I've just got back from the Bolshoi, and want to write about it while it's fresh in my mind.
Getting my ticket was all a bit last minute (I only spotted it on the theatre's website two days ago), and I was so excited when I arrived at the venue. People were already milling around outside, taking pictures of the imposing baby pink building. As I was there alone, I had to pluck up the courage to ask people, in a very bad hybrid of Russlish and pointing, to take a picture of me. As is always the case when one does this, the results weren't great - and this is why I've included a picture of the building that doesn't have half of it cut off instead.
I approached the doors, all of which were closed and guarded by surly-looking security guards, and handed over my ticket. Luckily, contrary to my fears, the ticket was fine and Mr Sunshine let me in without any problems. Inside, everything was very grand. There were incredibly high ceilings, and gilding everywhere. I had time to explore, so I made my way through the labyrinthine passageways, feeling a bit intimidated. On my travels I came across the champagne room, where the posher people were sipping the bubbly stuff in the company of an absolutely massive chandelier and more gold. On the next floor up there was another reception room with more of the same, except with the addition of a big grand piano. I felt very out of place among all these people. Some of them were wearing full ball gowns, and most were at least a lot better dressed than me.
While seeing all this sophistication was interesting, the money I needed to join the upper classes in a casual glass of champers wasn't suddenly going to appear, so I made my way to my seat. I showed my ticket to the woman at the door, and she took me to the correct box, unlocked the door, and showed me in. Here was another taste of hitherto unknown grandiosity. There was a sofa behind the door, and then a curtained area containing six seats. Behind the seats was the biggest theatre I've ever seen. The boxes around the sides of the room seemed to stretch up endlessly - I don't know how the people in the seats at the very top had any chance of seeing anything. There were candle lights around each box, and another chandelier on the beautifully-painted ceiling. Even the curtain itself looked grand - oh, the tassels. It felt amazing to be there, especially with the atmosphere created by the sounds of the orchestra warming up. Every time I caught a snatch of Tchaikovsky's music amongst the drone, I got a little more excited.
I should add that photography anywhere in The Bolshoi is STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. However, since arriving in Russia, I have never once seen that warning deter a glamorous Russian девушка from getting her photo. In this spirit, I decided to take as many pictures as I possibly could. I didn't take any while the performance was happening (save for when there was a pause for clapping) but I did at every other opportunity. Other people weren't quite as considerate, and were taking flash photos all the way through the performance. This was really distracting; the whole room lit up whenever someone did it, and I'm sure it must have put the dancers off.
This leads me on to a little description of my box companions (that sounds funny for some reason). They were the loudest people I have ever encountered, and it was made more grating by the fact that I couldn't even nose in on what they were saying. When the performance started, they blessedly shut up, but they were to find other ways of disrupting things. The seats in front of me were still empty when the curtain went up. These old crows decided they were having those vacant seats. The problem came when the seats' rightful occupiers showed up. They were accompanied by an usher, who got very very annoyed that the seating hierarchy had been temporarily disrupted. She and the loud ones started having an argument while the seats were being rearranged. Not only were there the barely whispered insults to contend with, but the portly women's girth caused a lot of chair-scraping noises. All eyes were on our box. Thankfully they settled down and the show went on.
The Performance
So, at last, to the performance.
It was incredible. The set design was beautiful, all blended colours and diaphanous curtains (as in the picture). The prince's birthday scenes were beautiful in a different way - more of the kind of extravagant design of The Bolshoi itself. The costumes were similarly lovely. I loved the swan's outfits, of course, but also loved the floaty, greenish dresses of the dancers in the opening scene, at Prince Siegfried's birthday party. Some of the men's costumes were impressive too, not only because of the bulgy groin areas. 'The Evil Genius', as he's described in the programme - his costume had a great design. It was black and imposing and weirdly fluid, despite the dramatic, harsh make-up.
The music was of course, stunning. It's always so soaring, and dramatic, but this was emphasised by the amazing orchestra tucked just under the stage. Right when the horns come in for the repeat of the famous refrain, right when Odette is dying, was absolutely perfect.
And the dancing. It was so much better than my other ballet experiences. When I've seen it before, it's very obvious that someone is exerting themselves to do amazing thing with their body. Here it just seemed effortless. The parts where the Prince and Odile, the swan princess's double, spin all the way around the stage was astounding, and was met with numerous 'Bravo!'s from the audience.
The beautiful dancing on show was definitely appreciated by the Russians. As mentioned, they showed it in their spirited, and repeated, cries of 'Bravo!', and also in a stranger way. It seems that Russians have a special way of clapping. Rather than everyone clapping to their own tune, the crowd at The Bolshoi kept falling into a weird rhythmical affair, where everyone was collectively keeping one slow beat. It seemed a bit weird to a British person like me - back home it would be taken as a sarcastic, 'we're too bored to clap properly' kind of thing. Here it definitely meant praise, as it prompted the performers to come back for repeated curtain calls.
After a performance where I, pathetically, cried on numerous occasions because of the beauty of it all, I stayed till the last minute so that I could savour the experience to the full. It was really touching how much the audience appreciated this most classic of ballets. Some admirers stayed near the stage, clapping dutifully, a full fifteen minutes after the end of the performance, and were rewarded by seeing the Prince, Odette, and the Evil Genius appear again and again to take their bows.
The best way to sum up the experience is to describe what I saw in those last moments before I left the theatre. I looked across to a box to my left, and there was a girl of about ten, smiling and clapping more enthusiastically than anybody else. She was so enthralled by it all that she didn't notice anything around her. She didn't notice that most other people had left, didn't notice that her father was affectionately laughing about her to her mother by her side. She just kept staring at the stage and clapping out all her all her happiness at the amazing music and dancing she had just seen.
