Monday, August 22, 2011

Black Swan

I wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid. I had a red tutu, and I used to tie ribbons around my ankles and pretend I was wearing real ballet slippers. Grandma often said mom and dad should take me to ballet, but they never did. So I didn't grow up to dance.

As an afterthought, it's probably a good thing I didn't turn out a ballerina. Dancing is suffering, and I'm a right baby when it comes to pain.

So, the Black Swan was quite high on my "to see"- list from the moment it came out. It took a while to get hold of it, but yesterday, with no warning, it happened. Hubby borrowed it from a friend, so I finally got to see it. And it was nothing like I expected.

I'd read the text on the DVD, of course, but still, I thought it would be a light, airy little drama. And it wasn't. It was sick and twisted, even nauseating. And I loved every second. I was a naughty girl and copied it, and now I'm tempted to watch it again. And again. And again.

I can't remember the last time a movie had an effect so strong on me. It was probably around time I was five, and accidentally saw a really scary sci-fi-film. Or was it the time I watched the Audition... Anyway, I woke up last night, around three, and I couldn't get Black Swan out of my head. It wasn't because of the shock-value of it, it was because I know the feeling that consumed Nina throughout the movie. It's gnawed at me as well, though not in that scale.

Believing your body is giving in is not a nice feeling. And there's nothing to do about it but to force your mind into believing otherwise.

Hubby's out, so I could watch it again.

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