A woman on the run from a group of gangsters seeks refuge in the small town of Dogville. The residents initially appear supportive and forgiving, but things start to degenerate as their awareness of holding the upper hand emerges.

As the first installment of an incomplete trilogy on the American dream, Dogville employs the confined boundaries of a microcosm to exemplify the contradictions and arrogance of a country that presents itself as supportive to the stranger and forgiving to its citizens. The protagonist gradually becomes objectified by the other residents as they lose control of moral authority, exploiting her gratitude in a sort of emotional blackmail.

The events unfold within a theater setting, featuring a minimalist stage design with simple chalk lines standing for walls and delineating the outline of the buildings. This gimmick not only pays homage to epic theater but also underscores the lack of protection within communities, where every action and intention end up exposed and under everyone’s judgment.

Despite its three-hour dialogue-driven narrative, the film is well-balanced between entertainment and introspection, although I must admit I have a thing for stories that bring out the worst in people. Despite the deliberate attempt to alienate the audience, I found myself consistently drawn to the dread and filth portrayed on screen. Still, I would have appreciated a more in-depth exploration of all fifteen adult inhabitants of the village. Ultimately, the focus predominantly narrows to the same four or five characters.