Theatre review: Moscow City Ballet
At my advanced age I have no issue with admitting that firstly – on various levels – I don’t care in the slightest that much of modern life “as it is lived” seems to pass me by and – secondly – that there is very little that occurs which surprises me.
Earlier this week I went in a party of four to a matinee performance billed as Swan Lake The Nutcracker by the famous Moscow City Ballet but which, as far as I could tell, was in fact a heavily-edited selection of “best bits” from the two aforementioned ballets with a shortish interval between.
This far into the Covid-19 pandemic – for the most part – the great British public has collectively become accustomed to the various “prevention/protection” protocols either imposed by the Government from time to time and/or as these are then interpreted/operated by those in charge of public buildings, cinemas and theatres as guidelines or “best practices”.
That said – on my outing referred to above – it was noticeable that the manner in which different individuals have personally adopted the precautionary advice displays (as Shakespeare once wrote of Cleopatra) a degree of “infinite variety”.
The theatre has publicised the need for masks to be worn inside.
These days, of course, “masks” come in a range of types and sizes some of which are known to be more efficient at preventing the spread of the virus than others.
Based upon what I have read in the media I’d estimate that 85% of Brits use masks that are relatively poor at “protection” – thus, in a sense, the best that can be said of them is that the Government advice is at least being routinely followed.
I say this because an authoritative report I spotted a few days ago suggested that only masks with a in-built double – if not triple – filter system have any real effect.
Furthermore, when I mentioned recently to an acquaintance who works in an NHS hospital that I was contemplating a trip by train to see my daughter and family in the Midlands, she strongly advised me against it because in an enclosed place such as a railway carriage or bus – as a matter of fact – face masks (of whatever variety) only ever protect the wearer for the first twenty minutes.
In other words, after twenty minutes in a train – for all the protection that masks might potentially provide in theory – the passengers on board might as well discard them and simply “take their chances” in breathing each other’s expelled air … because in practice that’s what they’ll be doing in any event, whether they want to or not.
And that’s only addressing the “effectiveness of masks” issue in principle.
There’s a whole other aspect – that of how people wear them, and when.
I smile inside whenever I set eyes upon those (who give the impression of being solid, sensible citizens imbued with common sense) wearing the top of their masks across their upper lip, thereby leaving their noses exposed.
Don’t they appreciate that any orifice spewing out their “used” air into the atmosphere is potentially – if it is virus positive – going to infect those around them, especially in an enclosed space?
And, if they’re doing that, they might as well know that everyone around them who is also wearing their mask in the same manner will equally be spewing back at them their “used” breath: it’s like going to a “Let’s get Covid!” party.
Then there are the people who – either as a matter of course, or perhaps because they’re pausing to take on board either food or drink – choose temporarily to wear their masks around their throats for the purpose.
I could go on – but I won’t, because I must get back to the issue at hand – my review of this week’s trip to the theatre.
I’m not personally a fan of ballet, a state of mind that wasn’t altered by the first five to eight minutes of each half of the show which consisted essentially of the assembled cast of performers, in 19th Century dress, wandering about the stage, wafting their arms and legs expressively at each other, apparently engaged in various “bits of business” (i.e. primarily greetings, introductions and conversations) but, of course – this being ballet – all without speaking and in silence.
I will grant that some of the dancers were very good – and that much of their athleticism, poise, flexibility and apparently effortless lifts and leaps was highly impressive.
At times, e.g. watching the ballerina chorus line pausing to stand still in pose after a period of prancing about, one could see – despite their stillness and calm expressions – they were breathing heavily as a result of their exertions.
The other notable thing that I have always taken away on the few occasions I have been to the ballet in my life is the unexpectedness of the thudding noise the performers create as they galumph across the stage.
I shall not attempt to suggest that this visit to a ballet performance was not a perfectly acceptable way of spending a couple of hours on a mid-week afternoon. Our outing was enjoyable upon many levels including “the occasion” and the opportunity to be out and about for a real purpose.
That said, I could have done without the “stand off” (near punch up) that occurred once we were directed to our very expensive seats in the stalls, only there to find that there were four elderly ladies already sitting in our seats who then refused to budge.
It took three members of staff some eight minutes of persuasion to get said audience members to move to their correct row – which, everyone else in the theatre (including the performers) might like to know, was the reason that the performance in question began some eight minutes late.
