(Ed. Note: This was originally published at The Matthew’s House Project.)
Nothing sounds more depressing than a Scottish film made by Danish filmmakers. But thankfully, Scherfig has cast aside her Dogme 95 convictions for this film while somehow maintaining the same serendipitous melancholy she captured in Italian For Beginners. In Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself, Scherfig’s typically gentle approach is even softer in the hands of more traditional production practices. This time a lively soundtrack, steady pans, and scripted action all come to life in Scherfig’s hand with the same ease as the unrehearsed elements in her Dogme project.
For a reason we discover later in the film, Wilbur just wants to kill himself. He has tried it so many times that the local mental hospital is not willing to treat him anymore, and releases him to the care of his brother (whose name ironically is Harbour). The two live in the bookstore left to them by their parents, whose graves are perched right on top of a hill in their Scottish town that allows them to see the shop from their final resting place.
His devilishly handsome features are evenly matched by his congenial wit, but for some reason he is immune to the charms of the single women in his town. His brother however is not, and soon falls in love with a woman who after an anticlimactic wedding moves into the bookstore with her daughter. The sudden creation of this new family brings to light what lies at the heart of Wilbur’s condition. And through a few abrupt shifts in the storyline Wilbur finally finds the comfort he has been looking for ever since the death of his mother. But he finds it in a very awkward place.
Wilbur and his brother have such a sad past that the only lightheartedness in the film occurs through the dark comedy that pervades the script. Scherfig infuses the film with a variety of devices that are at some times comical, at other times melodramatic, and some times an odd mix of both. Admittedly, many of the scenes are refreshing in the way that the romance between Harold and Maude was. Wilbur at times is a perfect blend of Kaurismaki and Ashby. If it wasn’t for the great performances of the cast, the film wouldn’t have worked so well. But fortunately Scherfig managed yet again to find the perfect people for her parts.
There also seems to be an attempt at a whimsy that elevates the tale to something other than the sum of its depressing parts. But this whimsy succeeds at their expense. The premise of the film, the solution to Wilbur’s condition, leads the storyline to a really uncomfortable place. And all we are left with is a few half-believable love stories built around a dismal Scottish bookstore and a poorly lit hospital.
The film wants us to suspend our moral disbelief, to excuse something reprehensible because the characters are caught in a cycle that forgives them.
I wanted to excuse them, and feel satisfied that Wilbur had finally found love and security. But I didn’t feel connected enough to the characters to leave the film convinced that anything of substance happened. The series of decisions they make that lead to the “happy” ending also inspired such a moral indignation that I wasn’t able to share in that happiness at all. The dark ironies of how the film ends were insurmountable to me. This film sure is easy on the eyes though.