Torture son, straight torture. AND I don’t mean torture like getting your wisdom teeth pulled or watching Enter the Void. The good kind of torture, that you WANT to watch (don’t deny it) because its fun, and you live in a comfy Western country where the closest thing we will get to torture is like-I-said, Vietnamese dentists, and being in a hurry and accidently opening itunes.
Black Swan ties you to a chair, burns you with cigarettes, bites of your nipples, cuts out unnecessary organs, gives you a blood transfusion to keep you alive, then makes you choose which of your children it rapes first before it douses you in gasoline and lights you up. And oh it feels soooo good. The pacing, the music, the visuals, the colour schemes all maintain this twisted cinematic rhythm that is excruciatingly brilliant. The type of movie that makes you shield your eyes at points, but not to stop watching (fuck you that makes sense).
Natalie Portman kicks raw-fuckin’-ass as the mental, skeletally thin lead ballerina. She tears herself in two to become the Black Swan, and we see it and feel it right along with her. The psycho-sexual dominance of her trainer will be seen by a lot of viewers as mere sleaze from his part, but he is doing everything he needs to do to make her become her evil doppelganger. Black Swan is about real art, and is real art, like it is Black Swan, about Black Swan. Follow me? Real art comes from real sacrifice. To make an audience experience an emotion, the artist needs to have experienced it. Plus you get to see Mila Kunis go down on Natalie Portman KA-CHING.
No comments:
Post a Comment