"Done to death, but not like this," promises Thomas (Vincent Cassel), the autocratic leader of the ring, as he seeks to reinterpret Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. You could say the same of Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan. On its surface, it's the story of a dedicated young performer yearning to excel and to impress, at the cost of all else. Yes, that's been done before. So, what's new? It takes familiar plot lines, uses the conventionally pretty, cheerful backdrop of ballet, and twists it into a sinister psychological thriller that is deeply moving and haunting.
Aronofsky's characters are often driven by some preternatural, obsessive impulse (Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler), and none more so than the sensitive, fragile young dancer, Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman). The ballet is her life, she knows nothing else. Apparent rejection almost breaks her, and a shot at her dream role leads her to unforeseen madness. Dressed in white, she is the pure, virginal white swan. For the role, though, she must find the dark black swan within. She does, but in a maniacal, self-destructive way.
The demon in her head, however, has always existed. The scratch marks are evidence of an old habit. Her mother's (Barbara Hershey) unnatural protectiveness indicates something is wrong. Her pink and white room is like a fortress, the stuffed toys and miniature ballerina in it are talismanic. As she transforms, this world falls apart.
Meanwhile, a new dancer, Lily (Mila Kunis) proves to be everything she aspires to be—uncontrolled, instinctive, sexual. Nina identifies her as a natural rival. The line between reality and schizophrenic dream blur as she imagines making out with her (unfortunately, Indian audiences may see an edited version).
This is Portman's film. And you can tell she's worked hard. She's noticeably lost weight, and trained hard to learn ballet. Camera-work can perhaps mask flaws, but Portman can pirouette, and my untrained eye can't tell if she's imperfect. As an actor, she is brilliant, going from edgy and diffident to maniacal and possessed. She scares you, makes you cringe as she effortlessly pulls the skin off her finger or stares back as the alter ego in the mirror. As she sprouts wings mid-stage, her tragic transformation is complete. It's dark and oddly beautiful.
Aronofsky's film is a warped, extreme vision. Yet, the exaggerated pains and desires Nina manifests are rooted in the human psyche: The black must exist if the white does. Black Swan makes you disturbingly aware of that.
-@saritray2001 (culturecutting.blogspot.com)
Aronofsky's characters are often driven by some preternatural, obsessive impulse (Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler), and none more so than the sensitive, fragile young dancer, Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman). The ballet is her life, she knows nothing else. Apparent rejection almost breaks her, and a shot at her dream role leads her to unforeseen madness. Dressed in white, she is the pure, virginal white swan. For the role, though, she must find the dark black swan within. She does, but in a maniacal, self-destructive way.
The demon in her head, however, has always existed. The scratch marks are evidence of an old habit. Her mother's (Barbara Hershey) unnatural protectiveness indicates something is wrong. Her pink and white room is like a fortress, the stuffed toys and miniature ballerina in it are talismanic. As she transforms, this world falls apart.
Meanwhile, a new dancer, Lily (Mila Kunis) proves to be everything she aspires to be—uncontrolled, instinctive, sexual. Nina identifies her as a natural rival. The line between reality and schizophrenic dream blur as she imagines making out with her (unfortunately, Indian audiences may see an edited version).
This is Portman's film. And you can tell she's worked hard. She's noticeably lost weight, and trained hard to learn ballet. Camera-work can perhaps mask flaws, but Portman can pirouette, and my untrained eye can't tell if she's imperfect. As an actor, she is brilliant, going from edgy and diffident to maniacal and possessed. She scares you, makes you cringe as she effortlessly pulls the skin off her finger or stares back as the alter ego in the mirror. As she sprouts wings mid-stage, her tragic transformation is complete. It's dark and oddly beautiful.
Aronofsky's film is a warped, extreme vision. Yet, the exaggerated pains and desires Nina manifests are rooted in the human psyche: The black must exist if the white does. Black Swan makes you disturbingly aware of that.
-@saritray2001 (culturecutting.blogspot.com)
Tell Your Friends