Black Swan

I really loved Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan. It joins Splice, Toy Story 3, Scott Pilgrim, and Enter the Void as one of my favorite films of 2010. (I missed too many things this year to offer anything like a top-ten list; I still haven’t seen Inception, or True Grit, or The Social Network, for instance — just to mention some of the general-release films that other people have been talking about).

In any case, Black Swan was one of those movies that just touched and jolted me in all the right ways — I became totally entranced by it. I really need to see it again, however, before I can comment on its cinematography — which struck me as key to its effectiveness, in the way that it both drew us into, and yet distanced us from, the intimate world of its protagonist. I think that some variety of cinematic free indirect discourse was at work here (I am thinking of Pasolini’s adaptation of this literary term to describe Antonioni’s cinematography, and then Deleuze’s generalization of the term, to get at a mode of presentation that is neither subjectively expressive, nor omniscently objective, but somehow in between). There’s a crucial relation between the autonomy of the hyperactive camera (and also the horror-film-esque shock cuts, and the use of subliminal sound) and the way the tortured flesh of Natalie Portman is at the center of the film — but I will need to watch the movie again before I can hope to pin this down. In the meantime, I will try to say something more general about how, and why, the film affected me so strongly.

Black Swan could be described as either a female equivalent to Aronofsky’s previous film, The Wrestler; or else as a sort-of remake of All About Eve. Natalie Portman’s character, like Mickey Rourke’s character in The Wrestler, has made a mess of her life. But she sacrificially redeems herself through ballet, the only thing that she is good at, just as Rourke does through wrestling. In both films, brilliance in the blatant artifice of intensely embodied performance compensates for what is otherwise an inauthentic self; perfection of the work substitutes for the impossibility of perfection of the life. Both Black Swan and The Wrestler thus preach and practice what I can only call a delirious kitsch aestheticism. In saying this, I do not use the word “kitsch” pejoratively. Rather, I insist that the aestheticism must be kitsch, in order to avoid falling into the void of a high-minded and self-congratulatory elitism. 

Black Swan resembles All About Eve in being a bitchy and overheated backstage melodrama. Just as Ann Baxter manipulates her way into supplanting Bette Davis as a lead actress (and, in the final scene of the movie, is set up to be supplanted in her own turn), so Natalie Portman displaces Winona Ryder as prima ballerina (leading to Winona’s attempted suicide), and is threatened in turn with displacement by her rival (and supposed good friend) Mila Kunis. The cold cynicism displayed in All About Eve by George Sanders is mirrored in Black Swan, at least somewhat, by Vincent Cassel as the manipulative ballet director. These echoes probably have something to do with why the film has been described by some critics as being camp (or criticized, as here by Dennis Lim, for not even being successful as camp). 

However, I think that the whole camp reading of the film is wrong. In fact, Black Swan is emotionally and wrenchingly intense, in a completely unironic way. Of course, this intensity is not “high art”; it is entirely lurid and hysterical, in a way that has its roots in pulp writing, and B- or exploitation-filmmaking. And this may be why some critics have trouble in receiving it unironically; there’s the unfortunate and wrong sense that some cultural elitists have that nothing can be taken seriously unless it is, well, “serious.” I’m putting that latter word into quotation marks, precisely because it connotes an attitude that cannot take anything with pulp energies, or with the kind of dogged and even corny conviction that Black Swan manifests, except “in quotation marks.” I am suggesting, to the contrary, that Black Swan works as powerfully and beautifully as it does, not in spite of, but precisely because of, its emotional excess, and its glossy reveling in that excess.

To put this in another way: Black Swan fully fits within the categories of what the film theorist Linda Williams calls “body genres.” These are films that are aesthetically disreputable, precisely because they overtly work to incite physical responses in the viewers. Williams lists three main body genres: pornography, horror, and melodrama, which move audiences to sexual arousal, chills of fear, and bouts of weeping respectively; and Black Swan is actually all three of these. The film moves from an initial creepiness to a culminating full-blown body horror; but along the way it titillates us with the phantasmatic, faux-lesbian scene of Natalie Portman’s full-blown orgasm. This softcore scene marks both a breakthrough (an overcoming of sexual repression) and also a breakdown (as Portman’s character finally learns that she can only fulfill her quest for aesthetic perfection at the price of her own existential self-destruction), and thus provides the bridge between horror (the revulsion of bodily metamorphosis, linked with the white swan – black swan duality of the Swan Lake ballet) and melodrama (the tears of unfulfillment, tied to a utopian negation of life as it is, in which every success is also a failure). 

The first half of Black Swan powerfully expressed a sort of creepy nervousness, discomfort, emotional awkwardness, vulnerability, and embarrassment. These are all evident in Natalie Portman’s relationship both to her mother and to the ballet director, as well as in her general malaise (or sense of being ill at ease) whenever she is not dancing — when she is riding the subway to and from Lincoln Center, for instance). This is the sort of mood that I find myself exquisitely attuned to in the cinema, when it is done well. It’s almost unbearably painful, but in an oddly detached and mediated way; the pain becomes pleasure when it is right there in front of you, objectified and articulated on the screen. 

But Black Swan doesn’t stay there. In the second half of the film, everything accelerates into full-blown body horror. Things spiral completely out of control. Natalie Portman moves from a minor obsession with eczema-like wound marks on her body, to a full-fledged crisis in which she seems to be growing feathers, the better to suit her for her “black swan” role. She imagines both having sex with, and then murdering, Mila Kunis, who is trying to steal her role. The film remains ostensibly “realist” enough to suggest that this is sheer hallucination on the part of Portman’s character — e.g., Kunis shows up again unharmed and unaffected, after Portman has apparently beaten her to a bloody pulp. But to the extent that “seeing is believing,” and that — in the suspension of disbelief with which we watch movies — we cannot help accepting what is plainly and viscerally shown to us on screen, the sex and the murder and the body horror are as real to us as anything else in the film. They are continuous with, and as compellingly actual as, the feelings that provoke them: self-disgust, the drive towards an impossible perfectionism, sexual jealousy vis-a-vis Kunis and resentment and feeling-betrayed vis-a-vis the mother. By the end of the film, it is impossible to say — and meaningless even to try to decide — whether Portman’s culminating wound (menstruation? vaginal mutilation?) is real or phantasmatic. We are swept away — or, at least, I was — in the vertigo of a hallucinatory, emotion-twisting, body horror/ecstasy. (And by “hallucinatory,” I mean something like “intensified”, rather than something like “unreal”).

The emotional tonality of Black Swan combines horror with melodrama: more specifically, horror’s body panic and hysteria with melodrama’s embarrassment and overstatement and weepiness. I think that Aronofsky really knows what he is doing here. He is using horror in order to update the old Hollywood melodrama, to make it more believable for the 21st century. He is making new equivalents for the parts of melodrama that might otherwise now seem antiquated, and therefore (to some viewers) campy. In this way, he is very smartly keeping the emotional center of melodrama intact. In this way, Black Swan is a contemporary version of what used to be called the “women’s picture” in the old Hollywood. Such films were frankly oriented towards middle-class female audiences; they also often became points of identification for gay men (which, of course, is partly where the association with camp comes from).

Now, the “women’s picture” is one genre that has never gotten the degree of recognition that it deserves. Some feminist film theorists took it seriously in the 1980s and 1990s, and wrote insightful things about it; among contemporary filmmakers, Todd Haynes has shown considerable interest in it. But overall, the women’s picture has remained disreputable; it is still generally condescended to by “serious,” high-minded critics who insist on regarding it as “trash” — even when they find it to be enjoyable trash. I always think of this in terms of what I like to call the Tarantino Test. Quentin Tarantino loves to make revisionist updates of “disreputable” male-oriented genre films, by making strong female protagonists the heroes — he does this in with blaxploitation in Jackie Brown,  with martial arts films in Kill Bill, with the car-racing genre of the 1970s in Death Proof, and with the war movie in Inglorious Basterds. But I cannot quite see Tarantino ever remaking, or offering a revisionist version of, a “disreputable” female-oriented genre film (though I am still, and always, waiting for him to surprise me). Aronofsky is to be praised for fearlessly entering this territory, and for pushing it all the way, without defensive irony. 

Postscript: it’s worth noting that another one of my favorite films of the past year, Gaspar Noe’s Enter the Void, has gotten some of the same negative or reserved reactions from critics and bloggers as Black Swan, and for similar reasons. In some ways, these two films could not be more different; Enter the Void is as male-centric as Black Swan is female-centric. But they have both been regarded as somewhat chintzy, cheesy, and corny: as being too “obvious” to be accepted as Great Art. Critics of Enter the Void, in particular, have accused its mindblowing visual and sonic textures of just being coverings for an ultimate banality; they have see the film as just an empty display of technique (or of digital technologies). I think that such reactions, like the critical reactions dismissing Black Swan as glamorous trash, betray a continuing discomfort with movies in which psychophysical stimulation and affective intensity overwhelm plot and theme. To my mind, in both films, the psychophysical intensity is the point; and thematic concerns are deliberately flattened and simplified, so they do not interfere with this. (Noe is following the example of 2001, which is evidently his main cinematic reference point; Aronofsky, I think, is simply following his salutary pulp instincts). In the end, of course, it comes down to how particular, individual films affect me; but the power of both of these films reinforces my sense that a certain cinematic maximalism is a better way to go than the reserve of slow or contemplative cinema.

15 Responses to “Black Swan”

  1. [...] Clearer points made here by Douglas Rushkoff: “The Next Net.” Black Swan as camp. Why the camp reading of Black Swan is wrong. “Rose petals are in fact made of fish tails, flowers are made of metal and ice, encouraging the [...]

  2. Julia says:

    YESSSS. i love your analysis here steve, and look forward to your elaboration when you watch it again. i had some of the same thoughts about melodrama and the women’s film–specifically All about Eve and also the ubiquity of mirrors harking back to sirk, and his devotees fassbinder and haynes. i love that she murders kunis while they are both reflected in the mirror, which she smashes and then stabs kunis (herself) with a shard of the broken mirror. perfect–taking the women’s film to the horror extreme indeed!

    so glad you make the link with The Wrestler, too, and spot on. i’d somehow forgotten that was also aronofsky–blinded by the intensity of rourke’s performance there. absolutely both performances about and of body genres.

    i also was elated and by this movie and your piece helps me to understand more why. thank you!

  3. Stephen says:

    I had a similar experience in many ways with BLACK SWAN.

    “The emotional tonality of Black Swan combines horror with melodrama: more specifically, horror’s body panic and hysteria with melodrama’s embarrassment and overstatement and weepiness.”

    I think this might be at the heart of what made the film powerful for me.
    I agree with Julia, this is a very thoughtful and insightful piece.

    Btw, I know you are a fan of SOUTHLAND TALES and GAMER (a propos of cinematic ‘maximalism’) and I was wondering if you’d seen LOVE EXPOSURE. It’s a film full of ideas and different tones.

  4. Joan Hawkins says:

    Very nice piece, Steve. I need to see the film again, too– my first reaction was that it reminded me more of Pi than of The Wrestler– but I loved the way it mixed cruelty with erotic tension, and body horror with melodrama– and that nod to Hitchcock in its fascination with the dancer’s knot and with female doubling. Gorgeous film

  5. Joseph C Goodson says:

    Must absolutely agree with the commentators above — excellent review. As a fan of both Portman and Aronofsky (Pi is one of my favorite films), I have been dying to see this since I first heard about it a few years ago but, alas, it hasn’t been playing in my town. I’ll have to wait for the DVD. Still, your review has gotten me even more excited about it.

    I’ll take this opportunity to say, as well, that I very much enjoyed the essays between you and Harman in The Speculative Turn, and your overall dialogue in general. It has been very edifying and enjoyable.

  6. [...] According to Shaviro “the tortured flesh of Natalie Portman is at the center of the film” (see here). Shaviro suggests that this sort of masochism is the necessary condition of possibility for the [...]

  7. Peter Y Paik says:

    I did not like the film precisely because I found it banal at its core, but must “cinematically maximalist” films necessarily subordinate plot and theme in highlighting “psychophysical stimulation and affective intensity”? I’m quite fond of Peter Greenaway’s films from the 80s and 90s, and in his work the intellectual element does overshadow traditional narrative concerns such as plot, character development, actions that resolve conflict, etc., to the point where his detractors attack them for being schematic. But though I enjoyed A Zed and Two Noughts and Drowning by Numbers for their visual qualities and playful sense of experimentation, it is The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover, which does offer the traditional pleasures of narrative, that I find to be his most memorable and powerful work. I would have liked Black Swan far more if the virtuosity of the visuals were tied to a compelling inner conflict. It might have worked as historical film set in an uptight, preferably Calvinist country, with a lapsed Catholic ballet teacher on the loose. Instead, I couldn’t banish the thought that the reason for Natalie Portman’s character’s inner turmoil was a misplaced prescription for Xanax, rather than a spiritual or moral conflict. Are we at the stage where intensity is what we awaken to in the absence of medication?

  8. [...] (here I unquestionably lift the words from Shaviro written in a difference context – see here). What I mean by this is that hipsters, read in this light, are “making new [...]

  9. amy sillman says:

    YUCK! Black Swan is disgustingly sexist. I hated it— it’s a man’s phantasm of a “women’s” picture…. homo-sex-fearing, mother-fearing, friend-fearing, female-peer-fearing. it’s just a horror film and it doesnt raise the bar one bit in regard to female relationships. ICK!

  10. [...] Post from Another Blog I decided to post this blog entry from Steven Shaviro’s (excellent) blog The Pinocchio Theory since it not only deals with the [...]

  11. basil chiasson says:

    Dear Steven,

    i really like both your enthusiasm (for a much-derided film) and your analysis. just to add, since i imagine you’re likely to take this analysis and thinking further, BS is directly in dialogue with The Red Shoes, that ‘dance film’ by Powell and Pressburger from 1948. I returned home from seeing BS in the cinema and immediately watched The Red Shoes, only to discover an amazing number of ways in which Aronofsky is emulating and reworking aspects of this earlier film, which also in its way collapses the art-reality boundary and indeed ends with a suicide of the heroine because of this art-life tension. turns out, moreover, that there is a Korean horror film that comes to bear on all this, this film based on the tale the Red Shoes by Hans Christian Anderson, which is itself the tale upon which the dance film is based. i’m thinking more and more how BS would be a great tool to teach a class on postmodernism.

    also, a thought regarding Peter Y Paik’s criticism:

    ‘I would have liked Black Swan far more if the virtuosity of the visuals were tied to a compelling inner conflict. It might have worked as historical film set in an uptight, preferably Calvinist country, with a lapsed Catholic ballet teacher on the loose. Instead, I couldn’t banish the thought that the reason for Natalie Portman’s character’s inner turmoil was a misplaced prescription for Xanax, rather than a spiritual or moral conflict. Are we at the stage where intensity is what we awaken to in the absence of medication?’

    i did find the early stages of BS irritating me, specifically the manner in which good vs. evil (white vs. black) are constructed and foregrounded so overtly. and i also think some of the dialogue tends to the leaden and cheesy. however, trusting Aronofsky as i do i ultimately considered how a genre such as ballet – and indeed opera, porn and other genres which often employ thin narratives and plots as an excuse to quickly get down to the singing, dancing, fucking or what have you (and i do recognise this is not always the case but do think we see this at work often enough). At any rate, i raise this only to suggest that perhaps Aronofsky (knowing fully what he is doing, as you observe Steven) is actually transforming the sequences in the film which transpire off the ballet stage into ballet-esque realities: those which are thin on plot and narrative, and as readily black and white in terms of protagonists and their battles. so much to be said of this film think. i’m forwarding this blog entry to some of the many friends i’ve encountered lately who’ve readily dismissed this film. thanks for the reflections mate!

  12. marc b. says:

    YUCK indeed, amy. but, please, don’t attribute the product to ‘male’ fantasies, rather it’s aronofsky’s peculiar brand of misogyny on display, or more accurately, misanthropy, as he insists on grinding every cell of humanity in his characters down to a nub. the film feels like aronofsky’s tribute to his narcissism and martyrdom, his genius being of the less profitable species (than, say, jerry bruckheimer. oh woe to him.) as he never tires of explaining to interviewers. i barely sat through ‘requiem’, and, shame on me, became entranced by the hype of ‘swan’, which was certainly not as grotesque, but no less devoid of humanity, the legs inevitably, predictably cut out from under every emotion or desire that an audience member could empathize with. even the acting was overrated, barbara hershey being the exception. BLECH.

    if i had to compare it with another film, although not favorably, tzameti 13 comes to mind, the literal willing to sacrifice working much better than the suffering artist schmaltz.

  13. lindsay says:

    @ basil, not only did aronofsky straight up copy “the red shoes” but he also copied the roman polanski film “repulsion”. a ton of critics have mentioned both of those films as “inspirations” for black swan. (why don’t they just say it like it is? he COPIED them!) like a reviewer on imdb put it “black swan is just a mish-mash of better films that came before it”. the fact that so many people think BS is so brilliant and such an original film speaks volumes about how far our culture has falllen. there is NO originality anymore. absolutely none. everything is a remake of an old classic movie or tv show. at this point, it wouldn’t even surprise me if they try to remake “gone with the wind” or “the wizard of oz”.

  14. Nick Binion says:

    I studied Ballet for years and danced in a small semi professional company in Philly. We performed full length ballets, something you don’t see often these days. Speaking as a dancer, my gripe about Black Swan is that it is a drama that takes place in the context of dancing, but it is not a dance film.

    White Nights is a dance film. At least in that one you get to see the feet and heads of the dancers at the same time in the same frame. And you see Barysnikov do multiple pirouettes, and some excellent Jazz dance from Gregory Hines. There’s ballet in it. The opening scene is a breathtaker if Barry has to ice his feet afterwards.

    This isn’t to say I saw any particularly bad form in Black Swan except the guy dropping the star of the film on the floor during a lift, made to look like she was having a problem with concentration.

    I say I didn’t see any particularly bad form in the dancing, but you couldn’t see much dancing in it and almost never full frame showing all the movement on the stage in one view. Part of dance is in fact acting, but part of it is dancing. I want to see entrechat six. I want to see guys doing rivoltades. I want to see every move in Gail Grant’s Encyclopedia of of Dance and what do you get? Betty Dodson. I like Betty Dodson, but what does she have to do with ballet, really?

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