Yes, I admit it. Escaping to the ornate, hierarchical hallways of the popular period drama Downton Abbey is a frequent pleasure of mine. Observing the customs, wealth and niceties of yesteryear conjures up nostalgic thoughts: “Oh, wasn’t life so grand and charming,” then, cutting into the same sentence, “yet I can’t believe they thought that way!”
Ideologically, classical ballet can be similarly enchanting and disillusioning. It brings to mind a scene from Breakfast at Tiffany’s, where Audrey Hepburn’s character, Holly Golightly, wistfully window-views the untouchable jewellery. Without trying to sound elitist or snobby – it is just a fact – ballet is the dance of kings. Ballet’s five positions, its geometry and courtly inspired etiquette, are products of King Louis XIV's bygone era. Otherworldly.
Yet, the days of the noble classes, of Downton’s Lord Grantham, have passed. In the 21st century context, chivalric courtesies connote masked chauvinism. The foundation of the classical pas de deux is based upon the vision of a genteel man. Of male manipulation -- the ballerina being lifted, supported and “chaperoned” around stage.
Provocative, as well, are ballet’s depictions of femininity and its “princess” mentality. The feminine ideals and stereotypes it promotes are more suited to a 1930s Disney cartoon – indeed, ballerinas were used as models for the original animated templates in Disney's Snow White (1937), Cinderella (1950) and Sleeping Beauty (1959).) However -- reflecting on Princess Diana and Princess Kate Middleton -- perhaps the slender, “balletic” princess cliche has footing in reality.
Ticking the aesthetic boxes to become a princess, or ballerina, is vital. You must be slim. Giraffe neck. Hips not too big. Long –limbed. Proportioned. Hyper-extended legs are preferable -- with arches, not cashews, to finish. Not too short, or too tall; otherwise you will be too-too, not fit for a tutu – or tiara.
Body shape, the cookie-cutter ballerina (princess) mould, and its enforcement, has been an inflammatory issue. Over the centuries, in line with society's varying perceptions of feminine beauty, the parameters have evolved. Iconic early 20th-century ballerinas, such as Anna Pavlova, would have struggled to conform to the rigid streamlined archetype required a century later.
Newspapers have found rich material in ballet’s fraught relationship with the implementation, and at times, artificial maintenance of its physical ideal. Darren Aronofsky’s 2011 movie thriller, Black Swan, supplied the media with fuel to revisit eating disorders (EDs) in ballet. It was hardly a new revelation, as former American Ballet Theatre (ABT) star, Gelsey Kirkland, had been talking openly about EDs since her autobiography, Dancing on My Grave (1987). Yet it was -- and is -- an unresolved, murky and complicated topic.
Last year, Loughborough University (UK), a research centre for eating disorders, systematically compiled data from 33 relevant studies published between 1966 and 2013 on the prevalence of eating disorders among dancers. The study concluded that “dancers had a three times higher risk of suffering from eating disorders” than the general population. Dancers’ overall prevalence rate of EDs (covering anorexia nervosa, bulimia and eating disorders not otherwise specified – such as calorific restriction, laxatives and so forth) was 12%, and ballet dancers, specifically, recording a significantly higher rate of 16.4%. The report recommended that “specifically designed services for this population should be considered”.
I’ll emphasise that, subtracting the aforementioned statistics, 83.6% of ballet dancers are very healthy. But ballet’s aesthetic, for some, is as natural as Barbie’s plastic exterior.
Shape apart, what other attributes do conventional 1930s princesses have? Cinderella, Snow White and Aurora from The Sleeping Beauty share the commonalities: slight and white.
“Where are the black ballerinas?” was The Washington Post’s (2014) abrupt headline. It was in reference to ballet’s latest controversy – born, ironically, more in reaction to positive changes than a sudden outbreak of racial discrimination. Ballet and another delayed issue – the absence of black ballet dancers – are back centre stage.
The story of African-American dancer Misty Copeland and her promotion to principal artist with ABT this year (a first for a black woman in the company's 75-year history) instigated much celebration and introspection. Why has this not happened before? Copeland is on a par with ballet icon, Mikhail Baryshnikov, when it comes to being a popular media crossover in the United States. She has been on the cover of Time magazine, interviewed by 60 Minutes and rivals pop-stars for social media followers – and she can dance!
Compared to opera, classical music and acting, ballet has been reticent (reluctant) in embracing colour diversity on stage. Why? Visual symmetry is one historical argument. Take Swan Lake and a line of 20 aesthetically aligned swans. The dancers apply “white-wash’ -- a colour blanching powder – and standard issue, pink-hued tights to enhance the impression of homogeneity. Each swan, in shape and form, perfectly mirrors the next, suggesting colour is unwanted.
Does this not fly contrary to nature? I rather like Carlos Acosta’s thoughts, expressed to Sharon Verghis from The Australian (2014) on Swan Lake and racial prejudice, saying: “There are white swans, there are black swans – why do they have to be all one colour? All the colours make a beautiful painting.”
As far as institutions go, you could draw parallels between ballet and the church. Both are reactionary in their policies and update only when necessary. Their texts are begrudgingly revised, and only when caught out.
Positive change – and markedly over the past three years - is slowly breaching the castle walls. Copeland’s success marks new cracks in classical ballet’s white veneer. In 2013 Australian Ballet welcomed Ella Havelka, its first Aboriginal dancer in its 52-year history. Céline Gittens was the UK’s first black swan, in Birmingham Royal Ballet’s 2012 Swan Lake. The major ballet companies such as ABT, Royal Ballet and Australian Ballet are engaging in cultural diversity programs. When you consider death threats were posted to Houston Ballet’s first African-American principal, Lauren Anderson, just over 20 years ago, progress has been made.
In addition, ballet is -- on paper -- beginning to formulise protocols concerning EDs. At Dance UK’s conference (2012) on Nutrition and Disordered Eating, former Royal Ballet artistic director Monica Mason made the landmark admission: “Perhaps in the past we were more in denial. We are now in a situation where we can recognise it (EDs) and really help these young people.” In response, the Royal Ballet School formulated a new “Nutrition Policy” (2013), with procedures relating to awareness and care of dancers displaying disordered eating symptoms. The Australian Ballet School, in line with many other ballet institutions, employs nutritionists who advise on healthy eating habits.
Will ballet ever ditch its “princess” image and embrace dancers of varying ilk? Fashion, in some sectors, is updating its aesthetic; perhaps ballet will follow? Eventually. I hazard that a ballet casting Kim Kardashian to the music “I like big butts and I cannot lie” is still probably a fair way off. (Shame). However, maybe the “anti-princess” has already arrived, billboarded to New York's Metropolitan Opera House for everyone to see. Misty Copeland, reflects to fitness magazine, Self (2014), on her poster: "I was in profile, wearing a red leotard, with my chest and back arched so you could see my full, feminine breasts and my round butt. It was everything that people don’t expect in a ballerina. I stood completely still for five minutes, just crying. It was beauty. It was power. It was a woman. It was me."
But when and if ballet does erase its ills, I hope our art form does not lose all of its charm, its uniqueness, its Downton. Contrary to popular cries, I interpret its gender etiquette -- of reverencing behind the ballerina, of “chaperoning” -- not as a suspect pretence of male dominance, cloaking inequality. I see it rather as a quaint residue of what was then regarded as respectful behaviour, left behind from the “romantic era” of ballet. Of old-fashioned values, not all of which were bad.
However, our historical prejudices regarding colour and shape must evolve. Art, ballet, should not just be for the “Downtons” and “princesses”. The healing power of our artform, as I have witnessed with Dance with Parkinson’s – a joint Queensland Ballet/Queensland’s University of Technology project – should be accessible to the advantaged, and disadvantaged alike. There was nothing so touching as what I hear a lady with the degenerative condition say when reflecting on her dance classes: “It was wonderful to feel beautiful again.” Surely ballet’s beauty should sleep with everyone.