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Nutcracked
Natalie Portman as an unstable dancer in the inert Black Swan.
By Dana Stevens
Posted Thursday, Dec. 2, 2010, at 7:57 PM ET

Natalie Portman in "Black Swan." Click image to expand.One thing you can say about Darren Aronofsky: You never know what he's going to do next. A through-line connecting his movies to one another would read like a 2008 stock-market graph. There was Pi, a grainy black-and-white thriller about a Jewish math prodigy; then Requiem for a Dream, a hyper-stylized melodrama about drug addicts in New York City; then The Fountain, a grandiose metaphysical nut-out with a time-traveling Hugh Jackman in pursuit of the fountain of youth; and then The Wrestler, a gritty realist tale about the redemption of a burned-out athlete. That Aronofsky's next project would be a psychological horror movie about a disturbed ballerina seemed no more or less logical than the notion that he'd adapt Bleak House as a 3-D musical. The Wrestler is the only one of Aronofsky's films I've really liked, but I approach each new one with fresh excitement: Though his movies can be risibly off-kilter, Aronofsky is a filmmaker of ambition, energy, and scope--a guy whose reach has a way of thrillingly exceeding his grasp.

The reach/grasp ratio is way off in Black Swan (Fox Searchlight), a movie that combines some truly stunning visual and cinematic ideas with some truly terrible, well, ideas. Yet the conceit at its heart is not unpromising. Like the uber-ballet movie of all time, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's The Red Shoes, Black Swan is a dark fairy tale about a ballerina who risks being destroyed by an all-consuming role. Nina (Natalie Portman) is a dancer in the corps of a company that's never quite named as the New York City Ballet. The company's director, Thomas (Vincent Cassel), a sadistic womanizer who's clearly meant to recall NYCB founder George Balanchine, is casting a production of Swan Lake that will apparently reinvent the Tchaikovsky chestnut from the ground up. (How it will do that, we're never told. Though Aronofsky fetishizes tulle tutus and close-ups of bleeding feet, he seems remarkably uninterested in actual dancing, and what choreography we do see looks pretty conventional.)

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Dana Stevens is Slate's movie critic. E-mail her at slatemovies@gmail.com.

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