resigning to the fact that i just didn’t like it.

i haven’t done a movie review in a while and as much as i want to refrain from even touching this topic, i just can’t.

black swan.

ugh.

so the consensus across the globe seems to be “I LOVED IT!”

well . . . i didn’t.

i  mean, did we see the same movie? WTFFFFFF DID I JUST WATCH?

[was precisely my response as i peeled myself up off the theater floor and ran home as quick as i could to take a shower. not unlike the crying game. minus the whole gender recognition fail.]

as a 15-year ballet veteran, i can certainly appreciate the art and the performance. for crying out loud, natalie portman owned it. the dancing, that is. (if you can forget, for a moment, that she spent the entire two-hour span crying. which straddled a very thin line between annoying and down right crazy.)

i can also appreciate the fact that the life of a dancer can (and likely will) make you a little bit nuts from time to time (or in her case all.the.damn.time.). try spending 15 years of your life standing half naked in a room surrounded by mirrors on 3 out of 4 walls next to a horde of other half naked girls – for 40 hours a week, every week – while trying to redefine the meaning of perfection several times every minute and then come back to me and let me know how sane you actually feel.

and you can’t discount the toll it takes on your body. and in my case, still is.*

hello, 3 knee surgeries. you have been a real blast.

[and if you’re one of the lucky few like me, whose stomach can’t handle painkillers all that well, then you might get to live out the scene where your surgeon makes a bedside visit to your home at midnight to jam a horse tranquilizer in your ass because the pain is off the charts and you are screaming so loud that your parents are afraid child protective services are already en route. with sirens.]

putting all of that aside, i will say that ballet was one of the greatest things that ever happened to me. it was by all accounts my first love and i’m just going to leave it at that.

okay, but back to the film.

it’s bananas.

and that’s really about the extent of my review.

the sexual innuendos were absurd. the masturbation was unnecessary (and there were two – count them, TWO – of these blessed scenes of implication. one, of which, included an elderly man on a subway . . . do i really need to elaborate??)

i just wanted it to end.

and fortunately it did. and then i could go home and watch rainbow brite or something.

*sometimes i practice ballet moves at home. which i hardly recommend doing unless you live in a mansion. and i do not.

this is what you get for lacking a sense of spatial recognition and forgetting that your 9’ x 4’ room made for cooking is not, in fact, a very safe place to dust off your fouettes. which is french for “whipped.”

yeah, i’ll say.