The Repulsive Fly in Red Shoes

It's approaching midnight and I am being kept awake by visions of Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis dancing in my head. I can't remember the last time that I had such a visceral reaction to a movie. Perhaps it's because I spent just enough time worrying that I could never dance as well as the bunheads who had spent years in a studio. Maybe it's because I've thrilled to watch the scale dip below 100. Or it could stem from the years I spent writing about femmes fatales in graduate school. But, whatever the reason, I felt every torn cuticle, every bloody scratch, every thrust of the nail file, every kiss, every disappointment, and every thrill that Nina experienced. Repulsed, fascinated, and excited, I couldn't keep my eyes on or take my eyes off of Nina while she disintegrated on screen.

It should come as no surprise that I'd be entranced by ballet noir. I had been anticipating the movie for months. But what did surprise me about my reaction to the movie is what went through my mind during her final breakdown(or should I say triumph?) Like any normal audience member, my stomach dropped when she fell on her ass during the opening pas de deux and I was even more shocked when she attacked her doppelganger. However, when she dragged her bloody doppelganger into the bathroom and tapped into her inner black swan, my heart soared. I thought to myself, You go evil femme fatale and dance that fallen ass off. I thrilled to see her embody the black swan. I loved it when she pulled the ballet director into a steamy kiss. And as she fell to her death in the finale, I realized that at the moment I firmly believed that such a moment of sublimity is worth the price.

Why should such a cautious woman as myself think such a thing?