another trip through the abattoir of Lars von Trier’s anxieties, this one a damning self-critique of / backhanded apology for the compulsive violence of artistic creation. the ending is a scorcher.

certainly won't win over any new converts, but it's essential catnip for von Trier fans (and forms a fascinating rhyme with NYMPHOMANIAC in many ways, some quite literal).

very sorry to say that I loved this.