[Film Review] Melancholie der Engel (2009)

2021 saw various renderings of a meme known as ‘the Disturbing Movie Iceberg’ which, if you’re not familiar with the format, ranks movies on the depravity of their content. One of my particular favourite analyses of the Iceberg is by Youtuber and author May Leitz aka Nyxfears, who did the Lord’s work and subjected herself to the iceberg so the rest of us could sleep soundly at night, un-haunted by visions of Gusomilk. 

On the fourth tier of the Iceberg (deemed more disturbing than Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Salo but less disturbing than Tamakichi Anaru’s Tumbling Doll of Flesh) is Marian Dora’s 2009 experimental avant-garde horror Melancholie Der Engel. To give you an idea of thematic similarities, other entries in the fourth tier include Lucifer Valentine’s Vomit Gore Trilogy and the Guinea Pig series. And it’s only halfway down the Iceberg. With this in mind, it should be obvious that Melancholie Der Engel and discussions of it come with a massive content warning for just about every trauma you can imagine. 

Hidden somewhere in Melancholie’s expulsive displays of fluids and fetishes is a plot not dissimilar to fellow shock-fest Salo. Consumed by existential dread in the face of death, a group of grotesque sadists relish the opportunity to live out their most twisted and torturous fantasies in a nihilistic orgy of pretty much every perverse pleasure you can imagine. Fearing the end of his life is near, Katze (Carsten Frank) meets with his old friend Brauth (porn actor Zenza Raggi) in the same decaying, isolated house where the two men previously engaged in acts that would make God flinch in disgust. The pair are joined - with varying levels of consent - by two underage girls, a woman who enthusiastically enjoys some of the debauchery, an elderly man and his young female companion who uses a wheelchair. Katze’s bucket list mostly revolves around the group engaging in acts of emetophilia, coprophagia, urophilia, animal cruelty, smoking opium and assault of every imaginable kind. 

A quick glance down IMDb’s reviews list will see the film described as ‘unpalatable to unimaginable levels’ and ‘an incomprehensible exercise in repugnant behavior’. It’s obviously not an exceptionally popular movie, and it’s very easy to look at Melancholie’s undoubtedly revolting subject matter and write it off as nothing more than meaningless shock value (and that may arguably be true). But it does have a story that it wants to tell. There’s heavy religious themes throughout, as Katze comes to terms with a lack of faith and what will happen to him after he dies. There’s also focus on the blurred line between humanity and animals, depicting acts so base and foul that any semblance of human soul ceases to exist. In a bid to come to terms with his impending death, Katze seeks to reunite his body with the earth itself and lower himself to a savage state of pure animalistic id (although as far as I’m aware, a frog has never forcibly squashed the body of a living human for the artistic merit of avant-garde filmmaking, so the comparison seems a little unfair). It might be too much to expect subtlety from a film that features a fair bit of – very real- scat porn, but splicing rape scenes against the eye-wateringly graphic slaughter and gutting of a pig feels less like a profound comment on the parallels between the meat industry and the violent consumption of women’s bodies, and more like the visions of a 17-year-old edgelord who’s just discovered the aforementioned Iceberg. Whatever point Melancholie wanted to make could have been made (and has in many superior films) without the abhorrent and frankly totally unnecessary displays of real animal violence. 

Despite its extreme content, Melancholie often seems to move at a pace not dissimilar to that of the snails on screen, and at times could even be described as downright boring. Clocking in at a gargantuan two and a half hours, after a while the disturbing scenes of Melancholie start to resemble psychotic ad breaks in an otherwise quite dull documentary about the German countryside.

Nevertheless, Melancholie isn’t a film without its merits. There is some imagery – mostly of the natural landscape - that wouldn’t be out of place in an A24 movie. Particularly creepy are the myriad shots of baby dolls in varying states of decay, enveloped by the earth itself. There are also moments where David Hess’ score reaches beautiful heights of religious ecstasy, suitably devout for a film that feels like it was filmed in the garden of Gethsemane where Jesus lost all hope in mankind. And after watching Melancholie Der Engel, I can’t say I blame him.

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