Black Swan, or the Land of Allegory and Obvious Symbolism, as I will now be calling it for the rest of my life.
*** SPOILERS *** In case, like me, you haven’t bothered to watch this movie which has, like, a thousand awards and was the most talked about film last year. So I’m running a little behind on my pop culture. It happens.
First of all, this movie was a total cliché. The desperate ballerina, the choreographer who encourages her to find passion within because perfect dancing is terrible if there’s no passion. Passion, of course, defined as having sex with him. (Of course.)
Being greeted by the sound of popping cartilage, cracking bones, and grinding joints should not be listened to with earbuds. I’m pretty sure I almost puked eight times, and I used to dance on pointe. My toes and ankles still pop when I wake up in the morning and when I lay down at night. For some reason I don’t think mine sound like that.
I do still love the score to Swan Lake.
Let’s talk about the scratches on her shoulder. The mother clips her nails, scolds her, is in flat panic that no one knows about it. Tells her to keep it covered with a shrug. (Allegory for masturbation? Yup. Especially when the ballerina tries to get off in the morning and the mother is sleeping in her room.) This mother seems to have a problem with her daughter’s budding sexuality. Could it be because she herself got knocked up by a randy choreographer? (This movie is incredibly transparent.)
OH! And she starts to sprout black feathers from that spot that look suspiciously like pubes. Which she pulls out. Ouch.
Will this girl ever have an orgasm?
Yup. Administered by the sweet (or is she? God, this movie is dull.) young Californian. No wait, the Californian didn’t do that. Or did she? Oh no, the ballerina may be unstable. Surprise! Is the ballerina a closeted lesbian? Yes, I think so, considering how she has been stealing Winona Ryder’s things for who knows how long. How ironic. Besides, considering that the movie is all about sexual repression what could be more repressed than a lesbian ballerina. (Cluelessness, this movie has it.)
Ah, she is finally the Black Swan. She pierced herself with a mirror to be able to own it. You’re supposed to think she killed the Californian (alleged) giver-of-orgasms, but you are so much smarter than that, aren’t you? (Penile penetration allegory? Yup.)
And now she dies, bleeding out from her wound all over her white dress, after giving the performance of a lifetime. That isn’t saying a whole lot, is it, considering it is the first time she has ever left the chorus. (First menstruation allegory? Yup.)
Ridiculously obvious symbolism. So obvious that I couldn’t even enjoy the scary parts. I mean, really. Out played, overdone. Didn’t really get into it because I was so busy breaking down and laughing at its weak attempts to be intelligent.
Are We There Yet? 