Ballet 422 Dir. Jody Lee Lipes

[Magnolia Pictures; 2014]

Styles: documentary
Others: La Danse, Tiny Furniture

Here’s the thing: as an unabashed dance fan, I’m tempted to grant any new dance movie praise. Not because I’m a careless critic who lets her biases run amok. No, I feel obliged to support new dance movies because like all fine arts, dance — and ballet in particular — struggles to maintain relevance and make a place for itself. So if I can find anything good to say about a dance movie, I will. But when that movie looks like Ballet 422, a verité documentary shot and told with finesse, the temptation to gush tugs at me. And there is much to gush about. It’s beautiful! It’s smart! It’s actually about dance and features real dancers! (As opposed to, say, Black Swan, which was actually a psychological melodrama with ballet as the backdrop.) But while I desperately wanted to fall in love with Ballet 422, I felt torn — because the movie itself is torn.

In the film, director Jody Lee Lipes goes behind the scenes at New York City Ballet, documenting the creation of the company’s 422nd original work by then-corps de ballet member, Justin Peck. (He has since been promoted to soloist and been named resident choreographer.) Lipes dispenses this information swiftly, in concise title cards. We also learn that Peck has a mere two months to pull choreographic ideas out of the ether and spin them into reality.

A corps member creating a piece for one of the world’s foremost companies, and choreographing for three principal dancers no less, is akin to a Packers backup punter being asked to coach the team during the playoffs. The inherent stakes in Peck’s task are evident to balletomanes. And if this is, in fact, the intended audience, then Lipes’ subtle approach and strict adherence to the verité style — no interviews, no names or job titles given on screen — works.

Assuming viewers have knowledge about the subject allows Lipes to avoid overt explanation and instead evoke context through canny observation. For instance, he reinforces Peck’s standing in the company by opening with scenes of the 25-year-old in class, where he is just one dancer among many. We also see Peck in the sea of dancers rehearsing Jerome Robbins’ Glass Pieces (a knowing nod to one of NYCB’s first, and one of its most legendary, choreographers). As the film progresses, Lipes captures Peck’s wobbly development as an authority. He is talented, intense, and driven. But sometimes he stumbles, as when he awkwardly approaches the orchestra’s conductor and addresses the musicians. But these telling moments are fleeting and infrequent and I kept wondering whether lay viewers would pick up on the subtle cues.

On the other hand, newcomers might be satisfied by the movement sequences and the portrayal of Peck’s choreographic process. But for aficionados, the film feels skimpy on both accounts. We see Peck noodling around alone in the studio, recording himself on his iPhone and making a few notations. Then we jump to him working with dancers on mostly formed movement phrases. But what did it look like when he first began setting the movement on dancers? How did the choreography morph as the dancers embodied it? We see some back and forth as Peck refines the steps, but it feels neat and brief. We miss out on the artistic messiness.

In part, this is because there isn’t nearly enough dancing. Beyond Peck’s role as a choreographer, Lipes aims to convey the full scope of the project. He looks at the many other components that go into creating a piece for the company, including music, lighting, and costumes. He spends so much time on the costumes. And while it’s interesting that Peck works closely with the designers — and that in the end, decisions about costume style, color, and cut also fall on his shoulders — this responsibility is certainly no more important than his work with the dancers. And yet, it receives a hefty amount of screen time.

The dancing we do get is beautifully shot. Lipes shares a cinematography credit with Nick Bentgen and they often, and wisely, stay wide, letting us take in every inch of the dancers’ bodies, their cameras tracking the movement naturally. Similarly, Saela Davis’ editing is deliciously slow, so we see full movement phrases unfold without interruption.

In this way, Ballet 422 is a dancers’ dance movie. Or is it a dance movie for outsiders, a way to invite them into what may seem like a cloistered and intimidating world? The somewhat superficial treatment of the choreographic process and the dancing would make it seem so. Moreover, is it a movie about Justin Peck, a singular figure tasked with a formidable challenge? Or is it a movie about an institution and the many people who help create a new work? The truth is, Ballet 422 is a little of all these things. And because of this, it falls just short of its potential.

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