In Black Swan, director Darren Aronofsky (The Wrestler, The Fountain) creates a wonderfully haunting film that truly captures the mindset of a performer. The film follows Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman), a young ballerina, as she lands the lead in her company’s production of “Swan Lake.” Upon accepting the role, she begins to feel enormous pressure from not only the company’s pretentious director (Vincent Cassel), but also her mother (Barbara Hershey), a former ballerina who retired upon becoming pregnant with Nina. Wracked by the mounting pressure, Nina mentally unravels as the show’s opening night draws near.
The film, shot entirely from the perspective of Nina, truly taps into the psychology of its lead character. As Nina loses grip on reality, Aronofsky mirrors her addled state of mind through the film’s visuals. These visuals not only reflect the state of mind of the main character, but also symbolically comment on the plight of an artist. When Nina takes on a role, she feels an intense amount of scrutiny from her director, her mother, and the other actors in the production. To symbolically comment on the idea of being judged, Aronofsky uses mirrors as a visual motif.
The film also hosts an ensemble of great performances. Natalie Portman truly shines as Nina. Emphasizing her character’s naïve shyness and obsessive perfectionism, Portman shows the progression of both her character’s insanity and maturity. By the time the film reaches its last act, Portman completely lets loose and delivers what is perhaps one of the most audacious, confident performances of the year. Barbara Hershey also stands out as Erica, Nina’s oppressive mother. Hershey imbues Erica with an overly protective sweetness, a sweetness entangled with resentment. Mila Kunis, Winona Ryder, and Vincent Cassel all add great detail as the other characters that haunt Nina’s life.
But what truly distinguishes Black Swan as one of the year’s best films is the bold vision of Darren Aronofsky. Creating dozens upon dozens of visual metaphors (some with multiple meanings), Aronofsky layers his film with ideas, symbols, and emotions, all while delivering a superb thriller laced with suspense and atmosphere. Instead of thrilling the audience from the start, Aronofsky slowly builds suspense by luring the audience into a state of unease. While everything feels “normal” in the film’s opening few sequences, Aronofsky adds a few eerie details to convey Nina’s psychological instability. As the film progresses, Aronofsky, conveying Nina’s mental and emotional unraveling, builds upon and exaggerates his style until the film climaxes in a visually stunning, emotionally tense final act.
Aiding Aronofsky’s impeccable atmosphere is Clint Mansell’s score, a haunting take on Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake mixed with eerie modern overtones. The score, much like the film, grows more intense as the film progresses. The film also boasts some gorgeous camera work from cinematographer Matthew Libatique. In filming the ballet sequences, Libatique captures the feeling of the ballet by moving the camera with the dancers. Not as concerned with the individual ballet moves, Aronofsky and Libatique are more interested in conveying the feeling of ballet than focusing on each precise movement.
While Aronofsky and crew display great talent and ambition, they do not shy away from the film’s genre elements. Intead, Aronofsky fully embraces the idea that he’s making a horror film. While some critics may disapprove of the film’s genre elements, Aronofsky infuses all of the film’s thrills with thematic meaning. With this unique, often exaggerated, visual language, Black Swan truly captures the mind of a performer. Through Nina, the film shows how one can only break free from self-doubt by completely letting go of oneself and creating art. Thus, while the film may come off a tad too ridiculous at times, the fact that Aronofsky is willing to make risky stylistic choices shows that he, like Nina, is willing to let loose to create something truly memorable – an utterly unique and completely mesmerizing work of art.