Film Review – Black Swan
I know that a good chunk of the population who see Black Swan during its theatrical release are doing so because they want to see Meg Griffin and Padme Amidala make out lezzie style. They’ll probably be dissapointed as that scene is fairly short and not overly graphic if you really think about it. The film that they’ll see however is a slow burn piece that feels like what would happen if Dario Argento directed a ballet version of Showgirls.
First and foremost the film is a character piece. The acting on Natalie Portman’s part is sure to win an Oscar. It’s got that same quality that forces you to leave the theater sure that someone is getting an award. The last time I had that feeling it was for Cristolph Waltz. This time around I get the feeling that the same love will get heaped upon Natalie Portman, especially considering that she is probably best remembered for her less than stellar acting in the Star Wars films. But then again, those movies sucked the acting talent out of everybody not named Liam Neeson. Want proof? Ask Ewan MacGregor.
But back to the film at hand.
Black Swan isn’t the best film Darren Aronofsky ever made. I still say The Wrestler is his best work. This film has similar thematic elements but is too surreal to connect on the same level that his last film did. A good portion of the audience will find fault with the film for not explaining why certain elements of the film even exist. We get that there’s a spiraling-into-dementia plotline here, but we’re never really told what the trigger is directly, and this sort of subtlety angers the modern mainstream audience more often than not.
It’s definitely a fine piece of cinema, but I get the feeling more people will watch the clips of Natalie Portman masturbating or the makeout session on Mr. Skin than will see the film in its entirety and that’s a shame.