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A hidden shot in the ending of “Nymphomaniac” is needed to drown out the devilish laughter of von Trier. In a way, this isn't the punchline for the final cruel joke by sly fox Lars. This is the equivalent of hitting a frozen chicken on the head in the Monty Python sketches. We continue the joke while it's funny, and when the potential runs out, we cut it off in mid-sentence.
Okay, what kind of joke is this? About the same as the two previous films: about the rational and irrational. The whole conventional trilogy of depression unfolds in the space of libido and mortido, on which naive male characters want to lay their rationalistic paw. In “Antichrist” He tries to interpret something there from the standpoint of psychiatry, in “Melancholy” men just run around and panic, paralyzed by the fear of death. But in these two films there was a much more melodic ending, each of which did not remove any contradiction, but at least led it to a smooth fade.
The ending of “Nymphomaniac” is not a slap in the face to public taste, but a strong fist that flies in the face of any attempt to rationalize the world, man, and nature. And it is libido that strikes at this Western rationality in Seligman's person. This ridiculous and pathetic Seligman, who has spent his entire life reading books and doing nothing else, is powerless with all his interpretations, analogies, and so on. And it's not just about the finale, when he walks into the room pulling at his saggy cock.�
This joke continues throughout the film, when he remembers Bach, fishing, or the Bible – he knows this, but the event he tries to fit into his interpretation is always bigger, stronger, and deeper than he can possibly imagine. Behind each of these situations of Joe's life is a Dionysian something, a feast of bacchantes, where there is no ego curse and no illusions about any kind of humanism or rationality. Seligman may know all this, but he doesn't feel it and doesn't understand it. He is alienated from it, but Joe is in the embrace of this natural and mythical force of sexuality. Jo understands Bach much better than he does, and she shares with him the Dionysian passion of life, experiencing the mysteries and ecstasies not on paper, but on her own.�
Bang-bang!
…and now for something completely different.