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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 lamÈ 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.
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