The compromises of art and audience

Rating: 9/10 (26 December 2010)

Given that ballet is generally associated more with beauty, poise and heroism within the realm of cinema, it might seem an unconventional choice of subject matter for acclaimed director Darren Aronofsky's latest exploration of obsession and inner darkness. Which, naturally, makes it all the more fitting, as pitting the stereotypical associations of the art form against Aronofsky's chosen approach and body of with provides the film an undercurrent of the same sort of contrast and duality that permeates the film throughout, serving to illustrate a hideous underbelly to an art renowned for its flawless aesthetic perfection. Nonetheless, evident familiarities with Aronofsky's prior drama The Wrestler aside, it becomes quickly clear that Black Swan is an entirely different beast, defying such superficial attempts at categorization and emerging as a gruesomely effective synthesis of genre and influence.
Ambiguities abound throughout, as even the film's seemingly simple framework (again suggesting a duality between protagonist Nina's early struggles to master the role of the Swan Queen and later losing track of the fabric of her reality) continuously defies expectations of causality and linearity. Even in the earlier, 'normal' scenes, there emerge off- kilter elements that appear so out of place with the film's composed, subtle feel, that the entire picture threatens to be derailed: 'overly obvious' moments of symbolism, eerily over the top secondary characters (particularly the guffawing guests at a prestigious gala event and an overzealously flirtatious restaurant waiter). These and more, coupled with the nauseating dirge of Clint Mansell's score, threaten to leave the audience with the interpretation of a more simplistic, simple psychological thriller. Nonetheless, such a simplistic dismissal would deny the picture its fascinating subtlety and sophistication, as all of its horror 'money shots' (an array of skin peeling and bodily metamorphosis impressive enough to disgust even Cronenberg enthusiasts) and moments of jarring strangeness prove merely trappings to the all the more disturbing psychological reality that easily extrapolates upon and deepens an age old 'art requires destructive sacrifices' message. With a pace that feels simultaneously uncomfortably slow and unnervingly propulsive and cameras continually creeping up from behind, Aronofsky retains a continual sense of uneasy voyeurism, as if every scene is an illicit and ill-advised bout of eavesdropping on a woman whose life is steadily crumbling, clawing forward yet scrabbling to pick up the pieces from behind. The feel of perpetual fraying proves repulsive yet magnetic, so that even when the film delves into the grotesque, the viewer, so entrapped by noxious fatalism, proves riveted.
Nonetheless, while the tension between the overt and the subtle provides the film with the same sort of perverse power and grace associated with ballet, it can become a touch excessive at times, with some of the more non-sequitar horrific touches and maudlin moments feeling a little too disconnected even for Aronofsky's fragmentary feel. To boot, the film must threaten to top charts of the highest quantities of least appealing sexual scenes filmed, nor are simple things such as fingernails and stage lights ever liable to be trusted again by audiences after having watched the film. Most poignantly, for all of its grandeur and intimacy, Black Swan leaves the viewer with a continuous sense of mild yearning, as if merely flirting with the psychologically warping masterpiece lurking within even when at its considerable best. Like the Black Swan itself, Aronofsky's film feels ever so slightly contained, be it by the expectations of genre, audiences or award parameters (despite its precise tailoring inevitably wooing all of the above), never fully spreading its murky wings to attain the sort of uninhibited, heated artistic passion that Nina doggedly strives for.
Nonetheless, to say Natalie Portman gives a career defining performance as Nina would be perfectly appropriate, as Portman appears to allow herself to blossom and wither within the role. With consummate control, Portman strings Nina along a continuous razor's edge of tension and focus, eerie enough to begin with, making her subsequent transition all the more horrifying yet gruesomely liberating. Her performance is in itself a masterpiece, and, like Nina, proves worthy of any critical attention extended in her direction. The casting of Mila Kunis feels entirely out of place, yet, consciously, all the more brilliantly appropriate, as her louder than life, flamboyantly unrestrained performance provides a perfect counterpoint to the brittle Nina, and in many ways Kunis' sly, calculating eyes deliver a performance nearly as impressive. Vincent Cassel feels somewhat overly obvious as the ballet director not above using sexuality to extract proper emotion, but, despite being plagued with many of the script's weaker moments of thematic exposition, Cassel delivers an entirely satisfactory, lived-in sensual confidence. Barbara Hershey packs a grimly horrific punch as Nina's disturbingly controlling mother, and Hershey is wise enough to play up her part while refraining from becoming over the top, her perpetually shadowed furrowed brow yet broad smile serving as both a chilling retread of the 'evil, repressive mother' stereotype and perpetual question of Nina's mental state throughout. Equally, Winona Ryder's uncomfortable scene chewing as the company's former star, pouting to a near adolescent extent, further provides a streak of stylized excess which further serves to question the veracity of the realism of each character's depictions throughout.
Disturbing, lingering, and assembled with the utmost precision and care, Aronosky's Black Swan proves a fascinating exploration into the grotesqueness of art and its fixation with perfection. That said, ironically, as if serving to illustrate the difficulties of melding an art- film approach with a mainstream oriented film, there does remain a faint but unshakable sense of lacking, as if Aronofsky could have pushed his film slightly further to the impeccable honing of 'perfection'. Whether this shortcoming was ultimately intended to emerge as the film's most self-reflexive thematic message about the compromises of art is up for debate, but if nothing else, Aronofsky's film provides the perfect fodder for nightmares, where the truly uncompromisingly horrifying Black Swan might freely take flight.
-8.5/10