It’s perhaps a story as old as time, certainly as old as art itself: the struggle of the true artist to battle politics, day-to-day existence and petty prejudices to realise and transcend themselves, find success and become one with the art itself. The American (also known asJoika in certain territories) is a solid demonstration of just such a struggle, and it uses a real-life example to bring authenticity to its depiction of the obstacles a determined dancer faces.
The latest film by director James Napier Robertson (The Dark Horse,Whina),The Americantells the real-life story of Joy Womack, an exceptional and highly regarded ballerina, at the beginning of her studies at the world-renowned Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Russia. We know from the information available that Womack was the first American woman to graduate from the Academy with a red diploma (recognition of outstanding performance) and only the second American woman to sign a contract with the Bolshoi Ballet. To join the Bolshoi was always Womack’s goal but, as The American makes clear, the journey to success was no easy ride by any stretch.
Your first thought might be to compareThe AmericanwithBlack Swan, but while both films do depict a struggling dancer trying to make it in the business of ballet, Robertson’s film has no desire to claim the supernatural elements of the Aronofsky chiller. Fittingly for a biopic, the world ofThe Americanis grounded in a recognisably ‘real’ world, not only that of Moscow (substituted out for Poland in the filming, pretending to be Moscow) but also the real challenges, both mental and physical, that aspiring ballerinas face daily to become such high-level performers.
Throughout The American, we are shown with bone-crushing frankness the severe physical and mental damage that can be caused by pushing oneself as far as you can go in the pursuit of excellence. Bloody Ballet shoes and straining, cracking bones appear throughout and the moments Joy dances through the pain are both awe-inspiring and wince-worthy. Early in the film, Joy refuses painkilling injections; what may be seen as foolhardy for health is presented as the symptom of a desire to reach beyond the fragility of the body and to enter an inspired body where the pain is transcended and the artist realises themselves and their success.
That such bodily trauma is not only normalised but is entirely expected is something The American makes plain. Joy’s teacher, Tatiyana Volkova (played by a compellingly emotionally complex Diane Kruger), makes Joy’s life an absolute hell to begin with. Tatiyana clearly has her favourites, a severe case of teacher’s pet getting the rewards, but as Joy progresses further through her lessons and into her career, she begins to realise the obstacles looking to check her at every opportunity—politics, race, cultural differences gender politics, personal relationships, and abuse of power—are much more substantial and extremely debilitating than she ever thought. The American follows Joy as she traverses this treacherous path and finds she will have to push herself much further than she ever realised she would.
Talia Ryder (Do Revenge, The Sweet East) gives vivid life to the celluloid version of Joy Womack, very successfully instilling the role with the self-assurance, confidence and vulnerability required to capture Joy’s turbulent emotions; where Womack aches, Ryder makes us ache for her, generating compassion for her struggles with the unfairness of the system she finds herself in and her frustrated desire for self-expression at the highest level of success her desires demand. Ryder burns at such moments, really putting across the self-consuming passion of Joy convincingly and without cliches.
Impressively, Ryder rises to the challenge of portraying such a distinguished dancer where it perhaps most matters and would be the most difficult to imitate—the dance performance. I understand Talia Ryder has a background in dance, and she worked hard with Joy Womack herself and Daniel Ulbricht, the principal dancer with the New York Ballet, but even so, having to represent such a renowned dancer at what she does best, you might imagine it would be a nerve-racking proposition.
If there was any intimidation in the role, Talia Ryder does not show it, stepping (or dancing) up to the challenge with aplomb. Admittedly, my knowledge of ballet is very little, but I was completely convinced by the mesmeric physicality and intricacies of Ryder’s dance performances throughout the film. Most importantly, at those moments where Joy appears to be forgetting herself, losing herself in the transcendence of dance, the actress appears to lose herself in the role in the best way possible.
It is those moments of artistic transcendence where the cinematography lives up to the story it is telling. A good chunk of the film’s cinematography takes a no-frills approach, not a bad thing per se; it lets the film tell its story without intruding. However, this does mean that there is not a lot within the film that is particularly formally interesting. The film bucks this approach during the dance performances, whether on stage in a theatre or in Joy’s imagination, where she envisions her rehearsals to be ecstatic demonstrations on a beautiful stage to the rapture of an adoring audience.
At those moments, the film’s cinematography perks up, as if suddenly inspired by the emotions at play. While subtle, it utilises a softer focus and plays with silhouette and spotlight to dress the dances in an added sensuality, without fetishism for the male gaze. This sensuality nicely captures the romance of the artist lost beautifully in their art, and arguably it would have added to the film’s appeal to have included more of these delicate, atmospheric touches.
For all this though, The American succeeds in what it sets out to do: to tell a true-life story of an exceptionally talented dancer trying to realise herself through her art and battling with the political, personal and social obstacles preventing them from doing so. That it is an honest, direct portrayal is much to The American’s credit.