Double debut
Prodigal Son at NYCB Sunday, February 1st.
My initial reaction to Balanchine’s Prodigal Son: there is a lot of crawling.
Much of the later part of the ballet is the Son lying on the ground in a near-naked state. I felt a little awkward in my seat, and maybe that is the point: to make the audience a little less comfortable, a little more dejected and disappointed in this once-naive hero.
Roman Mejia, in his debut, definitely brought that arrogant brightness to the Son. In his opening solo, we saw how high he could jump, how much he can turn, and how he can use his acting chops, too, when he’s not being a ham. He was young and boyish with his hair loose, bright eyed for his adventure but blind to his fathers’ warnings.
As the ballet goes on, the Son and two of his friends, having left home, come across a group of drinking companions- Goons. They have dark eyes and a silly walk, but silly in the foreboding way of a clown in a horror movie. The Goons adore drink, good times, and the Siren.
The Siren looms large, not only over the plot of the ballet but over the Balanchine repertoire, and Emily Kikta’s debut established her with a strong hold on the role. Kikta started off a little hesitant, but when the Siren’s long cape came off so did her second thoughts. She was icy to a lethal extent. She could have played the role like her sassy Rubies Tall girl (the costumes are even similar), but she was more stoic, less playfully. She wasn’t afraid to tell, to command, the Son where to hold her, when to not reach her hand, and when to hold her gaze unblinkingly.
Her Siren made me think: why is this powerful figure wasting her time with these stupid goons? She could be ruling the world.
