Efter Black Swan, foran Codanhus

et P

nejer

for mig

lige så

tydeligt

Så bombastisk kitsch er primalt

Black Swan is a hoot—even more so if one identifies Aronofsky with the haughty maestro who swans through the movie like a bobblehead cadaver—and compared to the ponderous pulp mysticism of The Fountain, Aronofsky’s suffocatingly self-important attempt to out-kibitz the Kabbalah, it’s surprisingly fluid. The wall-to-wall Tchaikovsky (and “Tchaikovsky”) certainly helps, but credit the filmmaker: Despite (or perhaps thanks to) his shock cuts, zap hallucinations, off-kilter framing, moody chiaroscuro, and repetitive creepiness, Black Swan is something like a 100-minute swoon. The camera lurches, leaps, and pirouettes; in some scenes, it feels as if it’s being tossed around the stage along with Portman. Kitsch this bombastic becomes something primal.

J. Hoberman om filmen Black Swan i Village Voice - ekstatisk velformuleret kritik med glitrende punchline