I suppose audiences were drawn to melodrama during the Golden Age of cinema. Back when the big studios were just emerging, society craved the sort of histrionic kitsch we'd probably deem "dated" nowadays. These days it’s all about shock value and controversy; the raw elements of cinema. Personally, I’d take realism over formalism any day, but I do often miss those grandiose films of the postwar period – not to mention their over-the-top directors; Powell and Pressburger, specifically. In 1948, they released an impressive rendition of Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Red Shoes” that presented a stark, but vivid contemplation of ambition and obsession. That film, in my mind, is a masterpiece, because we’re immediately transported into a realm of mythos and intrigue that remains taut throughout, symbolic to a fault, has no bearing on reality whatsoever, yet still retains a timeless message.
Darren Aronofsky’s (Requiem for a Dream, The Wrestler) latest film Black Swan – which, in many ways is congruent with Red Shoes, but also dabbles in darker motifs parallel to Dostoyevsky’s “The Double” and other doppelganger folklore – is a little trickier. It’s like a potent cocktail mixed with shots of reality and fantasy that leaves behind an odd taste. Like Red Shoes, Black Swan follows an obsessed dancer who strains herself mentally by trying to perfect her craft. However, while Red Shoes is aware that virtually every frame is there to convey some form of melodramatic effect, Black Swan sort of wavers between laughable theatrics and heavier themes one would expect to find in an understated drama.
The framework of this film is bewildering. Aronofsky’s style and direction are near immaculate, but he really drops the ball when it comes to tone and delivery. But I’ll give him this: I can think of few directors who would handle such an unusual plight in the remarkably ominous way he has; and he almost pulls it off.
Swan is told through the eyes of Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), a reserved, but inspired ballerina who yearns to be featured as the Swan Queen in her ballet company’s upcoming production of “Swan Lake”. Opportunity knocks when artistic director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassel) decides to give prima ballerina Beth MacIntyre (Winona Ryder) the ax in order to steer “Swan Lake” in a more contemporary direction. And in spite of her demure and “controlled” method, Leroy chooses to reward Sayers with the esteemed role of her dreams.
The actual production of “Swan Lake” entails that the soft-spoken ballerina master dual performances as both the innocent White Swan and her malicious twin sister, the Black Swan. When Sayers – who's apt and well-suited for the White Swan – encounters a dash of rivalry in newcomer Lily (Mila Kunis) – who exemplifies the Black Swan’s sensual characteristics – her resolve is put to the test. Facing pressure from her fanatical mother (Barbara Hershey), Leroy’s uncertainty, and her inferiority to Lily’s effortless carriage, Sayers begins to suffer from violent hallucinations that ultimately hinder preparations for her big debut.
To say Portman delivers one of the most vulnerable performances of the past decade would be an understatement. She absolutely carries this film by employing herself with the burdensome task of transforming Swan into a dark meditation on perfection and individualism. She fully embodies Nina Sayers, allowing the audience to interpret her coyness and introvert qualities as an inner struggle to balance the good and evil necessary to personify both swans. As Portman tries to tap into her dark side onstage, Aronofsky thrusts Nina into an eerie world outside of the ballet studio by incorporating disturbing visuals that harshly exaggerate the troubled ballerina’s plight.
Darkening the mood and providing leeway for Nina’s sexual awakening is Kunis’ unabashed Lily. Adequately performed, Kunis manages to convince us that she is the Black Swan that Nina seems ill-suited for. Surprisingly, she’s handed the most challenging role in the film – fence-straddling between Nina’s tainted view of Lily and the genuine, presumably harmless Lily – but for some reason, Kunis doesn’t seem to broaden the character at all; and that's counting seducing Nina in a scene that – believe it or not – felt a bit tame if not completely uninspired.
A definitive verdict for Black Swan is difficult to hand down because the film essentially transcends genre. Not since Tarkovsky’s Solaris have I had this much trouble classifying a film, and perhaps that can be taken as compliment. Aronofsky seems to know what Swan is going for – be it a raunchy b-movie or provocative drama – but it's never clarified. His use of steadicam amplifies the gritty worldview we see through Nina’s eyes, suggesting a visceral approach, but then we see Nina experiencing some questionable – even silly – hallucinations that highlight a good portion of the film. The score’s orchestral whimsy only further complicates defining the tone here, but of course, being undefined isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
Thought-provoking, but not in the way one would – or should – expect, Black Swan is by no means a masterpiece, but a head-scratcher. Aronofsky's bizarre angle on this all-too-familiar tale hampered my ability to take away anything remotely profound from the film, but the way it’s handled – technically – is worth commending. It’s the skeleton of a far more daring piece that, in the hands of Lynch or even Haneke, could have been spellbinding, but Aronofsky proves more than adept in offering a satisfying thrill ride that certainly leaves an impression.
8/10
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