Haglund needed it bad. And there it was in front of him. Taunting. Teasing. He threw down his money and took it for everything it was worth. Now, it’s the next morning, and he feels cheap and ashamed. Unclean. Even the program notes admitted that Balanchine’s 1-act Swan Lake was not born from love for the music or love for the story. Rather, it was born out of a casual deal. Balanchine acquiesced to the wishes of City Center management and made an obligatory Swan Lake so that he would be allowed to make something else more to his liking in the future. Well, that’s exactly what it felt like watching it last night. A Swan Lake with no soul. Plenty of glitter. Plenty of steps with the requisite Balanchine accent. But no soul. No fantasy that one could believe in. Odette (there is no Odile in this choreography) flapped her wrists, threw those legs up high, and looked in anguish at the ceiling at every opportunity – at times reminding us of Ima Trockasomova. The corps of black swans clearly did not have their ducks in a row last night. Very messy with some swans not seemingly caring that they were way out of line or clearly off the music. Haglund is so sorry that he yielded to weakness. After the first act, he could not make himself stay for anymore, even though he wanted to see Robert Fairchild debut in Slaughter On Tenth Avenue. But one slaughter per night was enough. Copyright © 2009
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