Hollywood and its award-giving agencies have proven once again that they’re all smoking collectively from the same mind-altering—or perhaps more appropriately, talent-altering—substance. I was always fairly certain of this fact, but it became even more painfully obvious after finally seeing Black Swan last night. What a waste of time. And Natalie Portman winning an Oscar? Was it an April Fool’s joke? She always looks slightly confused and like she’s just caught a sniff of something rancid. FYI, Natalie, that smell, yeah, that’s the stench of your poor acting.
Here’s the plot of Black Swan:
(Caution: spoilers may follow; although, if reading the following discourages even one person from watching this drivel, then I’ve done my duty.)
Natalie Portman (or her body double) dances. The ballet’s director yells at her for not being good enough. She cries. There’s a gratuitous sex scene (thank goodness for fast-forward). Her mom does something creepy and inappropriately overbearing. Natalie Portman has a freak out. She cries some more, while looking confused and like she’s smelled something rancid. Rinse. Repeat.
So. Pointless.
And, Mila Kunis? Why all the praise for her performance? She has about five lines. Overall, I found the movie to be a complete waste of time and Natalie Portman to be a complete waste of space. Fortunately for her, Hollywood worships huge wastes of space, so she can look forward to a long career full of countless accolades and worthless performances—proving yet again that it’s not who you know, but who you’re willing to sleep with.
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