Dear Wendy

It’s tempting to read Dear Wendy as an offshoot from Lars Von Trier’s in-progress ‘American trilogy’. Coming in-between the UK releases of Dogville and Manderlay (which was going through post-production at the same time as this effort) it’s a film about “pacifists with guns” – a barely veiled political metaphor – told in a semi-Brechtian style and constructed with the utmost tidiness. The only difference is that Von Trier’s involvement ended at the script-writing stage; at the helm we find Thomas Vinterberg (director of Dogme #1, Festen, still that movement’s finest achievement) and as such a more greatly pronounced human element.

At its heart Dear Wendy is perhaps a film about dispossessed youth. It’s set in a fictional West Virginian mining town and therefore a culture with a certain inherent machismo. Refusing to follow in his father’s footsteps (not unlike one Billy Elliot, in fact) is Jamie Bell, rather he and a group of similar outcasts from this enclosed society form their own gang, dubbed the ‘Dandies’. Populated by a number of actors who have made their names through various “loser” portrayals (Alison Pill from Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, Chris Owen from the American Pie franchise), Dear Wendy eschews the basic nature of these US movies and heads into more contentious territory. They’re not the disenfranchised who eventually find themselves in some Lindsay Lohan movie, but gun fetishists who study up on exit wounds and listen to sixties British pop group the Zombies.

Given this milieu Dear Wendy can oftentimes be extremely enigmatic. It’s so thematically complex and comes with such a wide range of reference/influence that we’re never entirely sure as to where we are going or, indeed, as to where we’ve been. There’s the whole Dandy part of the equation to consider, most obviously through Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray gaining an explicit nod). Visually, and in terms of its voice-over, Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon serves as a key text. And then our bearings are further confused by allusions to all kinds of gang culture as well as the Western, the presence of a black maid à la some Deep South melodrama, and the Britishness evoked by the aforementioned use of the Zombies.

It places us in a timeless, almost spaceless existence. Though, as said, we are ostensibly dealing with West Virginia, it’s impossible to treat the film in such concrete terms. (Indeed, Dear Wendy was filmed partially in Copenhagen and partially at a disused mine somewhere in Germany.) The film’s most shocking moment comes when it introduces the character of Sebastian (Danso Gordon) at the midway point. A black youth involved in a more cinematically familiar brand of gun culture, he introduces a more overtly modern dimension into the film which further complicates matters. Suddenly we’re forced to take these characters as strictly 21st century figures and not some amalgam constructed from the past two hundred years.

So how exactly should we take Dear Wendy? The film itself uses the term “a social experiment” in its screenplay and it’s tempting to view the enterprise in similar terms. Certainly, we can judge its component parts – such as the performances – easily enough and comment, for example, that Jamie Bell is growing into an extremely talented individual what with this and David Gordon Green’s Undertow in particular. Yet otherwise we’re forced into approaching the film on a more esoteric level. It succeeds as a teen movie, albeit only for those who prefer the nihilistic end of spectrum (Rumble Fish, River’s Edge). It succeeds as a Western, with fans of the more flamboyant Italian takes on the genre likely to their kicks. However, because it works on these levels and not on a more generalised plain, it’s perhaps also true that Dear Wendy lacks the gut punch which crystallised Festen, say, or Breaking the Waves. (As an aside it’s also without the practical joker side of Von Trier’s armoury as evinced in The Five Obstructions as well as the conclusions to Dancer in the Dark and both series of The Kingdom.) That said, it’s also tempting to believe that, given the complexity, its intents may become all the more clearer as Vinterberg’s and Von Trier’s outputs continue to flourish over the next few decades. Perhaps then it will be singled out as some kind of masterpiece.

The Dear

In a welcome move from the ever-variable Metrodome, Dear Wendy reaches the UK as an exact replica of its Danish Electric Parc DVD incarnation. Thus the film comes with a flawless presentation, optional DTS sound and a wealth of extras, all of which deserve their inclusion. Beginning with the picture quality, here we find the original aspect ratio of 1.66:1 anamorphically enhanced. In all honesty, there’s little to comment on as the presentation is so good. The print itself is flawless and there are no technical quibbles to speak of; everything from the x-ray inserts to the more standard shots are handled with equal ease. As for the soundtrack, the DTS mix appears alongside the standard DD5.1. In both cases there are again no problems to speak of. Both are technically sound throughout, though the DTS may just edge things with its handling of the various Zombies tune. All told, another fine effort.

Of the extras, the centrepiece is a 25-minute featurette entitled ‘Letters to Dear Wendy’. This piece is surprisingly wide-ranging despite its length and covers a huge amount of ground. We get to see the cast practice their firearms at a shooting gallery, footage of Vinterberg on set, conversations on the film’s themes, a chat with Von Trier, and much more besides. Importantly, it allows us to choose what we should sample next from the rest of the extras. For example, there are a number of mini-commentaries from various cast and crew members which feature in part during the featurette and can be sampled in full elsewhere on the disc, and the same is true of the interview with Vinterberg and Von Trier which, in uncut form, stretches out to 16 minutes. Also present we find the director joining DP Anthony Dod Mantle for a full length commentary (often on the technical side as you’d expect, though Mantle is perfectly willing to offer his own thoughts on the film’s themes and subjects), a host of deleted scenes and alternate ending which similarly come with optional commentary (this time teaming Vinterberg with editor Mikkel E.G.), plus the requisite gallery and trailers. Indeed, the disc wastes not an inch of space adding up to 2006’s first truly impressive UK offering.

Note that some of the extras, either in whole or in part, come in the Danish language and as such feature optional English subtitles. There is not, however, the option of subtitles for those moments spoken in English.