Not Nearly as Light as a Feather

Rating: 9/10 (26 December 2012)

I've finally gotten around to checking out Darren Aronofsky's latest offering, and, I have to say, it certainly lives up to its reputation.
Not many films are "black and white" in terms of an intended subtext, and Black Swan is no different (though the sharp, monochrome tones that pervade the screen might suggest otherwise). In this instance, we see things from the perspective of Nina (Natalie Portman)—a ballerina who has high hopes of nabbing the lead role in a somewhat offbeat rendition of Swan Lake. Nina is a perfectionist, and as such she inevitably has trouble taking on the role of the Swan's "evil twin": a being that works via lithe seduction. This, as Nina is informed, is a role that requires that she "let go" of her more rigid tendencies as a dancer. Having been kept under the wing of her equally prim and proper mother—echoes of John Locke abound—it's no wonder that Nina soon begins to suffer a psychotic meltdown.
Juxtaposed against Nina is Lily (Mila Kunis), a newly arrived performer from San Francisco who's everything our protagonist is not. Lily is, in a certain sense, a "free spirit," and she's able to assume the essence of the black swan with relative ease. The dichotomy/rivalry that emerges is fascinating to watch, as it's really a materialization of Nina's deteriorating psyche (in the most extreme sense, one could almost label this a "loss of innocence" tale, though "annihilation of normality" might be more fitting).
To say this is the crowning jewel of Portman's young career is an understatement. She's brilliant as Nina, and I can't imagine anyone else having done the part justice. Kunis is great too, as is Vincent Cassel (the lusty director who does everything he can to bring forth Nina's inner bad girl).
One thing to keep in mind for anyone interested in checking out Black Swan is that it isn't for the squeamish. There are some incredibly uncomfortable scenes that play out just as awkwardly as you might imagine, but, as much as I oppose an over-abundance of raunchiness, I'll concede Aronofsky's directorial prowess and say that it certainly did add a worthwhile element of depravity that might otherwise have seemed elusive.
So, after all that, would I say that Black Swan deserved the accolades that seemed to have been endlessly showered up on it.
Yes. It's symbolism made tangible on celluloid. It is, in the most primal sense, the true embodiment of "art".