As a film reviewer, there are some films which you can nicely sum up as you leave the cinema. In fact some films, often the most popular ones, you feel you could pretty much write a complete review before it’s even over. Other films require a little more wrestling digging and questioning to really “get” the core of what they are about. Dear Wendy is that kind of film. You feel nervous writing about it after just one viewing, because you’ll almost certainly miss something pivotal, and be left cringing with embarrassment every time someone mentions it. At the same time there’s something to be said for the challenge of giving a go anyway.

Dear Wendy is the result of a collaboration between two Danish writer - directors Lars Von Trier (who wrote the screenplay) and Thomas Vinterberg (who directs this time) ten years after their landmark Dogme 95 Manifesto. Both filmmakers have strayed from those rules in the interim, and Dear Wendy seems to flout almost all of them, but they still remain at the cutting edge of powerful filmmaking. Von Trier gave us probably the most powerful and thought provoking film of 2004 – Dogville – and his work on Dear Wendy is no less interesting even if it is subtler and less abrasive than the former. Vinterberg, freed from the restrictions of Dogme, produces some striking images, blending naturalistic hand-held camera with artificial shots, even annotating the film-stock at times.

Such visual flair forms much of the film’s distinctive style, underpinning the deeply ironic and darkly comic screenplay. Von Trier’s screenplay is disorientating - far-fetched enough to indicate that it shouldn’t be taken at face value, without providing a simple pointer to how it should be interpreted. This leaves viewers with plenty of questions to wrestle with if they choose, although many will discard the conundrum out of frustration instead.

The film takes place entirely within Estherslope, a typical American mining town – seemingly insulated from the outside world. Dick, played by Jamie Bell (Billy Elliot), buys a small gun as a present and then spitefully decides to keep it when he realises it’s intended recipient might actually want it. When his quiet and nervous work colleague Stevie notices it by accident the two strike up a friendship revolving around their revolvers, and their resolve to evolve into gun experts, despite their lip-service to pacifism.

Stevie convinces Dick that he should name his gun, and from then on in they refer to their weapons as their partners. By the time Dick names his gun Wendy, it has become obvious that it is “she” to whom Dick’s is speaking to in the voiceover. The relationship between, Dick, Stevie and their “partners” continues in this bizarre absurdist fashion, and this satirical observation on the sexual relationship many people supposedly have with guns is repeatedly emphasised.

Indeed the film is primarily about how people relate to guns, and it is no accident that the film is set in America, where questions of gun ownership are being most vigorously debated at present. Essentially the film tries to undo the way in which parts of American culture cherishes weapons, whether it be the right to bear arms, or the role that violence forms the basis of so much entertainment in American popular culture, most notably cinema. In particular, the final shoot out scene mockingly sets itself up against the “classic scenes” and predictable clichés of numerous westerns.

But it is the sexual link between the guns and their owners which is explored most. Dick finds that carrying his weapon gives him a new sense of identity, removing his social impotence and enabling him to hold his head high in the presence of the poorly shaded miners who represent his detached, and now deceased father. Realising the change that he has undergone the two of them invite other social misfits to join their gang of “Dandies”. The gang hides in an abandoned mine, and devotes itself to gaining a masterful knowledge of firearms, both practical and theoretical. As they do, they grow in confidence and social cohesion (amongst other things). If that sounds awfully like Dead Poet’s Society then that is no accident. The intention seems to be by linking this classic example of personal growth to possession of a gun, and exaggerating it to an extreme, the folly that glorifies gun possession and proficiency is exposed.

The problem, though, is that the accuracy of these caricatures is as questionable as a factual Michael Moore documentary. Whilst Moore has the advantage of being someone making their critique from within, Von Trier has never even been to America. However, Vinterberg has, and this is perhaps why Dear Wendy’s method of allegory, satire and exaggeration is still able to pose some powerful questions about a culture it only partially understands.

Ultimately, the shown down between the Dandies and the authorities moves the humour from black comedy to farce. The Dandies, who have convinced themselves that they are pacifists, prove that their guns mean far more to them than they ever realised. The authorities prove as ineffectual at the end of the film as all but one of the adult figures have been throughout it.

Dear Wendy is certainly not a light evening’s entertainment, and will not be for everyone, due to its laboured delivery, and unconventional style. Whilst it lacks the seriousness of Dogville it is no less thought provoking. Furthermore, it does raise some interesting questions about a gun culture which is on the rise in the United Kingdom; both from younger people who see them as giving them social status, and from older people who see it as part of their right to protection. If that situation continues here, it may prove to be anything but “dandy”.