augury doggerel

Monday, March 18, 2002


We went to the ballet Sunday night.

I don�t dress up. I wore the same boots and trousers I wore into the woods on Saturday. I go to sit in the dark and watch and listen, not to be watched or listened to. I did brush most of the mud off my boots, though.

This was Don Quixote, an 1869 Russian ballet by a Frenchman and an Austrian transplanted to Moscow. A proper ballet ballet. The women were ninety percent leg, wore elaborate lampshades around their skinny waists, and hopped about on their toes like the Lost City Lemur Women. The men were tighted and superbuttocked. The orchestra was competent and the music was pleasant. The audience was a bit too clappy � they clapped too often, clapped after every damned turn at one point, but the clap is a common disease now. No one near me had trouble with coughing or farts, so I can hardly complain.

I won�t try to review the dancing. It was goodish, considering this was a backwater dance company with the funding of a school play. My friend, who was a bit of a dancer herself, is always nervous watching the performers here � she says they look a bit off-balance, out of control, ready to fall � but they usually don't seem that bad to my amateur eyes. I�m just happy to see anything. Going to the ballet here is like watching a cover band � you lower your expectations a little, forgive the wrong notes, and enjoy your night out.


Post a Comment

<< Home