Tuesday, December 26, 2006
I guess I'm not going to Matthew Bourne's Edward Scissorhands ballet. I have another opportunity to go alone tonight, and here I sit, typing, instead of driving my lazy ass to downtown LA to get a scapled ticket.
The thing is, I already know what my emotional response is going to be, and I don't know if I'm up for it. The movie impinged on me like few others ever have, to the point that I often just had to think of Edward alone in the castle to start crying at auditions. The film is so beautiful and resonant and so about my life mission statement, it's all a little overwhelming. And the ballet...well, the ballet looks like it brilliantly captured the subject matter AND it's ballet.
Going to the ballet often wrecks me, because it is so very beautiful, and I'm so very sad to not be a dancer. I spent years and years of my youth in dance classes, and loved it very much. My mom took me out of ballet in fourth grade when the teachers insisted I had a career and had to go en pointe...they were upset, mom was upset, I was upset. It wasn't great.
I think mom was right in the long run...she'd had a cousin who'd ruined her feet through dance, and realistically though I was the perfect body type and height throughout my teens (naturally aneorixic), my feet have always been in precarious health anyway, and I would probably be somewhat crippled now.
So I ended up in Fosse jazz classes instead, and other weird mixtures of dance. In ninth grade, I was quite disappointed to get on the cheerleading team and discover the other girls were more interested in giving bjs to the football players than in choreagraphing amazing routines. I quit, and went and taught ballet to little girls afterschool.
Not sure why I'm relaying all this to you. It's just, I can already see and hear and feel Edward Scissorhands in my mind. Perhaps it's okay to avoid the emotion of it all.