The Ballet

Although she will probably deny this, every time we pass Lincoln Center my wife looks wistfully at the shining white buildings and sighs. I have been playing my role as dutiful husband and encouraging her to get us tickets to some of the cities more cultured affairs, because while we may often deny it going to these artsy performances is a fun experience. At Christmas time they put a tree to rival Rockefeller Center, and in fitting with the surroundings covered it with white lights. We sat around the fountain and watched the kids playing tag while older more elegantly dressed people hurried to make it on time. It was quite a sight to say the least and living so close to the buildings we pass by them quite often on our way down broadway. Regretfully we hadn't even attempted to get tickets yet, and the sight was a near constant reminder that sometime we should skip the movie theater just once.

Last night my wife went by the tkts booth for the first time since we arrived in the city and managed to purchase orchestra level tickets to the Kirov Ballet at the New York City Center (at half price). We both rushed home after work and fulfilled our required chores of dog walking and park running before heading back out with a half eaten pop tart in hand. I must admit I hadn't put much thought to what proper ballet attire is, so we put on some comfortable slacks and a dress (for her not me thank you) and started walking towards 55th and 7th avenue.

With time to spare we arrived to see the mass of people milling about outside the front door. For every couple dressed in tuxedos and top hats there was another in the timeless classic jeans and tshirt. Walking in I could hear all manner of dialects and many conversations in what I assumed was Russian. The security force was quite a spectical, all in matching suits and oddly colored jackets, not a man under 80 in the whole group. On the way to our seats two members of this elite taskforce stopped us to see our ticket, looking me over head to toe with a practiced and concerned eye before allowing us to pass down the aisle.

The hall was probably ninety percent full as the curtain went down, the russian couple to the left of us shouting back 'Da' to the stage as one of the performers began a dance by asking a question in Russian. The actual performance itself was less entertaining than the spectacle surrounding our trip to the show. The twirling and leaps are all rather impressive but within several minutes of each act my mind wandered with boredom. I mentally placed the tall limber dancers on a basketball court and debated myself how their athletic abilities might translate.

My inner monologue reached no conclusion before the act finished and I joined the crowd in clapping for what felt like 10 minutes. The performers would join hands and smile to each other, obviously pleased with themselves before rushing forward for each to take a turn bowing to the clapping crowd. In between acts it felt like we had the whole stage to ourselves, as much of the audience piled out the back for what I guessed was a smoke and a drink. Neither of us could figure out the reason for so long a break between dances, as some 30 minutes would pass by before the crowds returned as I gazed longily at the couple several rows behind us with the forsight to bring a book. We tried to talk in hushed tones as something felt oddly wrong about carrying on a normal conversation in a place that just minutes before had been deathly silent as the dancers performed.

After three acts and a series of odd music and strange experimental dancing the show was at last over, and we quickly exited with the crack security staff now holding open the doors. It was a nice feeling to know that we could get some culture, and an even better feeling to realize the stage deli was just around the corner. I don't think there are many places in the world you can pound back sandwhiches the size of your face and discuss the ballet. It was kind of fun although my vote for the next play is still Monty Python's Spamalot.