Black Swan

As any proper Rodarte fan, I've been salivating in anticipation of The Black Swan; the preliminary pictures of the costumes and sketches of the Mulleavy sisters' work were absolutely tantalizing with promises of an exquisitely dressed movie. It didn't disappoint, neither with those gorgeous feathered tutus nor with a seriously twisted plot. The disparity of the two swans - white and black, good and evil - mirrored Nina's fracturing personality beautifully. In the sweetness we saw an almost child-like girl, tucked into bed by her mother in a stuffed-animal-laden room; riding the subway quietly, hands folded, with a white fluffy scarf and baby-pink coat. Her voice is a whisper, her eyes well easily under criticism. But this facade cracks so easily, like her delicate skin under the daily punishments and anxious hackings. The latent devil emerges - blood-red eyes, angular black makeup. Bloodshed and hallucinogenic scenes aside, there was perhaps no better indication of the transformation than the pointy black feathers sprouting from her skin. It was no regal development - I cringed, watching them poke through her skin was almost painful.
Honestly, it was one of the finest films I've seen all year. The good vs. evil has been so overdone that it can easily be tired or cliche, yet here it came off fresh and, finally, realistic. The mental breakdown is raw and painfully recognizable; what better medium than the habitually demanding ballerina figure? We watch as Nina batters her body and pushes her mind to its farthest borders and succumbs to the pressure in her own literal grand finale. Haunting and poetic, fantastically styled and masterfully executed; I will be stunned if this does not receive awards come show season.