Black Swan

A confusing evening.

First:

I found out that the scrawny little girl from "The Professional" and (especially) the annoying bitch from "That Seventies Show" had got all growed up and turned into heart-stoppers. Yeah, I'd watched Princess Amidala sprout, and saw Kunis get all hard-core in "Book of Eli," but still, THIS was different. I mean, Portman's still pretty angular for my taste, but Kunis is absolutely BANGIN' hot.

Second:

In my whole life, I never once "got" ballet, not even for a second. I'd hear all this stuff about the grace and beauty of the dance, the flowing lines, the enormous flying élévation of the dancers as they bounce out a wad of entrechats, grands jetés and other supposedly "floating" or "flying" moves.

In truth, all I could see was a bunch of bony women and muscled fruits clumping around in their underwear, standing on their toes, and performing a variety of weirdness that could best be described as somewhat rhythmic running and jumping and arm waving.

It was generally about as graceful as a 7th-grade gym class, as far as I could tell.

All of this was mired in exactly the kind of orchestration you might think would be associated with that sort of thing (e.g., over-layered elevator music, mostly) and was as utterly incomprehensible as Sanskrit.

Then, the other night, The Beneficiary made me watch "Black Swan."

Oh. It's a freakin' STORY. Well, crap, why didn't someone just say so?

In Our Next Episode: We discuss the scene that cinched the "Best Picture" Oscar nomination - Mila Kunis raises her head, face framed between Natalie Portman's thighs, and with an evil grin, licks her lips, then wipes them on the back of her hand. You never saw art like THAT in Tchaikovsky's version. Brava! Bravissimo!