Dani and Christian take a solstice holiday in Ari Aster's Midsommar (2019)
I had the good fortune of seeing an Ari Aster double feature last night, with a re-screening of Hereditary (2018) accompanied by the premiere of Aster's second feature film, Midsommar (2019). On the whole, I'm a fan of Hereditary, and watching it again, I unsurprisingly noticed more details and became more sympathetic to the grief-stricken Annie and her family than I was the first time I saw the film. To some extent, Annie and Charlie are mere victims of a group of people "hellbent" on maintaining the patriarchy by bringing this low-level demon, Paimon, into the world. Toni Collette is still mesmerizing in her grief, and I really started to sympathize with Alex Wolff's Peter in a much more visceral way this time around. Wolff gives an extraordinary performance.
I also got into a bit of an argument with this guy sitting next to me, who kept insisting that Annie is entirely unreliable, and the only character worthy of our identification is Steve. Of course, I think Steve (Gabriel Byrne) is by far the lamest character in the film, just politely downing some pills with his scotch rather than actively doing anything of import! Yeah, I still dislike that character, but the guy next to me swore that Steve is the only one who actually knows how to grieve, and he's the biggest victim, mostly of Annie's machinations. Please. I didn't stick around to hear his take on Midsommar, but I bet he didn't like it that much, since spectators are yet again compelled to identify with an "unstable" female protagonist. If he was trying to cling to some male POV, then he's pretty SOL unless he identifies with the wonderful Pelle (Vilhelm Blomgren) who is always, always on protagonist Dani's side.
Dani (Florence Pugh) is the heart of Midsommar and we are aligned with her POV
Ari Aster is capable of bringing out these incredible performances from his female protagonists, and Florence Pugh's Dani is a revelation. Her journey is ours. I happened to encounter Pugh in Carol Morley's wonderful The Falling (2014)--her breakout role--and while we do not get enough of her character in that film, one can understand why the other girls, including Maisie Williams' Lydia, are obsessed with her. Initially, Dani is painted as insecure, tiptoeing around her boyfriend Christian's (Jack Reynor's) delicate feelings, concerned that she might scare him away. She beautifully embodies this giving and generous woman who chooses a bro who doesn't really appreciate her. In fact, Aster makes it a point to represent Christian and his bro friends, Josh (William Jackson Harper) and Mark (Will Poulter) as dickheads, with Pelle standing out as someone who is especially sensitive and kind in comparison. Pelle has invited the guys to his Swedish village's Midsommar festival, and after Dani suffers an incredible tragedy, Christian reluctantly invites her along. Grumble, grumble say the bros, especially Mark, who clearly just wants to get laid by some beautiful Swedish women.
Christian, Dani, Josh, and Pelle observe the beginning of the 9 day feast and its accompanying rituals
I'm a huge fan of folk horror--HUGE! So the elaborate occult rituals and all the details involved in this special solstice celebration--one held every 90 years according to Pelle--gave me such pleasure. Sure, there are moments that seem pretty over the top and hearken back to Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man (1973) big time, but Aster really doesn't handle any of these ritualistic scenes in quite the same exploitative fashion as the earlier film. In fact, the pagan rites--intertwined with notions of nature and community--seem no less strange than a variety of different practices which are a part of "acceptable" religions; which, I believe, is exactly Aster's point. Christian and Josh, anthropology doctoral students, see the commune as alien, something to be studied and investigated, and do not really perceive the inhabitants as human. Don't even get me started on Mark, who Aster unfortunately caricatures as this unenlightened neanderthal horndog. Yet, as the film really is filtered through Dani's perspective, her attitude toward the commune and her fellow American guests, gradually, but assuredly, evolves. Our experience of the film as "horror" largely depends on if our perspective changes along with hers.
Some of the Midsommar rituals are not without a little ultraviolence
One of the reasons the film is not that horrifying is that its images are bathed in the glorious sunshine of summer, and the lush landscape rich with green grass and wildflowers fills the frame with pastoral beauty. Even when the rituals' participants are tripping on some type of hallucinogen (and that happens a lot), the landscape softly undulates. For anyone that's every tripped on mushrooms, LSD, or their ilk, the scenes where some of the guests freak out are hilarious. The effects Aster use are essential to both our identification with Dani's experience, and add to the otherworldly quality of the commune. At one point, I could not stop staring at this flower on Dani's headdress, that just kept opening and closing, opening and closing. Mesmerizing.
The film has some graphic moments of violence, especially near the beginning as Dani acclimates to the community and its rituals. Pelle and his family are distinctly "othered" as they dance and gesture in their all white clothing, wreaths of flowers in their hair. Once Dani dons their clothing and ornaments, she meshes with the other inhabitants of the commune, baking pies for the feast, and participating in the dance to designate who will be crowned the May Queen.
Pelle speaks of his own losses and encourages Dani to stay
The real turning point of the film is the heart-to-heart talk Dani has with Pelle, where he explains that after he was orphaned, the commune became his family, and he always feels like he is cared for and loved, that he "felt held." He says he wants that for Dani, and really, the audience wants that for her as well. His words continue to echo as we watch Christian flirt with Maya, some local girl who sets her eyes on him "to mate." As Dani absorbs the warmth and intimacy of these Swedish people, wrestling with her grief throughout the film, she finds a place of comfort and support where she would least expect it.
The Hagar women feel Dani's pain
Sure, some of the film's outcomes seem inevitable, and I wasn't surprised by the film's conclusion as much as satisfied with the fates of all those involved. Reviewers have been touting the film as a sick "breakup movie" and "relationship revenge," but I see it rather as a journey where Dani finally finds herself. Once lost and clinging to her boyfriend as a life line, she grows and evolves, working through her stages of grief until she comes out on the other side of all that pain, surrounded by a loving and supportive "family"--finding a new "home" far, far away. I think Aster's film is quite beautiful, but I can imagine that my take isn't the most popular. In comparison to Hereditary, Aster equips Dani with emotional depth without demonizing her or the cult that embraces her. In the end, Dani's smile mirrored my own. Highly Recommended!
Mommy (Susanne Wuest) checks on her kids in Goodnight Mommy (2014)
Goodnight Mommy (2014) was everything I could hope for and more. This film fits beautifully with the work I'm exploring on the topic of ambivalent mothers and "evil" children exemplified in films such as We Need to Talk about Kevin (2011) and The Babadook (2014). The fact that the film is also co-directed by a woman makes it hit the sweet spot. This film is both gorgeous and terrifying. I cannot wait to watch it again.
Elias (Elias Schwarz) and Lukas (Lukas Schwarz) are hard to tell apart
The film opens with Elias and Lukas (Elias and Lukas Schwarz) galloping through some fields, exploring a cave, playing in a bog. They're boys having fun in the great outdoors, and so what if their playground is so damn empty. Nary a soul in sight. Lukas seems to be the troublemaker of the two, constantly disappearing and running off. Elias spends the majority of his time calling his brother's name. For viewers, it's really hard to tell them apart.
Mommy requires darkness, quiet, and rest, in order to recover
Soon enough, their Mommy (Susanne Wuest) comes home from a mysterious surgery. She's wrapped in bandages, and it's clear that she's had some work done. Whether this was elective surgery or not, she seems to have changed rather dramatically. She's no longer sweet and sunny, singing them lullabies. Instead, she demands the blinds drawn, quiet, and not to be disturbed. For two rambunctious boys, those demands seem pretty impossible. They start to grow suspicious. Is this their mother, or some imposter?
Mommy is just not herself these days
The film's ambiguities are what truly make the film fascinating. While most of the film's subjectivity is focalized through the twin boys, there are enough scenes where viewers get to spend time with Mommy to experience her point-of-view. She gives off a palpable sadness, although it's not initially clear the cause. Still, she's an incredibly enigmatic character, and the film's cinematography frames her as an otherworldy ghoul covered in bandages. The filmmakers are clearly fans of George Franju's Les Yeux Sans Visage (1960), and that's a very good thing.
The things that kids get up to, with boxcutters and bugs
Now let's discuss those kids. Holy Sh**.This film rises to the top of my list of cautionary tales for would-be parents, right up there with the two films I mentioned previously. I figured out some of the film's mysteries fairly early on, but knowing some twists makes the film more harrowing rather than less so, because the film allows us to identify with Mommy too, and things do not go well for her AT ALL. For me, the first giveaway is that those twins keep a giant box of woodlouse and pillbugs next to their bed. These bugs are beyond disgusting, and I'm sorry, but that's just not your average pet, even for smelly little boys. Oh, and they are twins. Twins are always bad news.
Mommy regards her own reflection
The film's settings, especially the contemporary house in which much of the action takes place, are really cool. I was jealous of these lucky kids, even though the place seems pretty isolated. That isolation becomes really important, especially in a scene where a couple of Red Cross volunteers come to ask for a donation. Likewise, the simplest household objects become utterly menacing. You will never think about super-glue the same way again.
What's disturbing about Goodnight Mommy is how much viewers are compelled to identify with those kids, and that identification turns into its own form of torture. The film toys with childhood innocence, playing on cultural expectations of family. These days, you're not a good mother unless you sacrifice everything for your children and you love every minute of it. Any veering from that proper path seems to demand the most vicious of punishments. Goodnight Mommy plays upon those feminine anxieties skillfully, illustrating the horrors that mothering demands in our contemporary world. See this film as soon as you can, but brace yourself. This film is the fuel of nightmares.
Sooner or later I was going to encounter a film at the Fantasia Film festival that would make me rethink waiting in line for four hours for tickets for it. Well, Helfi C.H. Kardit's Guardian is that film! Hey, but since it's my fifteenth film out of twenty-five, I'm not that upset. Also, I sat next to one of my favorite online critics, Andrew Mack from Twitch, who was very sweet, and also put up with these two people literally devouring each other/rabidly making out right in front of us. Throughout the ENTIRE film. Behind us sat another couple who had personally found the loudest chip bags on the planet, which they crumpled and crinkled repeatedly throughout the screening. To top it all, there was a speaker issue with the dialogue track during the first ten minutes of the film, which tended to highlight the acute shaky camerawork and goofy choreography--before they fixed things and we started the film all over again. So call me distracted. Despite everything, Andrew wrote a really generous and upbeat review over at Twitch, which makes me feel a little guilty that I fully plan to trash the damn thing. Oh well.
First off, I have no patience for bratty, whiny teenagers. None. In horror films, I'm usually completely okay with them dying, often the sooner the better. I'm from the generation where you would leave the house in the morning, and your parents would expect you home for dinner, and who cares whatever the hell you did, as long as you didn't get pregnant, get arrested or do hard drugs. Benign neglect. No "helicopter parenting." In Guardian, the teenage Marsya (Belinda Camesi) is constantly in a snit because her Mom, Sarah (Dominique Diyose) insists that her daughter learn martial arts and be able to protect herself. Marsya would far prefer to hang out with her friend Thalia and whine about her mean Mom. Well, it turns out that Sarah's on the right track, when a tough blonde criminal named Paquita (Sarah Carter) escapes from custody and seems hell-bent on getting a hold of her daughter.
Paquita is a lot more bad ass then you might think
Paquita is not the only person who seems to be after the whiny teenager and her protective Mom. Some goons literally shred the family's house in deluge of bullets, and if that isn't enough, out comes the rocket launcher to finish the job. The two somehow escape unscathed into their hidden muscle car straight out of Point Blank or Bullitt, and no matter how many car chases and bang ups that thing is in, it still manages to come out unharmed (hello continuity)! Let me tell you, there are so many car chases and gun fights, and almost no one seems to ever run out of ammunition. The end result of all this firepower is that the scenes lose all their sense of suspense, and actually just become tedious. When, oh when, will someone get killed? Someone who matters? That's part of the film's problem: you don't really care about these people. Is the cop, Roy (Nino Fernandez), going to allow the goon businessman-turned-politician Oscar (Tio Pakusodeo), to continue this unrestrained mayhem? Do we care? What type of poetry will Oscar sport next in his utterly loony turn as villain? That question is more interesting.
Another interchangeable AKB (ass-kicking babe)
Guardian is proof that throwing a bunch of "strong women" into a film, and then having them "Kick Ass" is just not enough to hold a film together (even if it was enough to make me interested in seeing it). Sure, the violence and bullet fetish are both gratuitous, but it doesn't notably change the film by having all these weapons carried by babes. At times, I thought I was watching an Andy Sidaris film, especially when the knife wielding babe who kills Sarah's husband in the opening 10 minutes, comes back to handle Sarah personally. She does not reappear for the entire film until that moment, and then she just seems to keep pulling more knives out of thin air. Oh, and she doesn't have a name. Meanwhile, plenty of women seem to work with/for Paquita (who named this blonde?), but the only thing they seem to share is unmotivated loyalty toward her and a certain level of hotness. They do not possess names either. Thankfully, most of these women characters are dressed practically instead of wearing bikinis or stilettos, but that caveat doesn't make the film any more progressive.
Nameless female assassin from 10 years ago hasn't aged a day and shows up at end with the same knives
Fortunately, Guardian's narrative centers around women. Unfortunately, Guardian relies on some very one-dimensional female stereotypes--cold, nonsupporting Mom, uber-sacrificial Mom, whiny teenager, ass kicking babe. That's it. Now I can understand that bullet-riddled spectacle might take precedence, but the extremely shaky camerawork, rigid choreography, and histrionic musical cues serve to undermine the visceral adrenaline rush of that spectacle. I love handheld camerawork, but this camera movement had no motivation other than "ACTION!!!" Combine those almost tedious, overlong action sequences with character about which we barely care and you have a rather big disappointment. I didn't even stick around for the director Q & A because I couldn't fake enthusiasm for this film. I wanted out of there. Bummer.
When I first saw Lynne Ramsay's harrowing We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011) last spring, a mere 15 minutes into the movie I turned to my friend and said "that would be my kid...if I had one." Ramsay's lyrical study of maternal ambivalence, based on Lionel Shriver's award winning novel, is a marvelous "evil kid" monster tale. Tilda Swinton's portrayal of the embattled Eva, mother of the malevolent, sociopath Kevin (played by several extraordinary young actors, including the mesmerizing Ezra Miller) is equal parts sympathetic and unlikeably passive. The novel lessens the female protagonist's helplessness and passivity by structuring the tale in an epistolary format, as Eva writes to her husband, Franklin, in a strong and self-reflective voice.
Eva and the three Kevins
While the film's representation of Eva is riveting, the story falls into that special trap that society holds for filmic representations of troubled female subjectivity: the ordering of events renders Eva's view unreliable, and her subjective "visions" call into question her version of all of the film's calamitous events. Is Kevin actually evil, or did he become that way because Eva's not a proper mother? While the novel raises these issues as Eva battles constantly with guilt and self-blame, there's never any doubt that she is right, and Kevin's "bad to the bone." The film strategically places doubt throughout in order to leave the final decision in the mind and experience of the viewer. This strategy in some ways makes the film more fun to discuss, but it also creates a more forceful indictment of Eva as epitomizing an improper or abnormal mother and woman.
The fact that the film was not wildly successful at the U.S. box office, and did not garner the substantial awards that it deserved (Oscar and otherwise), suggests that the pervasive American cultural obsession with self-sacrificing, perfectionist mothering rendered Eva the true "monster" of the film. Upon showing the film to one of my classes, I was surprised at how few of my students held any sympathy for Eva at all. Sure, many of them are much closer in age (and life experience) to the older Kevin, and are actively in the process of accepting/demonizing/forgiving their parents for present disagreements and past sins. Yet some of them were quick to tell me that Kevin's behavior is not beyond the realm of how "normal" or "average" kids might behave at various stages in their lives. Really? And Yikes! I'll stick to my fervent motto, "No kids, only kittens." With seven billion people on the planet, I figure I'm doing everyone a favor on this one.
A HORROR TALE IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE
The film begins with some very abject imagery as Eva is wafted through the crowd covered in tomato splatteringswhile attending a festival in Spain. She's a travel author, and this moment, riding high amongst a sea of revelers, is represented as simultaneously orgasmic and unsettling. One of my students pointed out that she's emulating Christ here, and believe me, that's no accident. Eva's punishes herself and is punished for all of her son's sins, and Ramsay illustrates this punishment through countless scenes where wet crimson fills the frame.
In Kevin's early moments, Eva's home and car are splashed with red paint, and Eva spends the entire film meticulously scrubbing, scraping, and removing the scarlet hue.
Still, Eva's never able to fully expunge the guilt she feels toward her son's violent acts, and allows others to abuse her at every turn. Beyond the aforementioned property splatter, she's violently slapped after exiting a job interview, harassed and menaced by a variety of Halloween revelers, has all of her eggs broken (symbolic!!) as she hides from a woman at the supermarket, and tolerates malicious sexual slurs from a co-worker that only escalate when she gently rejects his interest in dancing with her. Her continual utterance of "it's my fault" or "I deserve it" in the face of these slights feels inevitable within a narrative that constantly absolves her husband, Franklin (John C. Reilly) of any responsibility.
He's the loving Dad upon whom Kevin bestows his rare smiles. He is also the patriarch who disbelieves Eva's concerns and suspicions toward Kevin at every turn. Franklin's fate ultimately lets him off the hook (as fathers so often are left), for he never has to face what kind of monster his son actually is. And what of Kevin?
Kevin's birth scene is shot through a refracted reflection off of one of the birthing room's cold metal surfaces, and the nurse intones "Eva, stop resisting" as she screams in agony. No Hollywood smiles or tears of joy here. Eva suffers from severe postpartum depression, as so many women do, and the film explicitly shows the struggles and strains of early parenting--ones only Eva appears to experience.
None of these early experiences are beyond the realm of ordinary. Some babies sleep like blessed little lambs, while others emit ear shattering shrieks and refuse to sleep or settle. Kevin's clearly in the latter camp. So it's only when Kevin is old enough to be played by a bevy of dour, sullen, sinister actors that one starts to actually think that Kevin might not be your average "problem child."
Kevin, from a very early age, looks at Eva with a frothing combination of loathing and contempt, and the scene where she benignly tries to play ball with him is one of my favorites. Of course, Franklin's absence from these early scenes makes Kevin's behavior toward Eva all the more fraught. As a comment about "wishing she was in France" indicates, Eva's ambivalent about parenting and misses her life before she became defined as a mother.
Like some unstoppable malevolent force, Kevin controls Eva at every turn, stripping her of any life outside of him. Whenever she takes a tentative step toward happiness, or even tries to make a connection with him, he makes sure she knows that those attempts are pointless. He'll spray paint all over her lovely "room of one's own," just as he will boldly shit in his pants, glaring at her, as soon as she changes his diaper. He defiantly resists potty training to well into his 6th or 7th year, and only "learns" after Eva hurls him across the room and inadvertently breaks his arm. Now one might think--Child Abuse!--and in other films, I might wholeheartedly agree. As a testament to Ramsay's filmmaking skills, Eva's violent reaction seems not only justified, but a relief. She finally does what we all wish, but we also know in our hearts is absolutely wrong. Now in The Omen, Gregory Peck's violence toward his son seems like the only possible move. Well, times have changed!
Unfortunately, Kevin's not dead
Things take a turn for the hopeful when Kevin comes down with a cold and actually allows Eva to care for him. They have a momentary bonding moment that seems to offer the possibility of Kevin's transformation through the power of a mother's love. I believe that this scene is just a smokescreen meant to undermine Eva (and the spectator's) belief that Kevin is a bad seed. The connection Kevin makes with her also hinges on her reading him The Adventures of Robin Hood, which certainly comes back to bite her in the ass.
Some of my students were surprised and shocked that Eva decides to have another child, and the film discursively suggests that this new arrival (who turns out to be a girl) is unwanted by both father and son. Celia (Ashley Gurasimovich) is a warm, friendly, and sweet kid, which proves in many ways to Eva that her eggs are not actually "broken," and that Kevin is just bad "luck of the draw" or a losing ticket in the genetic lottery.
Kevin the teenager, as embodied by Ezra Miller, is simply fascinating and horrifying. He plays games with his little sister where he ties her up and gags her, he clearly puts her guinea pig in the garbage disposal, he somehow gets her to pour drain cleaner in her eye, and then sadistically eats some crazy eyeball-like fruit at the dinner table with obvious gusto.
The day that Franklin decides to gift him with a bow and arrow for Christmas is the proverbial "writing on the wall" for the rest of the family, and Kevin's school mates as well. Every year brings an ever more violent and powerful bow and arrow gift! The film implies that our thirst for violent entertainment, and our turning killers into "celebrities" spurs Kevin to make his violent moves....but really. C'mon. One only has to recall that all of this mess started when Eva read Kevin Robin Hood.
Events finally crystallize from their hazy first representations, as the spectator sees, with Eva, what Kevin has wrought. On returning home in shock and horror from the high school, Eva finds her home empty, only the sounds of her suburban sprinkler marring the dead quiet that surrounds her. When she re-emerges from the backyard, covered in blood and stumbling through the french doors, one thinks that she cannot survive any more horrors. Yet she does, seemingly waiting for Kevin's release from prison, interested in taking up the mantle of motherhood once more. Maybe this time she'll get it right.
We Need to Talk about Kevin, like George Ratliff's Joshua (2007), is a fierce cautionary tale, situated in a world in which one must love one's children at any cost. In this same world, Mothers still shoulder the majority of blame for their kid's actions, even if it's uncertain how much "nature" or "nurture" is involved. Eva cannot win either way.
"No Kids, Only Kittens." And honestly, do we need to talk about kittens?
Ah, Black Swan. This film had so much freakin' potential, especially if Darren Aronofsky had been feeling kind of like Pi (1998) or The Fountain (2006)--films that are truly stunning achievements. But no, this low-rent Brian De Palma meets Zalman King mash-up resides strictly in Requiem for a Dream (2000) land, where one might start out appreciating the buzz of creative energy, but then end up being bludgeoned over the head by a lame-ass message and watch women experiencing the depths of despair (double dildo prostitution, electroconvulsive therapy) or death. Yes, Rachel Weisz, you are far better off with Daniel Craig, even though you've crushed some of my better fantasies. Anyway, back to the HORROR.
Nina Sayers (Natalie Portman) is an infantalized, virginal, uptight ballet dancer who has sights on the role of the Swan Queen in Swan Lake--a role that epitomizes the virgin/whore dichotomy through the characters of the white (good, pure, innocent) and black (evil, sexy) swans. She is competing with a plethora of young, bitchy ballet lovelies for the role (including Lost Girl's Ksenia Solo as Veronica). These "bunheads" are serious (although macing the entire cast during the performance would have really made me like the film SO much more). Poor Nina is menaced by a series of players that contribute to her fragile and fracturing subjectivity. Darren Aronofsky illustrates her troubled perspective by showing a bazillion mirror shots. How original!
Channeling Carrie
Nina's infantalized repression is enabled by her crazy, "loving" Mom, Erica, played by Barbara Hershey in a thankless, bitter role. The only differences between Erica and Margaret White (Carrie's Mom) is that she loves her daughter with cake rather than a bible, and worships Baryshnikov rather than Saint Sebastian. They both channel their sordid regrets toward bearing and raising children into creative endeavors (sewing for Margaret, painting for Erica). Both women are disgusted by their daughters' burgeoning sexuality, and try to keep them locked into their little girl roles. They also worry that their daughters' rebellions (prom and sexy ballet respectively) will ultimately destroy these young women, and both evil, controlling mothers are completely CORRECT about that. Still, they are to blame for all the disastrous events that occur because mothers are always to blame, don't you know? And they are both kind of evil. One legitimately horrifying moment occurs when Nina starts masturbating, and then turns to find her mother asleep in a chair next to Nina's bed. Yikes.
Vincent Cassel plays the lecherous ballet's creative director, Tomas, who believes that the best way to get a woman to open up sexually is to physically assault her, shoving his tongue down Nina's throat, and then alternately calling her his "little princess"--a name he gives to all his playthings. He ostensibly is helping Nina become the Black Swan by jumping all over her and ordering her to masturbate. She bites his tongue, which seems to me to be an entirely appropriate response. Even the token sexy girl, Lily (played by Mia Kunis) thinks he's a total creep, but what does she know? She slips Nina a mickey at a club and then abandons her. Still, Lily's on hand for Nina's bi-curious repressed desires, which leads us right into Zalman King territory, or maybe more like Jennifer's Body world (which will be another post for sure).
I'm really not sure which film's lesbian make out scene is more gratuitous!
Some of the body horror imagery in the film is rather cool, and reminded me a bit of Ginger Snaps w/o the acquisition of werewolf super-powers. Nina sprouts feathers, tears off her fingernails, develops burning red eyeballs. The best transformation, though, has to be the crazy bird legs!
Still, none of these elements compensate for Aronofsky's heavy-handed symbolism, the painfully obvious doubling on display, the fetishizing male gaze (sometimes aligned with Tomas), or Nina's campy hyperbolic craziness. Unlike the aforementioned Carrie, I find it singularly impossible to identify with Black Swan's victimized protagonist, and I was more than happy to see Nina meet her inevitable fate.
The fact that this derivative mess won Natalie Portman an Oscar for best actress just proves that the only awards show worth watching is the Independent Spirit Awards. But then I remembered that she won at that ceremony too, and Aronofsky won for best director. Fine. FINE! Just another reminder that I'm on Planet Bunheads rather than Planet Black Swan, and the only real reason to watch the Spirit Awards is because these two women perform every year.
