Those of us, and many we number, unfamiliar with the art of ballet may well be put off by the notion of watching a film about sinewy girls in silly skirts poncing around the stage like some sort of human gymkhana. Relief comes from the director of this pony show, Darren Aronofsky. This American has repeatedly shown himself capable of mining engrossing and gripping dramas from the most diverse of sources. From the down and dirty world of addiction, to mind-blowing intricacies of mathematics, care of an exquisite royal rumbling costume drama, his is a star on the rise, and this work is a graceful and distressing dance.
The story pirouettes around the mental stability of a superb Natalie Portman. She is Nina Sayers, a ballerina in a New York company who gets the chance to explore her dark side after taking the prima spot in a new version of Swan Lake. Portman is perfect as the ingénue, portraying Nina as a sheltered perfectionist, her training and preparation to her craft carried out with an almost autistic fervor. Her desperation for the spotlight is not self-agrandising, rather a fierce and terrible desire to reach the peak of rond de jambe precision, egged on by her craving harpy of a mother (Barbara Hershey).
After outscoring the competition in auditions (with a special mention for the aptly names Ksenia Solo’s Veronica, giving the greatest bitch-face since Bette Davis), Nina is plucked from the barre and thrust into the lead, with devastating results. The duality of the role, in which the primaballerina must embody the blanched and charcoal feathers of the titular bird and her foul sister, goes one step further here, with life imitating art in Nina’s increasingly skewered psyche.
It all gets very intense with mutilations and Doppelgängerinnen reflecting the crumpling of Nina’s mind under the strain of the performance. Indeed the inclusion of mirrors in practically every scene may not lack subtlety, but places us nauseously inside a self in tailspin. The pressure of the lead notwithstanding, it is the addition of Mila Kunis’ Lily, a raw and erotically charged yang to Nina’s ying who threatens to push her over the edge, or, indeed, into her bed. (For the record, yeah they do, yeah it’s hot, no, don’t bring your mam.)
Vincent Cassel is slyly on point as the lecherous director Thomas, seductive and aggressive in his quest to rip Nina out of her cashmere shrugs and into some bondage black, and Winona Ryder crops up as the Ghost of Nutcracker Future reminding Sayers to not get too cosy in her tutu.
Almost everything about the production works, and standing ovations are overdue for those involved that Oscar has forgotten: Amy Westcott’s costume work is beautifully tailored, making bubblegum pink legwarmers look like binding chains. David Stein’s Art Direction is a master class of monochrome chic, and Clint Mansell’s score (with a little help from les frères chimiques’ bass booming re-rendering of Tchaikovsky) helps to elevate this to intoxicating film making. Matthew Libatique’s cinematography is single-camera warts and all, and its intensity and closeness is appropriate to an art we only ever glimpse from afar. An encore too for the British design company La Boca, whose art nouveau posters for the film are already my favourite of the year (http://www.laboca.co.uk/LB
Perhaps the one bum note comes from the slight overuse of CGI towards the film’s coda. By then we are so implicit in Nina’s breakdown that we don’t need such constant and blatant reminders. With a bird this juicy, there’s no need to cook the goose quite so much.
4 ½ Likes.
After outscoring the competition in auditions (with a special mention for the aptly names Ksenia Solo’s Veronica, giving the greatest bitch-face since Bette Davis), Nina is plucked from the barre and thrust into the lead, with devastating results. The duality of the role, in which the primaballerina must embody the blanched and charcoal feathers of the titular bird and her foul sister, goes one step further here, with life imitating art in Nina’s increasingly skewered psyche.
It all gets very intense with mutilations and Doppelgängerinnen reflecting the crumpling of Nina’s mind under the strain of the performance. Indeed the inclusion of mirrors in practically every scene may not lack subtlety, but places us nauseously inside a self in tailspin. The pressure of the lead notwithstanding, it is the addition of Mila Kunis’ Lily, a raw and erotically charged yang to Nina’s ying who threatens to push her over the edge, or, indeed, into her bed. (For the record, yeah they do, yeah it’s hot, no, don’t bring your mam.)
Vincent Cassel is slyly on point as the lecherous director Thomas, seductive and aggressive in his quest to rip Nina out of her cashmere shrugs and into some bondage black, and Winona Ryder crops up as the Ghost of Nutcracker Future reminding Sayers to not get too cosy in her tutu.
Almost everything about the production works, and standing ovations are overdue for those involved that Oscar has forgotten: Amy Westcott’s costume work is beautifully tailored, making bubblegum pink legwarmers look like binding chains. David Stein’s Art Direction is a master class of monochrome chic, and Clint Mansell’s score (with a little help from les frères chimiques’ bass booming re-rendering of Tchaikovsky) helps to elevate this to intoxicating film making. Matthew Libatique’s cinematography is single-camera warts and all, and its intensity and closeness is appropriate to an art we only ever glimpse from afar. An encore too for the British design company La Boca, whose art nouveau posters for the film are already my favourite of the year (http://www.laboca.co.uk/LB
Perhaps the one bum note comes from the slight overuse of CGI towards the film’s coda. By then we are so implicit in Nina’s breakdown that we don’t need such constant and blatant reminders. With a bird this juicy, there’s no need to cook the goose quite so much.
4 ½ Likes.
Great review James! Have finally watched Black Swan so can comment on this without fear of spoilers :)
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