It’s no secret why people are enjoying BLACK SWAN. It’s a mind-twister all right, if you ignore the writing on the wall. And people like having their minds twisted, no? I mean, we’ve earned it, dammit! BLACK SWAN is a diversion, and a solid one. But for a film drawing such extreme critical praise, there’s a sizeable gap here between reality and reception; because lurid and appealing as BLACK SWAN is, it’s also finally an empty exercise. Though it’s easy to enjoy, I’m perplexed as to how anyone could connect with this material – or take anything of lasting value away from it.
For those who haven’t seen BLACK SWAN, the plot centers around Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman, never better,) a young dancer who, it’s clear early on, shows signs of schizophrenia, and masochistic tendencies. (That’s Dr. Spielblog’s diagnosis, at least. Now take two of these, and call me, Natalie. Please…) Given the role of a lifetime to play the Swan Queen in Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake,’ Nina is instructed by lecherous company director Thomas (Vincent Cassel) to get in touch with her verboten sexual side – for Nina is a good little girl, and the Swan Queen is a two-fold part: the virginal white swan, and the freaky deaky black swan. Yes, this does mean that Thomas gives Nina the homework assignment of masturbating – and yes, Nina does masturbate, and yes, in mid-ecstasy, she realizes her officious mother (Barbara Hershey) has been in the room the entire time. And yes, it is funny.
Natalie Portman and Vincent Cassel in BLACK SWAN
That’s really the best way to view SWAN, as comedy. But is it intended as one? Coming from Darren Aronofsky, maker of open-a-vein depressing dramas (PI, REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, THE FOUNTAIN,) it’s hard to imagine that he’s approaching this psychosexual thriller with an eye to comically subvert it – but almost every reveal, every twist, every moment that’s meant to manufacture discomfort, just elicits laughter. That gives SWAN camp value. But if the intention is really to shock and unsettle, well, I was more shocked in 2009 by TOY STORY 3, a comedy that turned unexpectedly dark – as opposed to this thriller that’s unexpectedly lightweight.
Lest you think I’m dismissing BLACK SWAN because I’m a condescending snob, well, you’re half-right. But remember, dear readers, (hi Mom,) just a couple weeks ago I Spiel’d out my love for THE FIGHTER, a film just as entertaining as SWAN – but with so much more to recommend it than just superficial pleasure. THE FIGHTER, like BLACK SWAN, is built around sensational performances, which clearly took a real physical toll on their lead actors (Mark Wahlberg and Portman respectively,) and in their opposite ways, both films address their protagonists’ commitment to succeed in the face of stacked odds. But THE FIGHTER is a humane work, filled with recognizable characters and sympathetic dilemmas, rendered unsentimentally. SWAN, by comparison, doesn’t contain a single authentic character or situation. It’s fabulous, in both senses of the word. But will it stay in my system for long? Allow me to shrug. If it stays in your system, if you actually see Nina reflected in yourself in any way, please, consult a psychiatrist. And escort Barbara Hershey off the premises at once!
Marge and Jacques in EPISODE 7G11
The final sequence of SWAN (OK, spoilers here,) is terrific – as are all the feature’s dance sequences. The photography’s killer, the music’s Tchaikovsky-tastic, and the conclusion is basically the same as in Darren Aronofsky’s last film, THE WRESTLER. Our protagonist self-destructs on-stage by leaping from a high point, reaching transcendence by giving the audience just what it wants. Of course, in THE WRESTLER, Aronofsky was wise to cut to black before Randy “The Ram” hit the mat; here, he finishes with the sound of uproarious applause to carry us into the credits. A sense of underhanded self-congratulation is unavoidable, and unwelcome. It is interesting that both of Aronofsky’s last films have ended on the same note – the artist mortally connecting with their audience – when his weakness as a director is precisely that he makes films that fail to emotionally connect with audiences. Randy and Nina do what Darren can’t…
No? Too much mindfuckery? Sorry, I guess this thing just put me in the mood for it.
As BLACK SWAN is ultimately pulp masquerading as high art, I’m looking forward to seeing what its director does on his next movie, a sequel – excuse me, a stand-alone follow-up (*cough cough* *pretentious* *cough*) to the WOLVERINE series. (Proof that in the post-Nolan universe, an indie talent can make a superhero film without losing credibility.) Aronofsky’s got style – but where’s the perspective? What’s BLACK SWAN about, when you boil out the bombast and lesbionics? The lengths to which schizophrenic ballerinas will go to achieve perfection? Mm, so true…
I don’t mind schlock. Schlock’s my maiden name. But if you’re gonna peddle schlock, peddle schlock. Who knows, maybe a superhero film is just the thing to make closet schlockmeister Darren Aronofsky honest.
Steven Spielblog 