Shut out -- unable to buy a ticket to the Paris Opera's performance of Othello because it was sold out; an opera! -- like a rock concert in the States. I doubted whether too many operas were ever sold out back home; maybe at the Met . . . maybe not.

Hilary Harper-Wilcoxen, Dance Department Chair, Principia College

So why did I care? I had plenty to keep me busy while in Paris, but I was truly disappointed at not being able to see Othello, and I'm not even that big an opera fan. The answer was obvious: Othello is a great story, told by a master. I had recently seen the original Shakespeare version directed by that most quixotic and surprising of theatre/opera directors, Peter Sellars. I had loved it. Iago stayed with me, as did Desdemona. That's my personal test of great theatre; does it change me while I'm at the theatre and, then, most important of all, does it stick with me months after -- that performance had. So, what had made it so powerful? And then it hit me: the subtlety and complexity of Shakespeare's Othello derives from the fact that his characters are human; they are rich, contradictory and layered; we can relate to them on a very personal level.

This is not an article on Shakespeare; it is an article on ballet and ballet dancers. In this essay I will make the case for actor training for ballet dancers.  I will use examples from Antony Tudor's work and my teaching experience and suggest that teaching ballet dancers to be strong actors is both necessary and teachable.

Back to Shakespeare.  Here's the connection: when ballet enables us to empathize fully with the characters we are watching we leave better for it; changed, challenged. However, and this is where the two diverge, when it is solely about beautiful bodies doing amazing things in fabulous costumes we do not necessarily leave with, as dance historian Judith Bennehum puts it, "a heightened sense of who we are and what we represent." This is a critical point, and one which I believe is often overlooked.

Ballet is many things to many people. For me, it is a way to communicate without the need for speech; to find freedom through its seeming opposite -- dedication and discipline; to approach universal ideals of beauty, control and grace. It is also a unique opportunity to engage others in thinking about the human condition, if approached with that intention. Unfortunately, it rarely is. Most ballets lack the emotional depth of Shakespeare; they are more interested in technique and less in character development. This should come as no surprise, given ballet's origins when the importance of display and elegance often took precedence over the intrinsic potential of the art form. Of course, ballet has come a long way since Catherine de Medici and the court of the Sun King; but we can go further.

L'Academie Americaine de Danse de Paris

In the world of ballet, the 20^th century English choreographer Antony Tudor stands out as a shining example of a choreographer who went further, who got what Shakespeare was after: the turmoil and transcendent possibilities of the human condition; the inevitable consequences of both duty and selfishness, hope and despair. Tudor brought real people to the stage through his characters, and had them reveal their inner lives to us, the audience, through the unlikely medium of classical ballet. Whether the ballet is about a forced marriage in Edwardian England (Jardin aux Lilas) or heinous war crimes during the German occupation in WWII (Echoing of Trumpets), we care about the story that is unfolding, care about the individual lives it reveals. Tudor accomplished what all great artists seek to accomplish: to make the story unfolding on stage relevant to the audience; to have them respond to the universal truths, trials, and triumphs which define each one of us.

Tudor was also a master of comedy. Another mark of greatness for, through humour, we also find truth; often more easily, though not always less painfully. His comedies were poignant, sardonic peeks at the less glamorous side of things. From the ironic characterizations of diva ballerinas in Gala Performance to the somewhat pathetic attempts at seduction in Judgment of Paris he saw with a laser-like eye what comedy always looks for-- the asymmetry of life, the contradictions and the touching nuances . . . the unexpected.

So where does all this take us? Although Tudor died in 1987 his work is consistently presented in such companies as American Ballet Theatre and throughout the world. He continues to be considered the "Stanislavsky of ballet," a reference to the great Russian actor who founded the technique associated with honest gesture and powerful character development.  His musicality (The Leaves are Fading) and complex narrative (Pillar of Fire) are still stunning examples of a great artist's work within the ballet genre. But his reputation is transient, as is so often the case in dance. Unlike the master works of visual artists, musicians and writers, ballets are quickly lost if not painstakingly videotaped and notated. The Antony Tudor Ballet Trust is doing an extraordinary job of preserving and sharing Tudor's masterpieces under the energetic and visionary direction of Sally Brayley Bliss. This work is critical in large part because of Tudor's masterly use of character. He is considered the Proust of ballet because of the strong development of narrative and character that identifies every masterpiece we know as "Tudor's."

By contrast, many classical ballets use the characters involved as a way to move the plot along; to serve as scaffolding for the choreography. They don't really matter, they simply exist as tools, not as people.

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