Cut to the chase: Driven by Natalie Portman's whirlwind performance, exceptional cinematography, and deft editing, Black Swan not only blends the beautiful with the grotesque, but also excels as a psychologically taut reflection on an artists' drive for perfection.
Although Black Swan primarily revolves around Nina Sayers (Portman) - the most dedicated but ignorantly innocent dancer in the company - and her tumultuous journey towards grasping the lead role in Swan Lake, the film functions far better as a reflection of the dichotomy between craft and career.
From the opening frames, we are introduced to Nina in extra close-up shots, tight and trapped, echoing her own mental and physical state. At home, an overbearing mother (Hershey) attempts to live vicariously through her daughter, placing her very own hopes, fears, and doubts upon Nina's shoulders. At work, a demanding director (Cassel) employs verbal, mental, and sexual tactics to coax Nina into her full potential. In her own mind, Nina begins to slowly unravel as she attempts to relinquish control of her virginal, restrained "White Swan" and explore her own laden, sexual, and uncontrollable "Black Swan." All the while, the presence of Lilly (Kunis), a mysterious new free-spirit, pushes and pulls Nina to the brink of sanity.
And so the foundation of the tale is laid out by Darren Aronofsky, a director who excels at examining the human condition in its most extreme states. Pulling a page straight out of Roman Polanski's Rosemary's Baby and Repulsion, Aronofsky shines as he continually closes the walls around Nina, building the pressure from both her professional and mental state. In his short film career, Aronofsky has already established himself as a premiere creator of unnervingly raw portraits into the human psyche. Whether it was the burden of genius in Pi or the delusional addictions in Requiem for a Dream, it seems that every prior film under Aronofsky's belt has inevitably led him to Black Swan.
The film functions best when it explores the contrasts between light and dark, control and impulse, art and perfection. Just as Nina is split between her own two halves, certain aspects of the film will invariably divide the audience. Namely, the blending of the psychological drama with elements of classic horror teeters on the edge of falling into a campy mixture of ballet and sex. It toys and teases at a melodramatic soap opera of jealousy and lust. And yet, it neither devolves nor derails from the story it wants to tell.
Indeed, the film uses a liberal dose of mirrors, reflections, and double takes to highlight the splintering of Nina's psyche. Perpetually perched in mirrored rooms, dancers must not only evaluate one another for adequacy, but also critique themselves for perfection. And as the old adage goes, the only person holding you back is yourself. In this respect, Nina is continually forced to examine her own flaws and weaknesses, forever unsatisfied with her own craft. This thirst for perfection - this insatiable drive for improvement - is often the mark if a true artist. Yet on the other side of that razor thin line is a sea of doubts and insecurity. And it is precisely this line on which the film balances - not unlike the physical prowess required of a ballerina - continually vying for perfection yet always teasing the possibility for collapse in its quest for artistic creation.
One can't seem to watch the film's creative push for perfection without drawing a parallel to Aronofsky's own artistic pursuits. Much like this summer's dreamscape blockbuster, Inception, Black Swan not only embodies a cinematic performance-within-a-performance (or in Inception's case, dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream), but the film also functions as an apt simulacrum of the artist's creative process. Ultimately, any creative process can be outlined, designed, and rehearsed. Yet, true perfection rarely lies in the controllable aspects; rather, art often comes only when one loses control of all restraints and rules. Black Swan is not the film for everyone. It's dark, painful, and unnerving. But in its uncompromising portrait, the film spreads its wings to reach unforgettable cinematic - and artistic - heights.
