Pas de poisson

A Ballerina’s Tale

You certainly can’t accuse this movie of not setting the stage: the opening title cards go back to ballet’s origins in the Italian court, a pretty stark reminder of Misty Copeland’s place in the world. The first African- American principal dancer at the American Ballet Theatre, one of the most respected companies in the world, she’s essentially upending 400-plus years of tradition just by getting on pointe.

Unfortunately for that legacy, Nelson George’s documentary does a better job of showing the whys and hows of the structures she’s toppling than capturing her powerful charisma. For a movie with this much access, it’s point- and- shoot style is remarkably ill- attuned to ballet, failing to draw much in the way of sharp insights from either the dancer herself — which is more forgivable, given how much dancers are body over mind — or her performances. “I’m a crazy perfectionist,” Copeland laughs while explaining about her preferred spot in one dance studio, but we don’t even get to see that in action. For all of the people George drafts to help explain some of her brilliance, it remains almost all implied.

The flip side is the talking heads who are placing her in the ballet tradition. Both ballerinas and their choreographers and trainers are exactingly aware of their bodies, which makes Copeland’s black one a particularly good vessel for discussing not just the latent racism of the discipline, but also how notions of a “good dancer” have been misshapen over the years. Canadian dance critic Deirdre Kelly offers a fascinating history into where the relatively modern idea of the idealized prepubescent ballerina form comes from, while a handful of fellow African American dancers discuss the narrowed expectations that come not just from dark skin but a more powerful frame. Listening to Robyn Gardenhire describe the market for black women in “exotic, powerful” roles over more “ethereal” ones, and how most choreographers never bother to give such casting a second thought, is a pretty succinct and poignant example of the simultaneously diminished and exoticized expectations.

George allows some of this to seep down into Copeland’s character, and there are some genuinely sad revelations here, including an anecdote about her pretending to be a corporate client just so she could order and then scarf down dozens of donuts from Krispy Kreme. This sort of extreme is all too common among dancers, and only exploded when your body receives the scrutiny Copeland’s does.

For the most part, though, George fails to really connect the wider implications of her career with her personal experience — in the back half of the film, he essentially gives up all pretence of examination entirely, instead just following her on a world tour. There’s something interesting there for anyone who’s curious about the backstage habits of dancers, but A Ballerina’s Tale is still ultimately a disservice, telling us about the specialness of our subject without ever really showing us. ΩΩ

IT TELLS US ABOUT THE SUBJECT WITHOUT EVER SHOWING US.