There’s something undeniably electric about jealousy as a narrative force—especially when it’s translated into movement. The New York Times’ recent review of American Ballet Theater’s latest production highlights how raw human emotion can fuel breathtaking choreography, and I couldn’t agree more. Jealousy isn’t just a plot device; it’s a visceral, physical experience, and when dancers embody it, the stage becomes a battleground of tension and beauty.
What struck me most was how the choreography didn’t just *show* jealousy—it *lived* it. The sharp angles, the possessive grips, the way bodies coiled and recoiled like serpents—every motion was charged with unspoken rivalry. Ballet often gets labeled as ethereal or detached, but this performance was a reminder that it can be as immediate and gut-wrenching as any contemporary drama.
And let’s talk about the dancers. The way they conveyed jealousy without uttering a word was masterful. A lingering touch, a sudden withdrawal, a gaze that could cut glass—these subtleties are what make dance such a powerful storytelling medium. It’s easy to forget how much athleticism and artistry go into making emotion look effortless.
But here’s my take: Jealousy works so well in dance because it’s inherently physical. It’s in the clench of a fist, the arch of a back, the way two bodies orbit each other like magnets repelling. Unlike dialogue-heavy theater, dance strips jealousy down to its primal core. No words are needed when a single lift or a desperate reach says it all.
If there’s one thing this performance proved, it’s that ballet isn’t just about grace—it’s about grit. Jealousy, with all its messiness, reminds us that even the most polished art forms thrive on raw, human imperfection. So next time someone calls ballet “pretty,” hit them with this: Sometimes, it’s also a knife fight in pointe shoes.
Would I see it again? In a heartbeat. Anything that makes me feel that much deserves a standing ovation.
