Natalie Portman in Vox Lux (NEON)

 As noted in a recent article in the New York Times, trigger warnings in contemporary theater have become ubiquitous, forewarnings of strobe lights, smoking, nudity, graphic language, and so forth. One can only imagine the viewer discretion announcement for actor/filmmaker Brady Corbet’s vibrant and all-over-the-place Vox Lux: “The following contains graphic violence, salty language, and a depiction of American nihilism and excess.”

Corbet is definitely painting a big picture here, though centering the story on an international pop star, Celeste Montgomery, played in the first half by Raffey Cassidy and in the second by a strident, take-no-prisoners Natalie Portman. As the subtitle proclaims, the movie is “A Twenty-First Century Portrait.” Perhaps a trigger warning wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Even knowing beforehand about the specifics of the plot, the film’s bursts of violence are shocking.

Celeste was born into a town on the “losing side of Reaganomics,” according to narrator Willem Dafoe. At 14, she survives a tragedy in 1999 that receives international news coverage and has to undergo physical rehabilitation and learn how to walk again. After a news clip of a memorial service with her singing a plaintive song she wrote, she’s handpicked by a hotshot music manager (Jude Law) to become a top-40 sensation and video star. But in order to become more than a one-hit wonder, she needs the aid of her older sister, Eleanor (Stacy Martin), in the control room. The resulting first hit single becomes so overproduced that her vocals are buried under layers of synthesizers.

If the first half chronicles a teenager entering the lion’s den of ubiquitous fame, then the second hour saunters in a morning-after stupor. Now in her 30s, Celeste, belying her name, has grown into an entitled drama queen, generating strife while on tour promoting her latest, and sixth, album, Vox Lux.  Her brittle behavior is exacerbated by all types of drugs, alcohol, and guilt of many trips, whether for surviving the earlier horrific incident or for feeling like a sham. (Her sister’s imprint remains behind the scenes and out of the public eye.) In the last 18 years of her eventful life, Celeste has become blind in one eye and was involved in a racial incident that went viral.

Celeste—hungover and demanding—tries to connect to her teenage daughter, Albertine (in another sensitive performance by, again, Raffey Cassidy), who is now roughly the same age as Celeste when she began her music career. However, it’s quite noticeable that the grown-up Celeste now speaks in a heavy New Yawk accent while her younger self speaks softly and eloquently, like Portman in Jackie. The dispositions between the teenage Celeste and her as a grown-up are as different as night and day.

Nevertheless, the acting is so assured that the film moves along though Corbet sometimes films scenes in static shots that go on and on, yet the film remains buoyant and nerve-wracking. Fast cuts are not necessary to get the jitters when Portman’s Celeste takes over the narrative.

The scenario is definitely of the times. Unlike another music-oriented drama, the new A Star Is Born, contemporary ethos and lifestyles permeate the entire film. The story of Celeste could not have happened without the rise of the Internet and social media, and Portman’s amped-up, ready to rumble strut moves at a faster rate than the current news cycle. She talks so fast that she could give His Girl Friday’s Rosalind Russell a run for her money; of course, it helps that Celeste is also fueled by cocaine. Among the highlights of her performance is an exquisite pratfall by Portman. (Next stop, screwball comedy, please.) Clearly, the actress’s brash swagger in the hip-hop send-ups on Saturday Night Live prepared her well for this role.

The overall portrait that Corbet depicts will be depressingly familiar for anyone who has even perfunctorily been keeping up with the news, and he has created an American saga of success through a jaundice European lens. He shoots sequences more in the style of 1970s European cinema, from the opening and closing credits to the almost documentary feel of working-class Staten Island, where Celeste grew up, a location that could double here for many cities in the industrial Upper Midwest. However, at times the too on-the-nose voice-over slips into pulp speak, “Her loss of innocence mirrored that of the nation,” and the dialogue becomes too self-aware: “I’m a private girl in a public world.” In what may be seen as one of Corbet’s pretentious touches, chapter breaks are given titles such as “Act I: Genesis.”

Yet Corbet has apparently gotten the same memo as other directors: that it’s better to leave the audience wanting more and to top the film with a flourish. The last 20 minutes of Bohemian Rhapsody saved what is otherwise a by-the-numbers biopic of Queen frontman Freddie Mercury by re-creating the band’s Live Aid set. Even after the two-hour mark, Luca Guadagnino resuscitated the pulse of his Suspiria with a long, muscular modern dance sequence. Now, Corbet closes his film with a glittering Celeste in concert.

She has somehow pulled herself together after a day of booze and drugs to arrive sober on stage for her hometown concert, and the director gives the audience what they have been waiting for, even if they hadn’t realize it: Portman performs a roughly 10 minutes set of original songs written by Sia and choreographed by Benjamin Millepied, the former Director of Dance at the Paris Opera Ballet and Portman’s real-life husband.

Portman owns the stage. The combination of the thump thump thump of the drum machine and Celeste’s relishing the limelight is infectious and a much-needed respite from the murky darkness and solemnness that permeates most of the movie, as well as reminding us why Celeste is a star, even though the music itself sounds generic, which is probably the point.

The teenage Celeste wanted to make music to make people feel good. Eighteen years later, Celeste remains in the spotlight, dancing her way into a state of delirium. While the screenplay provides the dark undercurrents, Portman and the music give it light.