DEAR WENDY Reviewed by Harvey S. Karten
Wellspring
Grade: B
Directed by: Thomas Vinterberg
Written by: Lars von Trier
Cast: Jamie Bell, Bill Pullman, Michael Angarano, Danso
Gordon, Novella Nelson, Chris Owen, Alison Pill, Mark Webber
Screened at: Review 1, NYC, 8/25/05 If you live in New York City you can virtually forget about legally owning a gun. In most other areas of the U.S., the Second Amendment is still honored, however. In a country that has more guns than people, the word is out: Americans love guns to such an extent that even far-left intellectuals like Michael Moore are members of the National Rifle Association, and a “liberal” candidate, John Kerry, showed his machismo in a photo-op by hunting... birds. The only people who do not own them are living in areas than ban their legal purchase and pacifists. Pacifists? Nope. Even they may love guns, or so says Lars von Trier, the Danish film-maker who indicts America for its amorous relations with rifles, pistols and semi-automatics. Directed by von Trier's fellow Dane, Thomas Vinterberg, "Dear Wendy" is about one such person, a guy who believes that force should not be used even for self-defense, which is to say, a pacifist-- who rallies a few others about his own age to form a gun club. The whole bit started when Dick (Jamie Bell) bought a gun for the grandson, Sebastian (Danso Gordon) of the woman who’d been entrusted to take care of him, Clarabell (Novella Nelson). He liked the feel of the piece so much that he got a club together of fellow misfits, each becoming a specialist in a different sort of gun. In addition to Dick, The Dandies, as they called themselves, consisted of Stevie (Mark Webber), whose partner (gun) was called Bag Steel; Susan (Alison Pill), who could ricochet-shoot with her two guns, Lee and Grant; Huey (Chris Owen), who depended on crutches and shot with a high caliber piece called Lyndon; and Freddie (Michael Angarano), a kid who was bullied regularly because of his brother’s handicap. He shot with a single-action automatic called Woman. The entire story is narrated by Dick, writing and reading a long love letter to his gun, Wendy. The young people in the town were looked down upon because they did not work the coal mines in the southeastern town of Estherslope. While the town sheriff, Krugsby (Bill Pullman), seemed clueless the young people’s nefarious activities, the guys and one girl are practicing against targets, all gaining new confidence from their perception of power. Heck, even the shy Susan shows off her breasts to Dick, stating that they suddenly grew because of her sudden empowerment. With a terrific score by the popular singing group, the Zombies–particularly their signature song “There is a season [for loving]”-- Anthony Tod Mantle lenses the scene, which is centered entirely on the town square–giving resonance to scripter Lars von Trier’s helming of the theatrical movie “Dogville,” about a fugitive who stumbles onto an isolated 1930s Rocky Mountain hamlet. The action of the drama was filmed in a suburb of the writer’s and director’s Copenhagen, substituting for the coal mining town, and could be taken as a parable for a popular view in Denmark and most of Europe that America is Dodge City writ large. You can’t blame them for this opinion when you consider that the U.S. has a higher per capita murder rate than any country in Europe, and when you consider that von Trier has never visited America to get more of a first-hand look (he’s afraid of flying), he’s stereotyping our countrymen as people who’ve never outgrown their childish games of cops and robbers. My only experience with real guns was when I was a camper. Once a week we had target practice with the most innocuous of rifles, a 22 short. We’d go to the range, each bunk of eight kids at a separate time, and shoot at tennis balls buried among a stack of logs. Nobody ever tried to get out of the activity, which was to us more fun than baseball or swimming. You can imagine how this feeling is expanded now that in some parts of the USA, semi-automatics are perfectly legal, allegedly for protection. Perhaps von Trier should have realized that (his own country and a few others hardly excepted), the continent of Europe has not been a Shangri-La, but responsible century after century for anarchy, wars, and general mayhem. Vinterberg does spend too much time with exposition before getting to the final and predictable payoff, but as whole, patience is rewarded, as “Dear Wendy” serves as a prequel, in its way, to “Bowling for Columbine.” We leave the theater with more understanding of how alienated youths like the trenchcoat mafia at Columbine High in Colorado get the motivation to take out their fellow students despite the obvious, ultimate danger to themselves. Not Rated. 100 minutes © 2005 by Harvey Karten
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