Two films crammed into one, and neither of them fit. The first half and second half felt completely disjointed, like two strangers forced to share a cab. The characters? Erratic at best, nonsensical at worst.
Its portrayal of mental illness leaned hard into clichés, feeling bloated and out of touch. Where something like Aftersun handled a somewhat similar theme with grace and raw truth, Melancholia goes for the operatic and collapses under its own weight. What could’ve been a searing exploration of the human condition ends up as an overblown, self-important mess.
