Russian Gentleman No. 5 (Nyet)

I feel crushed. Well, not really — but then, really. Let me explain. I was asked to play one of the Russian gentlemen in the party scene of The Nutcracker, which will be performed this Christmas by a local city ballet company. The company is doing it in collaboration with the dance studio where I take weekly tap lessons.

Now, I don’t do ballet and never auditioned for the role. In fact, it never occurred to me to get involved until the owner of the dance studio invited me. It turns out they needed a gentleman dancer without two left feet. No ballet experience required, since the scene is more minuet, waltz, or polonaise than ballet.

My first reaction was hesitation. The weekly rehearsals were scheduled for nights when I have judo, and I couldn’t possibly give that up. After all, I had just gotten over the dizziness of forward rolls and throws, and any break in training would likely set me back months. But then I asked a question about something that had been bouncing around in my mind since my first tap recital to Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York.” At that recital I saw a man wearing something I came to covet.

“Tell me. Do I get to wear a frock coat?” I asked as innocently as possible.

When the owner said yes, I was hooked. Was I willing to go through a period of dizziness again after returning to judo, for the chance to wear a frock coat and prance around stage in a stylized 19th‑century Christmas party with a partner in a crinoline, full‑length gown with a bell‑shaped skirt? You bet I was. As the song goes, who could ask for anything more? Just don’t ask what a guy in a frock coat was doing at a Sinatra tap recital — it’s a tale as long as King Rat’s.

Here’s the thing. You may recall a bit of folk wisdom that says if something is too good to be true, it usually is. Such was the case with my role as Russian gentleman number five. Even before the first rehearsal — which I had been looking forward to not only for the frock coat but also because it required not a single forward roll — I was let go. Apparently, they found someone else not only without two left feet but with the apposite right feet. What could I do? I wished them well and banished visions of sugar plums and marzipan from my head in favor of actual dates and prunes — you know, for the fiber.

There is another principle in life related to my fleeting experience with The Nutcracker. This one involves scarcity, which I have come to appreciate more as I get older — though “appreciation” doesn’t quite hit the mark. It’s more like respect for, or even fear of, as if scarcity were a roiling sea. Put simply: scarcity creates desire, and desire, in turn, creates value.

Think of diamonds or gold. They are scarce minerals that humans have valued over millennia not only as economic resources but also for their aesthetic appeal. The fact that they have aesthetic appeal at all tells you something about the human spirit: we value what is rare and disregard what is common. That applies not just to precious gems and commodities, but to everything.

And everyone. Personal experience has taught me that familiarity really does breed contempt in relationships, and that absence — if not exactly making the heart grow fonder — can pique interest. Under certain conditions, interest can lead to intrigue, and intrigue to obsession the way Robert Frost’s way leads on to way, eventually getting you lost in–what–love? Or something even more dangerous.

Dance has a way of doing that, whether waltz, tap, or any other form — and it does so in a palpable, rhythmic way. It doesn’t take a frock coat to form a crush or fall in love (although it helps). It takes recognizing that you are both in the dance, whether you are in the scene together or not. Whether on stage or not. Whether you admit it or not. In scarcity, way leads on to way, and you become even more present to each other.

So, Russian lady number five, what will you do? Is your answer still nyet?

Image credits: Laine Cooper, Andrej Lišakov. Want more? Click on “Amazon” for other publications or go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Comment by clicking on “Leave a Reply” below, or contact us through the Contact tab above. Happy birthday to Russell Anthony.