Swan Lake, or, as I call it: Men in tights

17 March 2008

The Russian State Ballet of Siberia brought their touring production of Swan Lake to the theatre in Tunbridge Wells yesterday and Suzy and I were there in our (relative) finery, ready to enjoy the evening with the ladies and gentlemen of the town. UK readers may know Tunbridge Wells residents to be of a type; the sort of people who write indignant letters to The Times and sign their name as “Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells”. In short, posh people whom Suzy and I stand ready to mock. (For the record, my social class lies somewhere between posh and common, enabling me to see myself as far better than either.) We came to take our seats in the tiered stalls and found that Granny, Old-Looking Mother and Granddaughter of Tunbridge Wells were in our seats. No problem, we took theirs, putting us more central to the action, but seriously, was it really beyond them to look at the bloody numbers on the chairs? Observation was perhaps not a talent rife that evening, as exhibited by the woman I’d seen in the foyer trying to talk to someone on her mobile. Intent on finding a signal she had absentmindedly walked right up to the door of the disabled toilet and with her head practically resting on the wood, she was calling, “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”. And was then nearly knocked to the ground as the door was pushed open outwards by the perplexed person trying to leave.

Seated in the auditorium, with my linen jacket screwed up behind me so as to perfect the concertina-effect on the arms by the end of the evening, we took in our surroundings. The orchestra was warming-up and around us young girls in ballet gear and big fancy dresses were taking their seats with their mothers adorned in pearl necklaces. The Messrs Tunbridge Wells and their respective wives were out in force, sporting a variety of ill-advised outfits and hairdos, the best of which was to be found just a few seats away. Suzy noticed it first and it wasn’t long before we were both just staring (possibly open-mouthed), unable to fully comprehend its full awsomeness. The ‘do started as a ponytail, the tail then being pulled up to the front of the head and folded under, held in place there with combs and at the back with bright red hair clips – to match the bright red outfit.

Just before the house lights went down and the state orchestra began to play I heard Granny Tunbridge Wells chide her young charge in pained tones: “Please don’t talk about football at the ballet, Anya. I can’t bear it.”

So to the ballet. Ladies, have you ever been to the ballet? No, scrub that. Ladies, have you ever seen male ballet dancers in tights? That sight alone is worth the price of the ticket. I don’t really remember much of what happened, except there were men in tights leaping about and spinning. Oh, the spinning! There was a bloke in yellow – the prince’s wingman or something – and, if I knew who he was and how to contact him, I would scrape together whatever money I could find, buy him and watch him pirouette for me all day.

I didn’t read the story of Swan Lake before going to the theatre, because I didn’t want any surprises to be ruined. Quite what sort of devilish thriller I thought I was attending, I don’t know. Knowing exactly what was happening would have been more useful than “having an idea”, because the end took me completely by surprise. Suddenly everyone was taking their bows and the audience was clapping and clapping. I turned to Suzy and asked, “Were you expecting it to end then?” I had totally missed any sense of conclusion and was relieved to find that Suzy had felt the same. The white prince had disappeared off with the bad bloke in a clever whirl of fabric and then the gorgeous swan danced some more and suddenly that was it. Thank God for a Wikipedia synopsis, right?

The skill and athleticism of the dancers was mesmerising. The ballerina dancing the role of Odette had the longest, most graceful arms I’ve seen. When she first appeared she was lit by a spotlight from above, her movements exactly fitting within the shaft of light. You could quite understand the prince falling for her in that moment. Ah, the prince. Agile and strong. And wearing tights.