Lame that I would have to spend my Friday night watching the Cinderella ballet. Lamer still that I’d write about it, and title it with a quote from the movie Pretty Woman. But, such is my married life. When Sai told me that she wanted to see the Christopher Wheeldon ballet at the Kennedy Center, I thought, “Okay, he did a great job with Firefly, and the Avengers is highly entertaining.” Wait, that was Joss Whedon, no relation.
We sat in the fourth row from the front (just beyond the orchestra pit), with me in my casual Friday work clothes looking like a slob at the fancy theatre. Fortunately, no eyes were upon me in the darkened theatre, as the dancers on stage were much more attractive. Cinderella was hot!! Of course, all of the ballerinas had amazing legs, and wore outfits that did not restrict such lithe, thinly muscular appendages from freely twirling before me. But Cindee also had the benefit of being Asian, albeit technically Canadian (Frances Chung was listed as from British Columbia, but the name and appearance suggest a Chinese bloodline). And everyone knows I’m partial to the Asian persuasion. Frances wasn’t Thai, but close enough.
When this lovely dancer stared lovingly at her prince charming cohort, I stared lustily at her, and Sai glared angrily at me. Okay, that last part is not true, since the culture-seeking wife yet again dragged me to an event at which she struggled to stay awake. For those keeping score (like me), that would be one Phantom of the Opera (boring as hell, assuming the underworld is as boring as an opera), one Sad Guru (who entertained me, but she needed toothpicks to keep her eyelids from closing), one ballet, and countless Thai parties (wait, at those events, it is I who usually prefers slumber).
Sai was ready for bed by the first intermission at 8:30. By the second break at 9:25, she couldn’t care less if the prince ever figured out where the slipper belonged. He could shove it up his ass or slip it over the sock in the front of his leotard for all she cared, just let her sleep. My wife is tired these days. I think she’s getting ready to hibernate for the winter.
For my part, I was grateful for the program guide that gave the narrative ahead of the program. With this quick CliffsNote, I was able to follow the action without wondering why the hell there were dancing tree gnomes or why Cindee was not freaked out by the four guys constantly manhandling her, groping her as if she were DJT’s property (aren’t we all?). The muses wore masks like the Sons of the Harpy, and were rather terrifying to the uninformed eye, but I knew better. For her part, when Cindee wasn’t spinning on her own, she was lifted and spun and passed like a baton by the dancers around her.
Quick synopsis: At opening curtain, Cindee and her happy family soon suffer the loss of her mother after she’s crushed by a chandelier (wait, wrong show). No, her mom dies, young Cindee cries, and four guys in gold masks decide to stalk her for the rest of the show. A few years later, (fortunately the show skipped over these intervening years, or we would have really been bored), Cindee’s dad finds a new mom for her, but the petulant girl rejects this newer, healthier dancer, along with her step-siblings. Just like on the Brady Bunch, Cindee was always a brat. Dad plus new mom plus two step-sisses live happily ever after, while Emo-rella opts into a life of subservience, cooking and cleaning and waiting on her family. Some would say that is a woman’s rightful place, but I would never say such a thing with my wife within earshot.
Meanwhile, the young prince prefers to spend all of his time with his BFF, like the ill-fated heir from Braveheart, while his parents encourage him to find a woman to cook and clean and wait on them. Just kidding, they already had plenty of servants. They just wanted a princess to convince the kingdom that prince charming wasn’t gay (this was in olden times, when the liberals weren’t such a strong PAC). How to attract a princess and prove the prince’s masculinity? Have him wear tights and prance around at a ball, naturally.
The prince and his “friend” swap places to dispense with the invitations, with the former dressing like a bum to his bud’s royal garb, as they fool the commoners like a couple of punks. Add some Soul-Glo and Sexual Chocolate, and you’ve got Coming To America, more or less.
Mean step-mommy throws Cindee’s invitation into the fire, but the muses take her into the woods where (can you guess? a) Ritual Sacrifice, b) Raging Kegger, or c) Dance Lessons) – a bunch of spirits dance for her, including the aforementioned big-headed gnomes, then throw her into a tree (think Stranger Things), but she emerges in a new golden outfit and mask, with everything except for laces for her loose slippers. She is the belle of the ball, out-waltzing everyone else, charming her gay prince, alienating her family, and encouraging her step-mom to get hammered and to give the best drunken dance since the time you got black-out drunk at that wedding and… never mind.
Her older step-sister (let’s call her Marcia) rips off Cindee’s mask, embarrassing the poor girl (because she assumes Prince Trump won’t like her because she’s Chinese), so she runs away. Prince is like WTF? I was hoping to take off more than her mask and right shoe… end Scene II.
Really, why did she run away? (My darker theory here) – The wood spirits gave her peyote or some other psychedelic mushroom that temporarily removed the stick from her ass, giving her license to let loose at the ball. Around midnight, the drug’s potency wore off (with her mask), the stick returned, and the emo wacko couldn’t dance anymore. Cinderella’s headed for a lifetime of substance abuse my friends. It’s a grimm tale. And the muses are dealers. And ballet would (probably) be more interesting on hallucinogens.
Scene III, you’ve seen this before, Marcia takes a football to the face, Prince finds the right foot, and the other girls are left behind. Except for step-sister number two, let’s call her Jan, who ends up marrying the Prince’s BFF, proving the gay guys were only waiting to find the right girls. Who knew that ballet had such a homophobic message? And with the San Francisco Ballet, nonetheless. How ironic! Before you mainstream media liberal bastards from California get ready to boycott his next project, remember that it was not Joss who wrote it, it was his brother Christopher Wheeldon.
One downside to being so close to the stage was that it was too close to the action, such that you’d have to focus on the performer right in front of you, while others were “acting” on other parts of the stage. From a more distant seat, you’d probably see more of the forest for the tree gnomes.
Another downside is that that close to the front, of course you have to stand to give the standard standing ovation at the end. Aren’t these too cliché? Not that they weren’t deserving necessarily. I can’t say I’ve been to another better ballet. But I dreaded Act IV, which is the tiresome endless applause that follows the third Act. Yes, bravo, good job, well done, okay, please stop, go away, I want to go home so my wife can go to bed (and I can drink beer and watch the end of the World Series).
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 