In early 2011, sometime after the film was released on home video, I sat down with mum to watch what she had heard was a “new ballet movie” by Darren Aronofsky. I was 12 years old, spending school nights training to be a professional dancer. Without any warmup, knowing very little of the pointe work that earned Natalie Portman her best actress Oscar, we pressed play on Black Swan.
Well before Brendan Fraser’s time on the couch and the many houseguests of Mother!, Aronofsky increased the wattage with a companion piece to follow his heavy-hitter, The Wrestler. Watching Nina Sayers’ (Portman) intense physical trials and her stilted sexual awakening, with my mum beside me, I was understandably disturbed. At this point in my adolescence, I thought Jumanji was a scary movie. Like the film’s injured bird, I was being introduced to a darkness I didn’t understand. And somehow I couldn’t get enough. Why did it feel so good?
