The bride and I took in Black Swan this evening. We were excited to see it because we are a ballet family. Thought we'd check it out and later on tell our young ballerina daughter when to close her eyes to avoid the scary parts.
We saw the preview and read a few articles, so we nodded knowingly when an acquaintance told us it was 'dark.' No problem, we thought. We can do film noire.
Turns out Black Swan isn't dark because of its art. It's dark because of its filth. Wish we read this LA Times review before investing time and money. The reviewer nails our experience: the director bludgeons the audience with the relentless pursuit of cliches and shocking imagery. How disappointing it was to witness lovely Natalie Portman descend to B-movie depths, moaning in sexual ecstasy as she discovers the moral lesson that authentic humanity consists of mere animalistic sex independent of human relationships.
This isn't art; it is travesty. From the irritating camera angles to the banality of the plot, Black Swan left us feeling like we'd been duped by publicity wizards, and eager for a means of grace that would cleanse our minds of its filth.
0 comments:
Post a Comment