Bess Between Two Deaths. The Position of Antigone.
THE MOVIE
Breaking the Waves (1996) by Lars von Trier
DIFFICULTY
THE QUESTION
What makes this story disturbing? To what are the conflicting feelings arising from watching the film linked?
WHAT WE LEARN
To recognize the radiant and blinding beauty of Antigone’s position, the position of the enunciated statement.
Warning SPOILERS ahead
PLOT:
Bess McNeill is a petite, slender young woman with large, curious, and penetrating blue eyes. She lives in a Calvinist community in Scotland and falls in love with Jan, an oil rig worker — a big, strong man, jovial but of few words, a stranger with an unknown past, accepted by the community with a certain reluctance.
From their physical differences alone emerges the basis for a relationship founded on mutual completion, understood as a symbiotic union that also includes desire.
The two marry, and Bess experiences the joy of love, the discovery of sexuality, and the sweetness of a direct and sincere relationship, in stark contrast to the customs of the community.
Bess has an intimate relationship with God, with whom she speaks using her own voice, convinced that He answers her. This bond is not mediated by anyone, and God often rebukes her.
When Jan leaves to work on an oil rig, Bess falls into crisis, unable to bear his absence, and asks God to bring him home.
Bess McNeill: [as God] Bess McNeill, for many years you’ve prayed for love. Shall I take it away from you again, is that what you want?
Bess McNeill: Oh, no. I’m still grateful for love.
Bess McNeill: [as God] What do you want, then?
Bess McNeill: I pray for Jan to come home.
Bess McNeill: [as God, in an impatient voice] He will be coming home in ten days. You must learn to endure, you know that.
Bess McNeill: I can’t wait.
Bess McNeill: [as God] This is unlike you, Bess. Out there, there are people who need Jan and his work. What about them?
Bess McNeill: They don’t matter. Nothing else matters. I just want Jan home again. I pray to you, oh please. Won’t you send him home?
Bess McNeill: [as God] Are you sure that’s what you want?
Bess McNeill: Yes.
Bess never admits what she truly misses about Jan, and God puts her to the test: Jan suffers an accident on the rig and returns home paralyzed from the neck down.
This marks the turning point. Unable to have sexual relations, Jan asks her to sleep with other men and tell him everything, claiming that it will keep him alive. His desire shifts toward voyeurism.
Bess interprets this request as a test of faith and sacrifice, convinced that her love can heal him. She submits to degrading encounters, believing that God is guiding her. Her behavior scandalizes the community, which ostracizes her, and even her own family turns away. The more Bess suffers, the more Jan’s condition seems to improve.
In the end, Bess is brutally killed by men to whom she had offered herself, dying as a martyr. After her death, Jan miraculously recovers, reinforcing the belief that Bess’s sacrifice was not in vain.
In the final scene, a surreal event breaks reality: enormous bells toll in the sky above the sea, a sign that God has welcomed Bess among the righteous.
THE INTERPRETIVE KEY:
Let us begin with the premise that Breaking the Waves is a love story about desire: Bess’s desire for Jan, but also the desire for something that drives the protagonist beyond desire itself, against the waves of fate, toward the ultimate sacrifice. This “something” is jouissance, as defined by Jacques Lacan.
For Lacan, desire is a fundamental concept tied to lack: it is the desire for what is missing in the individual, a desire that can never be fully satisfied — the desire for the One, for the mother.
“The desire for the mother, and conversely the mother’s desire for the child, can never be satisfied because this would mean the abolition of the entire universe of demand. If the two — mother and child — were sufficient unto themselves, nothing would be lacking; therefore there would be nothing to ask, nothing to know, nothing to seek, nothing to learn, and nothing to invent. There would be no civilization.”
This is, as we see, a culturally imposed prohibition of incest, not dictated by biological necessities or mechanisms such as genetic drift.
Desire, so defined, leads — according to Lacan — to the search for the objet petit a, a symbolic object or missing part of oneself, something the individual seeks but can never fully possess. It is therefore an endless search, because lack is a structural condition of human existence. This is the point addressed in Seminar VII: The Ethics of Psychoanalysis (1959–1960).
Desire leads to jouissance, a more complex and ambivalent concept. It is often understood as a form of pleasure that goes beyond the mere satisfaction of a need: it is linked to a “transgression” of limits, a drive toward what lies beyond pleasure, even at the risk of compromising one’s psychological or physical balance. Why? Because jouissance occurs in the body — which is made to enjoy — but only through the mediation of language. With irony, Lacan remarks:
“…we will never know what the oyster or the beaver enjoy, because they do not speak.”
Here we are in 1969–1970, Seminar XVII: The Other Side of Psychoanalysis.
In Seminar XX: Encore (1972–1973), a crucial turning point is reached — and this is where Bess comes into play. Lacan returns again to the question of desire and jouissance, stating that woman, unlike man — who is symbolically represented in his entirety by the phallus — has no single symbol in language that represents her fully.
Thus, woman is inscribed partly within language and partly outside it. This means that feminine jouissance cannot be entirely “spoken,” and that a woman can appear either as an extremely familiar being or as a stranger, even alien. “It is thanks to the love of a man that a woman can reconcile herself with her alien dimension,” writes Fiumanò. Galit Atlas, speaking of herself, adds:
“…sexual feelings remain fundamentally dysregulated in each of us. While we seek the pragmatic body of our mother, we turn to our lovers for answers. Our lovers are our new home.”
In some way, this is the search for the One, the reunification of split parts. “A woman can very easily place herself in the position of wanting her man to be everything for her: a man, for a woman, cannot be shared with anyone else.”
What happens to Bess when God gives her Jan back? Her jouissance exceeds the limit and shifts entirely outside language. Unlike Jan, Bess can endure the absence of sexuality because her demand and her need are entirely fulfilled. She takes on what Lacan defines as the position of Antigone: a position at the limit, unassailable, a promontory from which radiates a blinding, resplendent beauty. It is martyrdom.
WHO IS ANTIGONE:
Antigone, the protagonist of Sophocles’ tragedy, defies King Creon’s order forbidding the burial of her brother Polynices, who is considered a traitor. Driven by a sense of justice and divine law, Antigone disobeys and is condemned to death. Imprisoned in a cave, she commits suicide. Creon’s son Haemon, who is in love with Antigone, also takes his own life, followed by his mother Eurydice. Creon, devastated by grief, realizes his mistake too late.
The liminal position that Antigone assumes before Creon is “determined by a structural relation — it exists only starting from a language of words but reveals its insurmountable consequence. It is at the moment when words, language, and the signifier come into play that something can be said, and said like this: My brother is whatever you want — the criminal who wanted to destroy the city’s walls… But for me, this order you dare impose means nothing, because, in any case, my brother is my brother… This brother is something unique, and it is only this that motivates me to oppose your edicts. Antigone invokes no other right but the one that arises in language from the indelible character of what is — indelible from the moment the signifier fixes it as something stable amid any possible flow of transformations. What is, is. And it is on this, on this surface, that Antigone’s unbreakable, insurmountable position is fixed.”
This jouissance — that of Antigone and Bess, but also of martyrs — is unspeakable because it is situated in an interstice between language (after the death of language) and death understood as the ultimate end: biological death, disappearance. We have defined the beauty of this deathly position as radiant because it is pure, direct, without mediation: Bess speaks directly with God, Antigone declares that what is, is; and blinding because, as Lacan says, “something happens even further beyond, something that cannot be looked at.”
The power of this position often produces consequences: in Sophocles’ tragedy, Creon recognizes his mistake; in the case of martyrs, some non-believers convert; in Breaking the Waves, Bess’s sacrifice heals Jan and is crowned by the surreal final scene of bells ringing in the sky.
What we may feel watching the film is a fascination with Bess’s position, her tenacity, and her absolute non-resilience, mixed with a feeling of bewilderment in front of what cannot be said: where is the gain? Where is Bess’s jouissance in her slow and inexorable self-immolation?
REFERENCES:
Jacques Lacan. Il seminario. Libro VII. L’etica della psicoanalisi. 1959-60, Einaudi, Torino 1994.
Jacques Lacan. Il seminario. Libro XVII. Il rovescio della psicanalisi. 1969-70, Einaudi, Torino 2001.
Jacques Lacan. Il seminario. Libro XX. Ancora. 1972-73, Einaudi, Torino 1983.
Marisa Fiumanò. L’inconscio è il sociale, Mondadori, Milano 2010.
Galit Atlas. L’enigma del desiderio, Raffaello Cortina Editore, Milano 2023.