Black Swan and Fight Club

I recently rewatched two old films—Black Swan and Fight Club. I won’t retell their plots—there are plenty of reviews out there already. Instead, I’ll share an unexpected thought that struck me after watching them. What do you think these two films—a story about a ballerina and one about the founder of an underground terrorist organization—have in common? It’s that their protagonists encounter their alter ego—another side of themselves, the person they wish they could be but feel they can’t allow themselves to be.

It doesn’t matter so much what prevents the characters from accepting that part of themselves. In the case of Nina Sayers, Natalie Portman’s character in Black Swan, it seems to stem from her mother’s relentless control from childhood. Her mother keeps her in a world of pink toys, suffocating care that turns aggressive at the slightest hint of independence, in a childhood she’s long outgrown physically.

The protagonist of Fight Club has no name. Interestingly, his alter ego does have one—Tyler Durden—while his “first self” remains an anonymous “office drone,” never given a name throughout the story. The desires he suppresses clash with the norms of the society he lives in, preventing him from even acknowledging them.

So here’s the key similarity: both characters have traits, desires, and feelings they not only refuse to accept but actively refuse to see. Do you follow my train of thought?

The protagonists of both films torment themselves with purpose and precision. Most people rarely reject themselves to such an extreme. The result of this self-torment is that their suppressed thoughts and feelings find a terrifying outlet. Bypassing self-control, consciousness, and memory, their “other selves” emerge—behaving in ways the characters never could but secretly longed to. In reality, of course, it’s Nina Sayers and the unnamed protagonist of Fight Club who do all this, though they remember nothing.

Here’s something characteristic that no review of these films has mentioned: in both cases, the “first” self dismisses their true desires and feelings outright, while the “second” self successfully fulfills them. I’m talking about ordinary, harmless human desires—not the protagonist of Fight Club creating a terrorist organization or any of his other antisocial acts, but about living as he pleases, looking and dressing how he wants, and spending his free time as he sees fit.

As I see it, both films vividly reflect the fear modern society has of acknowledging and accepting its true desires. It’s something like this: “If you realize you don’t want to do unethical work every day, you’ll eventually end up creating a cult and killing a lot of people.” “If you admit you’d rather have dinner with a friend than your mother, you’ll end up killing yourself or going insane.” “Don’t dare acknowledge when or what you want to eat or drink, or you’ll become a drug addict.” And so on. That’s the message these two films seem to convey—their subtext screams with fear.

Because the alter ego, according to the plot, commits destructive acts that lead to the protagonists’ mental and physical ruin. With its emergence, the characters suffer and harm themselves and society. Yet at the same time, it’s the alter ego that grasps what simple human joy means for them. It understands when, how, and with whom to eat, drink, and sleep—something the original selves couldn’t do. The impression is that recognizing and accepting one’s needs leads to conflict with society and self-destruction. Makes sense, right?

What’s more, it feels like the creators of these films didn’t intend to embed this meaning—they did so unconsciously. And that’s sad. It’s like the saying: “Did the guy even realize what he was saying?” There are two films—Black Swan and Fight Club. There are their screenwriters and directors. In the second case, there’s the author of the book the film is based on. There’s a whole team involved in making the films. And yet, none of the reviewers or critics picking apart these movies noticed the accidental meaning dropped into them—the forbidden prohibition, the hidden fear. It’s like a blind spot.

What does this say to me? It tells me that our society has a taboo against recognizing and accepting one’s true desires, genuine feelings, and real needs. There’s a fear: what if they spiral out of control? How far will I go if I start doing what I truly want? People don’t realize that “going too far” often happens precisely when you refuse to acknowledge what you truly want to live and breathe for.

Let me clarify with the example of Black Swan. What if the heroine, having outgrown her toys, stopped living among them? What if she learned in time not to eat cake when it was unhealthy and she didn’t want it, but “Mom just wanted what was best”? What if she started socializing with men as a woman her age would, not when her own infantilism clashed with her art and career? What if these normal, natural actions were acceptable to her instead of being seen as belonging to the “dark side,” the corrupt Black Swan? What if she didn’t hate herself for these signs of growing up?

…Then perhaps she wouldn’t have fallen into such a severe internal conflict that she lost her mind—and stayed alive.

What if the unnamed protagonist of Fight Club had accepted himself enough to realize he didn’t want to work that job? What if he recognized that his life lacked natural emotions so much that he sought them out in support groups for the terminally ill (and notice—he didn’t go to a therapy group, because that would mean admitting there was a deficit in his life)? What if he acknowledged the growing aggression within him and found an outlet for it before it exploded? What if he could tell those around him, “This is where I want to live differently”?

…Then perhaps the internal conflict between what he wanted and what he thought society expected of him wouldn’t have led to the emergence of Tyler Durden, obsessed with destroying that very society.

So the sad truth is that the solution in these cases is to recognize and accept one’s feelings and desires, then find a way to fulfill them—once you understand and accept them, give them the right to exist.

Self-imposed bans and the fear of understanding “who I really am” lead to the opposite result. They push you in the wrong direction. The extreme outcome of this kind of self-policy is shown in Black Swan and Fight Club: an explosive, reckless realization of long-suppressed needs, destroying the self, others, and one’s life.

Meanwhile, a rational, constructive approach is actually simple and makes life pleasant. It’s about recognizing your needs, accepting them (“I am who I am, and I accept that”), and then finding solutions, creating a lifestyle where desires can be fulfilled, feelings expressed, and life improved rather than destroyed.

I’d like to end with a quote from F. Perls, the founder of Gestalt therapy:

“People eat when they’re lonely; they make love when they’re angry; they give speeches when they’re sexually frustrated.”

This is so true of our society—and it makes me sad.