When the Lights Go Down
I've seen a lot of ballet. Too much, probably. But there are nights when everything clicks — when the music, the movement, and the moment collide — and you remember why you fell in love with this art form in the first place. The Royal Ballet's Balanchine triple bill was one of those nights.
Serenade: The One That Stays With You
Let's talk about Serenade. It opens with seventeen dancers standing in formation, arms raised to the darkened sky. That's it. No fancy setup, no dramatic pose. Just bodies arranged like notes on a musical staff, waiting for Tchaikovsky's string serenade to breathe life into them.
What got me wasn't the technical precision (though the corps was razor-sharp). It was the quiet moments between the movements — the way a dancer's gaze follows another across the stage, the subtle weight shifts that make the whole formation ripple like water disturbed by wind. The Royal Ballet doesn't perform this piece; they inhabit it. There's a difference.
Prodigal Son: A Punch to the Gut
Then everything changes. Prodigal Son doesn't ask for your attention — it grabs you by the collar.
This is Balanchine at his most theatrical. The story's biblical, but the emotion reads universal: a young man who thinks he knows everything, discovers he doesn't, and crawls home broken. The lead dancer threw himself into the role with abandon. Every jump had risk. Every fall looked genuine.
And the Siren? She's the kind of character that gives you chills — seductive, dangerous, and completely in control. Her duet with the Prodigal wasn't romantic; it was a slow, calculated dismantling of a naive young man. Harrowing stuff, brilliantly performed.
Symphony in C: The Celebration You Didn't Know You Needed
After the emotional wringer of Prodigal Son, Symphony in C arrives like a cold drink on a hot day. It's Balanchine saying, "Okay, we've done the heavy lifting. Now let's dance."
Fifty-two dancers. Four movements. Non-stop momentum. Bizet's score crackles with energy, and the Royal Ballet meets it beat for beat. The finale — when all four casts converge onstage in a cascade of white tutus and bounding jumps — is the kind of image that makes you lean forward in your seat. It's joy made visible.
The Verdict
George Balanchine died in 1983, but watching this program, you'd swear he choreographed it yesterday. The Royal Ballet doesn't preserve these works like museum pieces. They perform them like they matter — because they do.
Three ballets. Three moods. One unforgettable night.
— DanceWAMI
