I suppose it is Aranofsky's artistic temperament, but this movie is torture to watch. The first half hour goes beyond torture. Portman gives a one-note performance that is difficult to watch. A little variety in tone might have made her character a bit more sympathetic. We're supposed to feel for her. Aranofsky's ineptitude ensures we don't. She is a blank slate, filmed upon a black canvas.
The look of the film is that of a rainy day. There is no colour here. Filmed through a bowl of pea soup, the life is drained out of every scene, leaving one robbed of emotional involvement. There is little beauty or elegance. Vincent Cassel, so wonderful in the Mesrine movies, works overtime to pronounce each word, lending to the overreaching artiness of this still life.
I suppose the ugliness of the film, the performances, the cinematography are all intended to alienate and cause discomfort in the audience. People love this movie. I guess some of us have a streak of masochism in us. Some of us don't.
The look of the film is that of a rainy day. There is no colour here. Filmed through a bowl of pea soup, the life is drained out of every scene, leaving one robbed of emotional involvement. There is little beauty or elegance. Vincent Cassel, so wonderful in the Mesrine movies, works overtime to pronounce each word, lending to the overreaching artiness of this still life.
I suppose the ugliness of the film, the performances, the cinematography are all intended to alienate and cause discomfort in the audience. People love this movie. I guess some of us have a streak of masochism in us. Some of us don't.