The fairest of them all

When we discovered Saturday that $30 would get us third row seats at the Snow White ballet at the Hungarian State Opera House, my roommates and I booked tickets for the following day. Our friends bought tickets for under $2 (reread that if you must) and from their albeit oblique seats they were at least close enough to make out faces. The price says nothing of the dignity of the Opera House, which, though small by Lincoln Center's standards, boasted more than its share of ceiling frescoes, red velvet walls, and sparkling chandeliers. It had more to do, a roommate pointed out, with the family appeal of the performance, which was fine with me. I loved seeing the children just as dolled up as their parents and I think all of it was fitting, even if I couldn't help recalling however briefly the Hungarians who dressed up for the debut of McDonald's. Admittedly the clapping in unison and children jumping up and down did not add to the elegance, but I'm sure that won't be the case when I see Anna Karenina next month.

As I watched I questioned my own inner child for never questioning my love of the fairy tale. A shrew talking to a mirror? Queen with no king? Dwarf coal miners in the woods? And we shouldn't even go into the outmoded concept that white skin equals beauty (or as Ralph Ellison ingeniously put it, 'white is right'). But on the topic of beauty, for all the esteem that she inspires, the titular character does little more than look pretty as she keeps house for seven incapable bachelors. In the ballet, at least, she dances, but the time immemorial question remains, is that beauty? If one can dance as others can't, is this accomplishment? Is something admirable because it is difficult, worthy because it is beautiful, beautiful because it is achieved...

For better or worse the ballet tweaked the Disney movie to give the witch three minions: red, orange, and purple and resembling the Olympics trolls if Billy Peltzer had fed them after midnight. It also altered Snow White's iconic blue and yellow, which became an unrecognizable peasant dress of pink and light blue (then again Disney didn't invent the tale). Aside from the flamboyance of the queen, purity of the prince and princess, and remarkable dwarfishness of the septet played by ordinary men, the costumes did little to impress. But are the designers at a disadvantage because of the nature of the story? Or does any play/ballet/opera/film/show have the potential to win Best Costume?

What the performance lacked in attire it compensated for in special effects and setting, which were quite ornate for a ballet. In one number, the backup dancers brought in the mirror (a gilded frame in reality) and illustrated its reflective capacity with one ballerina in front cleaning the 'glass,' the other behind, mimicking her actions. For the rest of the show, the mirror's role was to enclose a screen on which was projected previously (though poorly) recorded gestures of the queen as she admired herself. Most impressive was the Jekyll and Hyde scene: after downing a noxious brew, the witch stood before the mirror in such an elaborate cape that we saw nothing of her except what was shown on the screen. She cringed, writhed, and emerged a warted, fibbing-wooden-puppet of a hag, off to deliver her forbidden fruit. The transformation was so complete and seamless that I didn't realize until curtain call that the post-potion hag was played by another dancer, a ballerino in fact.

And because I know you were wondering, the seven are: Happy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Bashful, Grumpy, Dopey, and Doc.

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Listening to: Rush, "Limelight"