Yet another post that starts with a link to a Peter Bradshaw review. What? He's really good! Picks up on the innocence vs. experience theme, which isn't surprising, seeing as it was bludgeoned into the audience's mind every two minutes. That was a problem. The film took too long to get going. Being of the ADD generation, I needed the mental to happen sooner. Not just because of the chilling builds and sexy times. The film went on to say something that I don't think Bradshaw picked up on -- the obsession with perfection in art. John Keats would have liked this film, I think. Nina works superhard at her technique, but she doesn't live her roles. She is still trapped in herself, with her insecurities and her mother. When she is told to loosen up, it's not just about moving to experience. It's about moving into the world you're acting out. To appreciate art completely, perfectly, you need to kill your self.
A postscript on Natalie Portman. Swoon and whatnot, but also, wow. The scene where she locks herself in the toilet cubicle and phones her mum to tell her she's got the lead... man. Give her awards right there.
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