Noah (2014, Darren Aronofsky)

The Western genre is generally seen as the most 'out of date' or 'wavering' genre - a consistently unfair viewpoint as each decade harbours enough examples of such a film often complete with progressive artistry. The western as a maintaining populist genre? No, but relevant none the less. The Biblical epic, however, certainly can't be professed as such things at all. Interesting is the room in this sub-genre for reinvention on such a sweeping, fantastical stage. Even more interesting or rather baffling (for positive reasons none the less) is that this $180 million film exists in an arguably increasingly secular society where forwarding technology and social mores are suffocating artistic freedom in cinema.

Awe inspiring in its beauty and bare brutality, Noah is a cinematic experience unlike any other. At times a marvel and at others confounding in its ambition, Darren Aronofsky's long gestating take on the Old Testament's parable of a man missioned by God to undertake his destroying of creation doesn't hang together as a whole but holds within it sequences of sheer astonishment. Some of the most beautiful sequences of film to contest any example before it.

Beginning with a thumping musical introduction that's almost comical with intimidation, the story of Man's fall is glided through with the first murder of Abel by brother Caine. More fleeting is the murder of a young Noah's father, also by Caine (Ray Winstone), that begins an intertwining battle between the fallen brother and an adult Noah (Russell Crowe). Given the short nature of the source material - the story of Noah is a mere four paragraphs - Aronofsky and his team have endless room for artistic licence in bringing the pre-flood Earth to life. Characterisation is at a minimum with the film feeling very much like an adaptation of a parable (Noah is simple described as "righteous" in scripture without further divulgence) and so the players of the film exist more as archetypal figures than fully drawn ones. This certainly adds to the often direct style of acting brought by both Crowe and Winstone, however when the film reaches for higher emotional notes others, such as the brilliant Jennifer Connelly as Noah's dedicated wife feel out of sorts with the film, of course not to their own detriment.

The world building and visuals are without doubt the strongest element of Noah, with this desolate landscape coming somewhere between Middle Earth and science fiction - think Game Of Thrones by way of David Lynch's Dune. Angels cast down by God are consumed by the Earth and live tortured existence as hobbling rock creatures, these fallen rock angels help defend Noah and his family in the Ark against the sinful army of Caine. This is one of the wild moves in the film that have to be seen to be believed.

There is a certain elliptical style to the film that doesn't lend itself to the gruelling, cumbersome challenge of building an Ark of such grandeur. Aronosky's central characters have nearly always been characterised by an achilles heel, an ambition that pushes past the realm of the physical that enters them in the arena of impossibly realised dreams. Here is the first time that through divine intervention (God is referred to as The Creator throughout) the impossible can and is achieved. It's in the psychological despair, or rather guilt, of mass genocide and of this chosen family's survival that the film's dramatic arc (sorry!) hangs on and it does so well with a paranoia bringing to mind early Polanski.

Noah's apocalyptic visions are fantastically realised as he drowns in his sleep surrounded by the souls of a thousand 'sinners'. But it's in the waking reality of these visions as they come to life before him that truly strike a chord; such as the harrowing screams of those clung to rock faces just outside of the floating vessel, Noah's family know they could help save some one but their father dismisses any such action. He knows what he's been destined to carry out and Crowe's wearing eyes project the torment.

Aronofsky's films have always had a weakness in how direct and undiluted they are, yet this dually has also marked his main strength as a filmmaker too; honing in on a theme and intensely gripping it without losing sight. This has made for a career of brash and rather blunt films made majestically operatic thanks to a long lasting collaboration with composer Clint Mansell. One must never forget that despite his subjective viewpoints and often surreal nature, Aronofky is a director of melodramas. Here, Aronofsky and his team have settled on an ecological message that sits well against a parable of destruction and mankind's inability to change. This clear righteous message may frustrate many viewers more than the fears of a religious story; Noah certainly has strong explorations of faith, especially during the film's strongest sequence aboard the arc where the family fall apart due to Noah's unwavering loyalty to what he believes his mission is. Overall it is undoubtably the work of a team of non-believers but also the work of someone clearly passionate about a timeless, boundless, story that has found its way into just about any culture on the face of the planet.

Noah is hindered by being bookended with its weakest scenes and the regularly visceral Aronofsky is obviously working in 'safer' territory than before given the source material and the biggest budget of his career. This results in a slightly awkward film that although never shying away from the inherent darkness of such a story, never quite feels like it can let loose despite the sheer levels of ambition and vision on display. It's a miracle this film exists.

The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky, 2008)

After the cursed outcome of Darren Aronofsky's passion project The Fountain (2008) the director now approaches his next project with a barebones guerrilla style of filmmaking distancing himself from the burdens of a high end production. Whereas The Fountain had a complex narrative that spanned a thousand years and relied on special effects to tell its story, The Wrestler focusses on one man's life and adopts a semi-documentary nature of shooting. 


The man's life in question is Randy 'The Ram' Robinson  - a former wrestling big shot whose life has taken a turn for the worse. He now plays low-key gigs in venues such as town halls and social clubs, over everything else in his life we learn Randy's true love in life is his job, he cherishes it and refuses to give it up despite his ever ageing body telling him otherwise. Aronofsky's films have always exclusively dealt with obsession and the frailty of the human condition; his protagonists battle against the duality of body and mind with the body caving in under the extreme pressure of the mind. The Wrestler is no different as we witness Randy's body put through incredible strains and mutilations in hardcore matches at his mind's resilience to retire. After Randy suffers a severe heart attack after a match the doctors tell him he cannot carry on wrestling, if he does he will not survive again. Randy is played perfectly by Mickey Rourke, the casting is a stroke of genius due to Rourke's tragic fall from the top as an 80s icon as well as his brief boxing career. In a film this focussed on realism Rourke's performance is entirely immersive as he hardly needs to act as Randy - he is Randy.


When we start to follow Randy in life outside the ring it is painfully obvious why he loves with his profession so much; inside the ring he is adored by the fans, he is understood in (and understands) the pantomime world of wrestling, he can be the hero, and the beatings he receives inside the ring are nothing on the pain life throws at him outside the ropes. 


Randy lives in a trailer park in just about bearable conditions, he works at a supermarket in the warehouses and moonlights as a wrestler after hours - this still isn't enough to pay the rent as we see early on his landlord confiscating his keys until he pays up. Randy sleeps in the back of his van and is awoken in the morning by the locals children who adore Randy, they want to play fight him and he amuses them. We soon learn Randy has an estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) as he talks to his friend Cassidy (Marisa Tomei) a local stripper who Randy is very fond of and confides in. As Cassidy helps Randy go about reconciling with his daughter after many years the two become closer than imagined. As things seem to be going well with both the women in his life things take a turn for the worse, some reasons not Randy's fault but ultimately we can tell from his hinted past that this is a self destructive and immature man that has caused himself and others more harm than he ever set out to inflict. Randy is not a selfish or nasty human, he is simply a loser but an endearing one at that.

The camera is always right in the face of Randy, it sticks to him, following him like a research subject - never judging but simply observing. The vérité approach of the film holds realism as its first objective and generally works throughout; however, there are some moments in the story that Aronofsky's direction and script seem at odds. These occur in some of the script's more emotionally heightened scenes. Aronofsky has always had a talent for matching the perfect visual language for the story he's telling and he's right on the money with his stripped back reality based approach,  only this means that when the film reaches certain levels of melodramatics the performances feel rather awkward. Most notably when Randy meets is daughter after having let her down once again, he has to convince her to give him another chance and she's having none of it. The exchanges between these two highly talented actors should work but feels forced and out of place in this particular film that's seemingly focussed on naturalism. The script is also very clumsy in terms of its symbolism too; whereas we the audience could surely draw our own observations of Randy as a Christ figure and his life echoing that of Christ in certain regards, it chooses instead force its allegorical notions down our throats. As Cassidy (his Magdalene) openly talks to Randy about The Passion of the Christ (2004) and compares their wounds and suffering it feels so contrived and almost offensive that the writer's couldn't let us draw our own insights into their story's insights. 


Still, these are small contrivances that are more irritating than harming to the overall quality of the film and by now we shouldn't come to expect subtlety from the director of Requiem for a Dream (2000) - though the film does require some smoother edges. 


It would be easy to judge Darren Aronofsky for going soft on us, after all this is a sports movie with a sympathetic character at its core. It's a relief then that The Wrestler is far from mainstream schmaltz. It is an honest depiction of a sport that has produced some extremely tragic characters over the years  - scenes such as Randy attending a 'legends' signing is purely heartbreaking. It is also more universally a story of a man unable to cope with the realities of life, spending most of his life running from responsibility and trying has hard as he can to live in the past, his 'golden' years. As Randy and Cassidy talk music over  beer they share their love for 80s greats Guns N' Roses and Motley Crue, Randy comments that those were the days and then Kurt Cobain had to come along and ruin it all. Of course the 80s was all about sex, drugs, and partying - fun without regard - what Cobain and the 90s grunge scene represented was angst and the cruel realities of life. I think that says it all.

The Wrestler is largely a realised film, one that touches even if its desperate attempts are often carelessly transparent. The mirroring of Randy and Cassidy is well handled and an important asset to the story; both are teetering on becoming obsolete as their psychical careers corrode along with their bodies. The film's climax as Randy enters the ring once again is also incredibly well executed if not a slightly predictable but the results are hauntingly powerful and left me cold - unable to move as Bruce Springsteen began playing over the credits.

Black Swan (dir. Darren Aronofsky, 2011)

Plot: A ballet dancer wins the lead in "Swan Lake" and is perfect for the role of the delicate White Swan, but slowly loses her mind as she becomes more and more like the evil twin sister of the White Swan, the Black Swan.

Review:

When Darren Aronofsky had left The Fountain behind him he was asked what was next on his agenda, he answered saying that he was working on a film about the relationship between a wrestler and a ballerina. We all know that this wasn't the case as his next Oscar nominated film focused entirely on an ageing wrestler and his relationship with a stripper. So what happened to the ballerina then? Well, here she is played beautifully by Natalie Portman in a career defining virtuoso performance.

Black Swan works very much as a companion piece to 2008's The Wrestler, much like the way Guillermo Del Toro's two films The Devil's Backbone and Pan's Labyrinth relate to each other. The Wrestler is the male answer to the female energy of Black Swan; they are brother and sister and the similarities don't stop there. Obviously both films are set in the world of performing arts; where ballet is the highest order of performance wrestling is deemed the lowest of the low. Both professions have their athletes pushing their bodies to brutal extremes to impress and win over their audiences. Both Portman's Nina and Rourke's Randy are part of a circus of meat on show for everyone else's pleasure and both end up destroying their realities to gain recognition. Black Swan carries on the cinema verite approach to filmmaking that Aronofsky utilised with such amazing results on The Wrestler. This style probably has more to do with financial restraints but the final product cannot be argued with. Where the single camera approach added an intimate tone to Rourke's performance in The Wrestler, here it is intruding and sets the tone for the psychological menace yet to come.

This is where the comparisons come to an end; where The Wrestler was an intimate drama played with a surprisingly delicate hand from Aronofsky, Black Swan has much more in common with his more frantic and excessive early works and feels like the film he's been building up to all along.

The casting of Natalie Portman is the key to Black Swan's success. Portman as an actress is pristine and angel like, she is a woman turned thirty who has never really been allowed to be more than a girl in Hollywood. The character of Nina who we are intensely stuck to throughout the film must tap into her dark side in order to become both the white and black swan. Whereas she can dance the white swan effortlessly she does not have the power to let go and truly become brilliant in the dual role of the Swan Queen. Nina must transform from a girl into a women by unlocking her repressed sexual power, it is through the character of Lily (Mila Kunis) that Nina is able to do this. It is the transformation of Nina that the film rides on and Portman delivers a performance so convincing that it reminds you of what real immersive cinema is about; the use of the close-up is utilised over an over and it's underrated power shines through. The ability to be that close to a person's face and still feel comfortable with it is cinema's biggest weapon. In these close-ups Nina is childlike, she is fragile and innocent and often scared. When she is towards the end of her transformation into the Black Swan she becomes powerful, highly sexualised and dangerous.

Black Swan is very much Portman's film, the camera is never off her for more than a few seconds but the supporting cast is also perfect in every way. The relationship between Nina and her mother is played out with great care by Barbara Hershey as the creepiest mum since Carrie. We've seen the mother obsessed with her daughter's career in a bid to make up for their own failings time and time again and like so much in Black Swan it walks the fine line of cliche but ultimately transcends these components into something new. This is exactly what Black Swan does so well; it takes tired genre tricks and presents them in a fresh and exciting way delivering shock after shock.

Vincent Cassel commands the screen like a director should and succeeds in making his deviant and egocentric character instantly repulsive. Winona Ryder does her best with what limited screen time she has as former Swan Queen Beth who seems damaged by the role destined to take over Nina's life. Mila Kunis also excels as the smouldering and confident Lily who frees Nina from her repressed life, her character is minor but also the key to the film.

Black Swan is obsessed with duality, in the true gothic style the drama and the horror comes from the doppleganger. Every character has a double who they mirror in the present or will end up becoming in the future, the constant motif of mirrors throughout the film signifies this and makes for an uneasy viewing experience as we are never quite sure what's just been shown. Matthew Libatique's cinematography is stunning while ambiguous; shadows, reflections and faces blend and blur to throw us into Nina's paranoid delusions. Composer Clint Mansell who has scored all of Aronofsky's work to date also bravely re-imagines the timeless music of Swan Lake with audacious results that make the film feel like the collision of fairy tale and nightmare.

19th century ideals and earnings were portrayed by the Swan Queen in the story of Swan Lake, in Black Swan the story serves as a parable about womanhood and the 'dangers' of female sexuality. The film is shocking audacious and uncompromising in what it's willing to show and some suspension of disbelief might be needed in some of the films more fantastical scenes.

Black Swan is a career high of everyone involved and clearly the work of an auteur regarding director Darren Aronofsky. Like all his previous films Black Swan shows the frailty of the human condition and depicts a character obsessed with unrealistic goals, refusing to accept their psychical and mental limits.

Summary:

Tchaitovsky's Swan Lake had many detractors on it's release but was eventually considered his masterpiece - could this also be the case with Aronofsky's provocative film? Or will it be embraced by the masses and instantly recognised? I'm guessing the latter as Black Swan manages to be both a film about the impossibility of perfection while ironically ending up perfect.