The Kennedy Center is a graceless rectangular building squatting on the Potomac, isolated on its plaza by a labyrinth of encircling highways. I am so old that I remember its construction, back in 1971–how it rose from the swamp, unlovely, a blight on the river–and once open, LORD, how I scoffed at those red velvet curtains, patterned with that ghastly repeating buttocks design–and that horrid bust of John Kennedy, seemingly made of gilded bubblegum.
But strangely enough, as the years passed and I enjoyed one wonderful show after another at the place, what had seemed so ludicrously ungainly acquired the patina of—well, what can I call it but love. It has given me so much joy over the years, and now when I look at the Kennedy Center, instead of seeing a garish mishmash of tasteless wealth, I see a place filled with happy memories and joyous creation.
Yesterday I once again entered those high doors, and walked down the tall windowed hall fronting the Potomac–saved from acres of hideous red velvet curtains by Jackie Kennedy, who refused to allow the designers to cover those gorgeous views–and saw Christopher Wheeldon’s brilliant new imagining of Cinderella, danced by the San Francisco ballet to Prokofiev’s music. What a show! Completely delightful–filled with astonishing invention, gorgeous colors and charming silliness. The show got grand reviews here, if not in New York, where the high doyennes of ballet fretted about the choreography and how it wasn’t quite the thing. Let me assure you, it totally WAS the thing. And everyone, no matter who, was blown away by the fabulous scene where the dancers create the coach to take Cinderella to the ball–glowing wheels spinning in their hands, horse masks on their heads, and Cinderella held above them in the glowing light, her billowing cape forming a canopy around her as the enchanted carriage gallops right towards us! Magical, just magical–truly, it brought tears to my eyes.
I was entranced from beginning to end. Bravo! Thank you, Kennedy Center!
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