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When a New York night
goes right, it’s oh-so-sweet. Take Monday night of Pride Week, for
example. We’ve got tickets for the ballet: American Ballet Theatre
at the Metropolitan Opera doing Sir Kenneth MacMillan’s production
of “Romeo and Juliet,” starring Angel Corella and Diana Vishneva as
well as Herman Cornejo. A sort of Triple Crown-winning cast, the ABT
equivalent of the wunderkinds of Broadway’s latest Best Musical
smash, Spring Awakening.
As if that weren’t enough, Lincoln Center is again hosting the HX
Awards, mc’ed by Jonny McGovern, and starring last year’s Drag Queen
of the Year, Peppermint Gummibear. That’s at Josie Robertson Plaza,
right in front of the Met. What to do? Should we get there in time
for the open bar at seven—and then dash to our seats at the Met?
No. Even better—we make a six-fifteen reservation at the Grand Tier
Restaurant at the Met—which overlooks the Plaza, thereby enabling a
bird’s-eye view of the downtown glamazons and glitterati as they
make their entrances. We’re loving the restaurant—mostly for its
perspective onto Lincoln Center’s open plaza, the trees in full
boom. The service is attentive; the food as good as…well, first
class in the air. Face it, we’re there for the view—and just as
we’re finishing up our pistachio tartufo—here she comes, wearing
knee-high gold lamČ stiletto boots and a sequined mini-dress,
dragging her Valextra roll-on behind her, that mane of
golden-flecked hair, none other than Miss Peppermint Herself—walking
with intent—“She’s got a show to do, baby”—parting the Lincoln
Center crowd with her unmistakable charisma, leaving a trail of
gaping onlookers in her wake.
Now that’s an entrance.
And now it’s time for us to make ours into the gold-leafed and red
velveted and crystal chandeliered expanse of the Metropolitan Opera.
The crystal chandeliers rise, the audience continues to jabber—as if
to get in one last word before the conductor arrives—to applause.
And then we’re off…
We’ve never seen this ballet before, nor Angel and Diana in
action—both of whom are revered by the true balletomane, one of whom
has sent us here tonight. We can feel him hovering nearby, his giddy
anticipation. The thrill of seeing something exquisite for the first
time. And he’s right. It’s immediately clear from the moment Diana
makes her entrance. Technically brilliant, but more than that—she’s
the epitome of youthful exuberance and unbridled joy in her opening
scenes with Nurse. A girl of thirteen in the flush of life—and, as
danced by Vishneva, as ephemeral and beautiful as a summer rose.
MacMillan created this version of the Shakespearean tragedy for the
Royal Ballet in 1965—and it’s a sumptuous recreation of the Italian
Renaissance, complete with costuming designed to set a couturier
a-twitter. By the curtain’s fall at the end of the first act, we’re
smitten—not only by Vishneva, but also by Angel Corella’s contagious
joie de vivre which he amply demonstrates with awe-inspiring leaps
and turns.
It’s nine p.m. We float out to the balcony of the Metropolitan
Opera, overlooking Josie Robertson Plaza and the HX Awards—and just
then, exactly at nine, it’s Peppermint Gummibear time. “Miss HX Drag
Queen of 2006,” announces Jonny McGovern—and the crowd goes wild,
cheering and applauding as Pep arrives onstage in black short shorts
and black patent leather knee-high boots and a corps of six dancers,
all done up in white—and with that, Miss Peppermint rips into “I
Thought You Knew,”—her just-released hit, with the boys backing her
every move, in perfect sync.
“Who’s performing?” asks a balletomane standing next to us,
impressed and yet confused. “It’s Peppermint Gummibear,” we say to
him—as if it should be entirely obvious. The balcony of the Met
Opera is packed three-deep and the crowd in front of the stage below
is cheering—and Pep is totally in control of the situation, her mane
of gold-flecked hair following her every move. Riveting performance,
filled with energy and charisma. Sexy grrrl, sexy boyz—no wonder
she’s a star.
From one star to another—and then we’re back in our seats for Act
II—where Angel and Diana make it clear without a single word, using
only their expressive bodies, their every muscle and every fiber of
their being that there’s no one else for either one of them.
Prokofiev’s score helps, of course, soaring and swooping as Angel
and Diana follow its lead.
Though you know where all this is heading, you cannot help but fall
under its spell—and somehow, at the end of Act II, when we return to
the balcony overlooking the Plaza, it’s appropriate that we are
greeted with a nearly empty plaza as the HX Awards Show set is
broken down. The crowd has dispersed and the winners are heading
home. And there’s Peppermint, once more, this time in a burgundy
ensemble, her entourage in black, as they blow air-kisses off their
hands and shout come-ons over their shoulders, and stop for one more
photograph—before they disappear into the New York night.
Act III—where Juliet is confronted in her room by her father and her
mother, by their demands that she acquiesce to what they want for
her and not what she wants for herself, and whereupon Vishneva lets
her body reveal all the ways in which young women of the time were
restricted and constrained—and how she yearns to break free, once
and for all. Standing on point and gliding backward, away from her
parents, and toward the balcony where her beloved has called to her,
Vishneva’s Juliet slides away from this world—and into one more ever
lasting. Haunting to witness, and an image impossible to shake.
And later, in the crypt when Romeo takes Juliet’s lifeless body and
whirls it about, willing it to life, Vishneva’s limpness and pliancy
enables Death the final word.
Except—there’s the curtain call, and the applause—and the young
lovers resurrected. Standing there before the rest of the cast, and
then, before the magnificent curtain, just the two of them—to
thousands of cheers. Flowers hurled across the orchestra pit,
bouquet after bouquet. Six or ten bouquets at first—and then a
flurry more. Maybe six or ten more—and each bouquet from this second
set, Angel catches out of the air, with perfect reach—before handing
them, each one, to his lovely Juliet, Ms. Vishneva. The crowd is
enraptured. The perfect happy ending—flowers scattered at the
lovers’ feet and overflowing in Juliet’s arms. Happy ever after—for
all of us.
Best always,
Mark and Robert
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