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August 15, 2007
Wot, No Bus Stop?
I’ve been to the Bolshoi.
Can I first remind anyone who thinks that the Corsaire was too long that it’s a classical ballet not an episode of CSI? Perhaps you’d like a new edition of Anna Karenina where the story starts with her setting off for the station.
Out in force at the Coliseum were members of the Orpington Society For The Prevention Of Foreign Ballet.
“Of course the Russian brass sound like that: mafia flat heads punch the players in the mouth repeatedly to tenderize their embouchure.”
“Of course Lunkina uses her back that expressively: Putin had it broken in four places and reset before her house debut as Nikya.”
“Of course Zakharova uses her feet like that. When she was three her mother cut them off and sewed them back on slightly skewed.”
At least OSPFB members don’t get nostalgic about the Russians as they do about Lesley, Bruce and Johnny; though one did lean at me with that doctor’s got your test results and the news is grim smile to point out that the cabriole Shade solo that Osipova had surely just done better than anyone had ever done it “Was Monica’s, of course...”
But how’s this for nostalgic silliness? As the three-ninety bus turned left at the Dominion last Tuesday afternoon, I overheard an old Spanish woman sigh, “There used to be a bus stop just just there. They took it away or something. You never see anyone waiting for a bus there any more now.”
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