As I left the theatre this evening after a stirring dance performance of Amadeus by the Atlantic Ballet, I overheard a man explaining the dramatic closing scene to a small child, a scene in which the body of Mozart is placed into a harpsichord symbolizing a coffin. As the music swelled with feeling, the symbolic sands of time rain down upon the closed lid and the curtains close.
"You see", the man was saying to the little girl (not more than four years old), "even though Mozart died his music is still with us and loved by people today".
The curly-haired poppet nodded seriously. "Yes, I know that. But...did they REALLY put him in a piano?!"
You could tell she really needed to know.
Ah, art appreciation can start young. :)
Colour me impressed that all the bow-tied, neatly-combed little children in the audience sat through a two-hour performance in perfect silence considering the medium of ballet is not big on comic relief or explanation--I'm assuming here that the program explaining the symbolism of various props and the tortured lives of Salieri and Mozart was lost on the preschool set.
This evening at the ballet was an unexpected gift to me. My mother-in-law bought the ticket before she realized she'd be sunning herself on a Mexican beach on the date involved. Voila! A wonderful night out for me!
Gorgeous music. Pretty ballerinas. Standing ovations.
Distractingly sculptured male dancers. (You know, I tried to pay attention to the dancing, but physiques that are that comic-book hero perfect are hard to look away from! Thank goodness they put on frilly shirts by the next scene!)
There was one ballerina I particularly liked. She was tall, fey and elegant and played the character of the fickle Muse, the drive behind the two composers' inspiration. She generally toyed with their emotions, bestowing her favour and affection first on one and then withdrawing it from the other to their distress.
Capricious ballerina dressed in blue!
You knew she was evil when she lounged atop the harpsichord and began to blow smoke-rings from a long slim cigarette-holder. I've never seen a ballet dancer smoking on stage before (albeit in a stylistic fashion). Maybe I should get out more!