A review of the film written while the movie plays (twice).
Awful spoilers to be sure.

* * *
Doubt, mistrust of one's own mind. A woman betrayed.
A transformation.
I felt as though the film swept me in and out of reality. I hardly needed my eyes, and closed them often. I found the tactile sensations too much to bear. Portman cries and breaks down, skin tears, Ryder stabs herself, my heart races, and I feel sick. The paintings on the wall cry out. Her legs break. The feathers come. The music, the screams overwhelm me.

I don't know what is real anymore. I can't tell. I hear the music. . .

I know this movie messed with my head because I have always thought bodies and ballet to be so beautiful. Not something seen, but felt. Erotic, but never sexual. I watch bodies move and see them slower than life, like every move leaves a trail in the air, and I feel them through my eyes. My muscles tense, my breathe is heavy.

But not at the end of this film. My mind was too preoccupied. The beauty was lost in the perfection and the madness. I couldn't feel anything, and I could only cry. I am left alone with my tears, the music mocks me with pity.

* * *
Quite a trip, no?

I can't believe that is all I have to show for watching it twice. There is no way I am watching any part of it again tonight.

I haven't had such a jarring emotional swing in a LONG time. That movie was far to intense to experience alone. I am glad I am feeling especially empowered tonight.
What a ride.