Realism and magic realism

Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan surely catches our attention because Natalie Portman’s Nina Sayers grows feathers after she kills Mila Kunis’s Lily backstage to perform the Black Swan role in the final act. You cannot just forget the film because of that.

This psychological thriller—featuring Natalie Portman’s Nina Sayers, a ballerina haunted by some schizophrenic ambition—brims with magic realism, an aesthetic style in which “magical elements are blended into a realistic atmosphere in order to access a deeper understanding of reality.” The effects particularly in the final ballet scene where Nina grows more feathers than the previous times it appeared would surely remind us of the film.

Because of the device used, we are made to believe that “magical elements are explained like normal occurrences that are presented in a straightforward manner” allowing the “real” (Nina Sayers dream to be the Swan Queen) and the “fantastic” (she really becomes a Swan) to be accepted in the same stream of thought.

The obsession to become the Swan Queen later brings into the character graphic hallucinations that eventually cost Nina Sayers’ life.

Natalie’s facial features being transformed into a swan—rouged eyes, aquiline nose and elongated neck—all compliment to a dramatic flourish—where at the end of the performance, even we the audience could be convinced that she very well looks as the best Swan Queen for Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake.

While Nina Sayers’ obsession for the Swan Queen role is enough persuasion, the horrific undertones notwithstanding, we the audience get the eerie feeling in Aronofsky’s close-up shots of the lead character who dances her way to death as the ambition-obsessed ballerina who lived and was haunted by realities she herself created.

Anyone or anything from Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan will win an Oscar. Choreography, effects, actress. Let’s see.

Meanwhile.

The first time I watched Christian Bale’s Dicky Eklund in The Fighter, I already rooted for him to win a Best Supporting Actor citation.

A drama about boxer “Irish” Micky Ward’s unlikely road to the world light welterweight title, The Fighter features Ward’s Rocky-like rise as he is shepherded by half-brother Dicky, a boxer-turned-trainer who rebounded in life after nearly being knocked out by drugs and crime.

A far cry from Batman and his previous roles, Christian Bale’s Dicky Eklund exudes with stark realism, a has-been boxer backed up by his mother who hoped for a could have been contender, reminiscent of Marlon Brando’s Terry Malloy in Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954).

Not another boxing movie at the Oscars you might say. But there is more to this boxing movie which rather “depicts subjects as they appear in everyday life.”

In The Fighter, we see Dicky Eklund’s mere claim to fame is his 1978 boxing match with Sugar Ray Leonard, where Eklund knocked down Leonard, who eventually won the match.

Now a crack addict, Eklund is in front of HBO cameras making a documentary about him. Dicky has also acted as one of the two trainers for half-brother Micky Ward, a decade younger than him, first known as a brawler and used by other boxers as a stepping stone to better boxers.

Both boxers are managed by their overbearing mother Alice Ward (Melissa Leo) who believes it better to keep it all in the family. Now unreliable owing to his crack addiction, Dicky’s move with Alice at one of Micky’s bouts dawns on the latter that his boxing career is being stalled and even undermined by them, who are only looking out for themselves.

The situation allows Bale’s character to deliver an un-contrived performance that highlights a family drama and gives sibling rivalry a kind of high never before seen onscreen before.

Meanwhile, Amy Adams’ Charlene Fleming—Micky’s new girlfriend, a college dropout and now local bartender who inspires him—pulls out the fulcrum to the other side, opposite Micky’s family, when she salvages him from this predicament.

Much to Alice and Dick’s anger, Micky comes to choose between them and Charlene. The story’s rising action renders each character emotionally charged—each one wanting to claim what is good for the fighter, and each one being allowed to shine individually onscreen. Awesome story.

Bale’s character greatly evolved from the Batman lead role and other virile roles to one that exudes with so much life. Like Tom Hanks’ Andrew Beckett in Jonathan Demme’s Philadelphia (1993), Bale must have shed weight to fit the role of a has-been boxer who makes business out of his brother just like his mother.

Earning three Oscar nominations for Bale, Adams and Leo, The Fighter drives some of the best punches among other films I have seen in the past year.

The first time I watched it last year, I immediately thought it was essentially noteworthy of recognition. Christian Bale’s crack[ed] character is so real you will find him in your neighborhood.

With the larger-than-life performance of an underdog who wants to bounce back, Bale’s character transforms the movie about his brother to a movie about himself. If at all, he is the Fighter being referred to in the film.

Let’s see how some real practitioners of the craft consider these performances, which other people might call art.