It’s always nice to get a freebie. This week Leigh had one for today’s matinee at New York City Ballet. They’re still celebrating the centennial of his birth, and I knew that I “should” see the company at least once for one of their patented all-Balanchine programs. Some of you may know that I’m not exactly a “Mr. B”-tnick; this could have been a rather medicinal experience for me.
Fortunately, although the program was classic, rather than obscure, Balanchine (Square Dance, La Sonnambula, and Chaconne), it was, unlike Symphony in C or Serenade or Jewels, I felt no pressure to stand in awe of one of Balanchine’s Greatest Masterpieces (I’ve always found the hero-worshipping and cult figureheading of “Mr. B” a little hard to swallow.) One (La Sonnambula) was even a story with a plot and everything, just how I like my ballets; the other two were happy dances. I like happy dancing.

Unfortunately, that’s not what I got from most of the corps. I know I’m getting old, but it looked like 60% of the female corps de ballet this afternoon was not yet old enough to vote. They should be wearin’ junior prom dresses, not tutus. Skinny, nervous, neck cords so tight I thought one of ‘em would have an aneurism. Girls, girls, girls, it’s a square dance, it’s supposed to be fun. Look at Miranda Weese, all speed-of-light feet. No strain in her neck. She’s a happy dancer.

La Sonnambula is a story of lust and romance and betrayal and murder. Yeah, right. It’s an excuse for a ballerina to bourree around the stage with her eyes unfocused. Cool. If that’s the excuse you give me for Wendy Whelan, I’ll take it. The woman could walk out on stage and fall down and I’d be enraptured.

You can learn a lot by reading the program notes. I learned today that “Chaconne” is a musical form, like a waltz, not the name of the main character in the balle… oh, wait, this is Balanchine. No stories, no plots, no characters with names. Guess I never put that much thought into it before.

I’ve decided that I like the aging Darci Kistler even better than I liked the young phenom Darci. In the absence of plot, I need a personality to keep me interested in the dancing. (And no, insecure teenage girl who bites her lower lip on stage is not “personality.”) Darci married her boss and is now an upper-middle class housewife with a couple of kids but kept her career so now she’s also an aging ballerina who, at this performance, was dancing with the stepson who is more her contemporary than her husband. Now THAT’s a personality! She can fall out of a double pirouette and still be the most mesmerizing presence on the stage. You go, Girl!