A Ballet That Refuses to Look Away
The house lights dim, and suddenly you're not in 2026 anymore. You're somewhere between a glittering 19th-century fantasy and the uncomfortable truth underneath it. That's the magic—and the tension—of San Francisco Ballet's new Raymonda.
Tamara Rojo didn't just restage a classic. She cracked it open.
What's Wrong with *Raymonda*? Everything.
Let's be honest. The original 1898 ballet is kind of a mess. A noblewoman caught between suitors, exoticized depictions of "Eastern" culture, a story that celebrates conquest without questioning it. Beautiful choreography wrapped around some ugly ideas.
Most companies just... look the other way. Keep the pretty parts, ignore the problems.
Rojo said no.
Her version shifts the entire frame. Now we're watching a wartime romance where the stakes are real, where the "exotic" choreography becomes a commentary on how media shapes our understanding of conflict. The saracenic variations aren't just decoration—they're asking us to think about who gets to tell whose story.
The Spectacle Still Delivers
None of this would matter if the production weren't gorgeous. It is. The sets evoke faded grandeur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. Costumes whisper wealth without screaming it. And the dancing? Impeccable.
The principal cast moves with a clarity that cuts through the visual richness. Every gesture feels intentional, weighted with meaning. You're not just watching beautiful bodies in motion—you're watching characters make impossible choices.
Does It Work?
Mostly. A few critics have grumbled that the production can't fully escape the original's baggage no matter how cleverly it reframes things. Fair enough. You can't fix 125 years of Orientalism with one production, however thoughtful.
But here's what matters: this Raymonda makes you feel something complicated. Not just admiration for technique, but genuine discomfort and curiosity. That's rare. That's worth the price of admission.
Go See It
If you're anywhere near San Francisco, don't overthink it. Buy the ticket. Let the production wash over you, argue with it afterward, carry it home.
Art that provokes this kind of conversation doesn't come around often.
