László Hágó

Narrator: How could she ever hate them for what was at bottom merely their weakness? She would probably have done things like those that had befallen her if she had lived in one of these houses. To measure them by her own yardstick, as her father put it. Would she not, in all honesty, have done the same as Chuck and Vera and Ben and Mrs Henson and Tom and all these people in their houses? Grace paused and as she did, the clouds scattered and let the moonlight through, and Dogville underwent another of those little changes of light. It was as if the light previously so merciful and faint finally refused to cover up for the town any longer. Suddenly, you could no longer imagine a berry that would appear one day on a gooseberry bush, but only see the thorn that was there right now. The light now penetrated every unevenness and flaw in the buildings and in the people. And all of a sudden, she knew the answer to her question all too well. If she had acted like them, she could not have defended a single one of her actions and could not have condemned them harshly enough. It was as if her sorrow and pain finally assumed their rightful place. No. What they had done was not good enough. And if one had the power to put it to rights, it was one's duty to do so - for the sake of other towns, for the sake of humanity and not least, for the sake of the human being that was Grace herself.

Narrator: [as McKay explores even further with his hand] It was not Grace's pride that kept her going during the days when fall came and the trees were losing their leaves, but more of a trance like state that descends on animals whose lives are threatened - a state in which the body reacts mechanically in a low tough gear, without too much painful reflection. Like a patient passively letting his disease hold sway.