I went to the Boston Ballet’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream last night. I may have been to ballet or two as a child, but this is the first professional production that I can remember. It was sort of an unplanned venture; I tagged along with my office-neighbor who was going with some of her friends.
The performance was at the Wang Theater (now CitiWang), which I recognized as we arrived as the site of my sophomore formal at MIT. It was far more ornate than I remembered; every surface of the theater and lobby are covered in hand carvings and gold leaf (or maybe just gold paint).
The performance was amazing. I have real trouble describing it. I guess that’s because my opinions fall into two categories.
Good:
The dancing is flawless. Within a few minutes you completely forget that the performers are doing absolutely impossible things. Often, they’re doing gracefully and without a hint of difficulty the same motions that I did as arduous strength training for my swim team in high school. Ballet is like running a marathon while miming. The choreography is very evocative, and each character has distinctive movements that display their character and emotion. There was a great deal of comedy, and the audience frequently burst out laughing. The music is also wonderful, though in this case the ballet was written after the music, which was written to reflect Shakespeare’s play. The staging was also wonderful, with simple, dramatic scenery and lighting and great use of fog. Much of the cast is made up of children perhaps seven years old, giving a performance that I could never have executed at any age.
Bad:
Despite the best efforts of the choreographer, there is simply no way to tell a real story in ballet. Even having read the complete plot summary beforehand, I was usually mystified as to the identities of the characters and what they were doing. At one point one of them unfurled a great scroll containing some kind of flowchart; I have no idea what that was about. Ballet is a language I do not speak, and it seemed that the audience frequently burst into applause after certain performances, presumably because they were especially virtuosic. I had no idea which ones were especially good; it all looked about the same. Also, there is a distinct lack of emotional subtlety: characters may hold their heads in their hands to indicate crying, but how do you mime disillusionment and quiet desperation?
Unfortunately, I left my hat home yesterday morning, which meant that by yesterday evening I had a seriously terrible cold. That may have dampened my enjoyment of the performance. Nonetheless, I’m glad I went.