While I was looking at a poster for Lars Von Trier's Dancer in the Dark, two women rushed up and begged me not to go in, crying "It's terrible, we couldn't sit through it!" I might have been swayed if a friend hadn't warned me that he almost left, even though he has never walked out of a movie in his life. In the end, he said, he was very glad he stuck through it. It was good advice. What at first seems like a cute and somewhat dull story does have a profound impact on those who sit out the whole film—but at an emotional price. The film, along with The Idiots and Breaking the Waves, is part of a trilogy of Danish "Dogma" films about women who sacrifice everything for those they love. In the Dogma movement, no soundtrack, no effects, low production values and hand-held cameras are the rule, meaning signs warning of motion sickness are often posted at the door. Dancer begins with a slow pace and a sweet tone: a sight-impaired immigrant (played by the elfish Icelander Bjork) strives to save up for an operation for her son. Cute, awkward musical scenes and Bjork's odd charisma didn't prepare me for the visceral upset the movie would soon induce. The shaky camera and a distressing turn in the plot sifted out about a quarter of the audience within the first hour. By the second hour, the sobbing in the theatre was louder than the dialogue. Weeping and nausea aside, the film is still worth riding out: days later the anger, frustration and tears were replaced by thought as the film rolled around my mind.