loves the sex but can’t wait for them to disappear. Just below her lives Ulrik, a transsexual who
goes by the name of Veronica, in a rare performance by David Dencik, who is
just waiting for a letter to arrive authorizing the sex change to become a
woman. Meanwhile she lives with her dog
Miss Daisy watching television soap operas, has occasional visits from her
mother bringing various treats, visits kept secret from her father who refuses
to acknowledge her existence, and a few forlorn men who come for
dominatrix-style humiliation and quick sex.
Initially the two neighbors get off on the wrong foot, as
Charlotte exhibits incendiary language thinking it’s no more than cutting-through-the-bull
flirtation, but eventually they develop an odd respect for one another on each
other’s own terms, something they each find otherwise near impossible, and in
doing so, open up avenues for the viewer.
It’s an extremely delicate matter with natural humor and a realist
texture, expressed non-verbally through smiles, quick glances, and facial
expressions with only scant background music, as Veronica goes through bouts
with suicidal depression, but her intact sensitivity is alarmingly real to
Charlotte, who obviously could use a bit of it after a broken relationship of
her own. Magnus Jarlbo and Sebastian
Öberg wrote a quiet understated score that rarely intrudes and is in perfect
balance with the subtle eloquence of the film.
