The film is impeccably paced, and the effects are breathtaking. The psychologically loaded dance scenes at the height of the drama live up to the impossibly high standards set by Powell and Pressburger all the way back in 1948 with The Red Shoes. Portman does a decent job at looking like a dancer, even if it did mean she had to undergo torturous bouts of weight-loss in order to do so, and although she is by no means innocent of overplaying the role, generally her performance of Nina Sayers is credible and engaging. The use of key parts of Tchaikovsky's music towards the end of the film in the dressing room as we witness the final unravelling of Sayers' psyche works wonderfully, if not a little obviously screaming the "message" at the audience. And if all that wasn't enough, Mila Kunis is the sexiest woman ever to don a pair of pointe shoes. Two words: holy suspenders.
Yes, the film is riddled with ballet industry clichés (bulimia and bloody toes? Well I never), but then again, just because they're spoken about a lot, doesn't make them any the less accurate. I was a little disappointed to see that the choreography of the ballet had been drastically changed by choreographer, co-star and Portman's baby-daddy Benjamin Millepied, but then I have never seen Swan Lake performed by a company other than the Royal, English National or Kirov, all who use variations on the traditional version which most would be familiar with. The dance of the cygnets is a particular audience favourite which was almost butchered beyond recognition. Portman was also nowhere near as exciting to watch in the dance scenes as Moira Shearer, for obvious reasons, sure, but I can't help agreeing somewhat with the lovely Tamara Rojo who took particular issue in a recent Guardian article with the decision not to use an actual dancer for the role. Edward Watson also mumbled his agreement, and who am I to disagree with a ginger, straight, ballet dancer?
Oddly, though, the one moment in the film which I found most difficult to swallow, was the standing ovation Sayers receives after her dance of the black swan. Not even at performances of the Bolshoi or Kirov, where the choreography is designed for rapturous applause to be given every time the men jump and the women pirouette, would you find a standing ovation between scenes. But then, realism is hard to judge when Portman has suddenly sprouted a pair of black wings during the coda. So that's my grievances silenced.
Over all, the film is a stunning psychological assault of a film, with an admirable lead performance, and some great support given from Cassel, Ryder and Kunis, that will make any girl who has previously known the dizzying thrills of landing a pirouette perfectly,or the excitement of fitting her first pointe shoes, tear up.
