Black Swan: A Review

While searching for a word that best encapsulates Darren Aronofsky's psychological ballet horror Black Swan, I kept returning to the word bold. The concept, the art direction, the actors’ performances and camera-work are all realised with incredible confidence. The film could easily have descended into self-indulgence, and the difficult themes could have been muddied, but that is not the case. It’s a stark, striking departure from Aronofsky’s 2008 film The Wrestler, which was anchored firmly in the real; Randy Robinson suffered from recognisable, ordinary internal conflicts. Told through the lens of the original Swan Lake, Black Swan, in contrast, is a study in heightened sensory perception.

Black Swan is, co-incidentally, like last week’s 127 Hours in that it hinges on the psychological deterioration of the respective films’ protagonists. The comparisons are worth making: while 127 Hours makes it clear that Ralston’s hallucinations are in fact hallucinations, in Black Swan the boundary is not so much blurred, but invisible altogether. It is rarely clear what is real or whether characters are who they appear to be. It will likely spark the most divisive discussion, but as a means of demonstrating Nina’s (Natalie Portman) clash with her ‘black swan’ alter-ego it is effective. Nina struggles with the confidence and sexuality of her peers, especially troupe director Thomas and rival Lily, and to engage her passionate side. In one instance Thomas rhetorically asks of the frigid Nina’s dance partner (in what may be the in-joke of the year: Benjamin Millepied dumped his fiancé for Natalie Portman herself, who is now pregnant ) ‘Do you want to fuck her?’ Nina’s fragmenting psychology is also expressed through deeply thought-out set design, particularly though the use of mirrors. The mirrors are absolutely everywhere, to the extent that we see Nina from multiple angles with extreme frequency. As a technique it’s none too subtle; their ubiquity permeates the entire film and it’s one of the few flaws to be found. Mirrors are often used to show a character’s divided personality, but it becomes too obvious, and once Nina’s reflections move separately from herself it becomes a metaphor too far.

The dance sequences are extraordinarily involving. Whether you have an interest in ballet or not – I certainly don’t (didn’t? It’s a persuasive case) – is irrelevant, such is the elegance and synchronicity of the movement of actors and cameraman. Make no mistake: the camera-work in these sequences is as highly choreographed and essential as the dancers themselves. Perhaps it is something of an illusion, but the agility and accuracy of the camera is astounding, but it is no mere gimmick.

Another of Black Swan’s strong points is the emotional response it successfully elicits from the audience. It’s touching, disturbing, tragic and most surprisingly, scary. Perhaps the most interesting character of all is Nina’s mother (Barbara Hershey). Our perception of her is the most malleable; while she initially appears relentlessly controlling gradually we can see that our view of her has been distorted by Nina’s mental breakdown, and our sympathies are deliberately left unclear.

It is unsatisfactory to write a review that – bar one instance – wholly praises the film: the feeling that something must have been overlooked is hard to shake, but films can be as near immaculate as can be expected, and the much-vaunted 10/10 should not be unattainable, and this reviewer feels that Black Swan is a rare film that is worthy of the honour. It’s a real heart-stopper, and considering the advancing years of the audience present at the showing, I’m surprised the emergency services were not called into action. Those pacemakers must have been given a torrid time.