INCIDENT AT SWAN LAKE
ACT I
These are good seats. Very nice, very plush. Great chandeliers. You want anything? No? You been here before? No?
Gosh, I go here all the time. The ballet is the place to be for an Art type of guy, such as myself. You aren't? You don't? Well, so much for computer-dating, right? That's a joke.
OK, here's the plot. Put that program down, you don't need that. We open in a mythical kingdom, see? The Prince has just turned 21 and is a virgin—if you can believe that. Any kid like that these days would be a fruit— nudge, wink. But what the heck, it's Art, right? You know, I got Art books all over my house? They say if you got books, it's a sign of literacy. You like books? Sh-sh-sh—curtain going up!
This is very good dancing. Oh. Much better than when I saw that other thing here. They are having a party. The Queen's telling the Prince how it is time he should choose a bride. See, she's giving him that crossbow? It's symbolic. I guess you know what of, right? You don't?
Hey, what do you call a male ballet dancer? A ballerina? No. A baller-rhino. Get it? Most of these baller-rhinos are gay, you know. It's very 'in' to be gay now.
Hey. Did that lady behind us just poke me?
You ever see the Trocaderos? They're male ballet dancers, dressing like women. I don't go for that. That's grotesque. Gay or heterosexual, a man should not dress up like a woman. At least I have enough intelligence to know perspective when I have one. OK, let's ready ourselves for the swans.
ACT II
We are at the forest. Good darkness. Good set, very enchanted. Oh, the swans are coming in! Now, the prince takes out his crossbow because, like any red-blooded American, he wants to shoot something. Only now he sees that one swan is, in reality, a human female changed into a swan by von Rothbart, the sorcerer. 'Rothbart,' what a fruit name. See, the girls' white tutus signify that they are swans. You know what Freud says about swans. You don't? Freud says swans are phallic symbols, pardon my French. You see what we're working with, here?
So the Prince doesn't shoot. Which informs you there won't be any sex in this show— nudge, wink. See, now the swan is saying, in dance form, that if a virtuous youth marries her, the spell will be broken and they can be happy. Tchaikovsky was a homosexual, you know. He never got married.
Oh, no! Enter the evil Rothbart. He is in charge of the swans—or phallic symbols, if I may be blunt. Everybody's got a thing for swans here, you notice? At least Freud wasn't a homo. ... Hey, stop that, lady up there. Stop poking me!
OK, intermission—we got 15 minutes. You want me to get you a ball cap with 'American Ballet Theater' on it? Nice pink one? If I was you I would want that. You wouldn't? ...
ACT III
You were gone a long time. You sure you don't want the ballet T-shirt? If I was a lady, I'd wear one. Well, I got you your hat, anyhow. Pink. It's adjustable—nudge, wink. See the little dancer on it? OK, sh-sh-sh—lights down!
Now, we're at the palatial grand ball at the palace, where the Prince will choose a bride. The young ladies, in their assorted folk costumes, dance for the Prince, since they all want to marry him. Hey, maybe that's a feminist statement, you know? Some lucky girl will get to bust this guy's cherry.
'Shush,' yourself, lady.
It was 'in' to be gay back in Tchaikovsky's time, also. You think they'd let some straight jerk paint the Sistine Chapel? Huh. Maybe Great Art should have affirmative action for heterosexuals. But Picasso—they had to let him in the Pantheon. That guy could draw. No sir, nobody could call PICASSO a Commie fag —would you stop poking me, you stupid lady? If that stupid lady was nicer, she'd be here with a real date instead of just her girlfriend. I AM NOT TALKING LOUD.
Uh-oh, see that girl in the black tutu? She is enrapturing the Prince. She's evil, but she's played by the same girl who's the white swan. Like that movie where Joanne Woodward plays Eve Black and Eve White? So now there's Swan Black and Swan White—and the Prince can't tell the difference. What a moron. That Prince should just realize he's gay and get over it. Shuddup, yourself, lady.
ACT IV
You got to respect Tchaikovsky for keeping the tragedy in. Back then, homosexuals knew about tragedy. How you can only have what you want after death. Now, with the gay liberation, Art is more vapid. They get the sodomy laws repealed, and they forget about the pain of the human condition. We're all the poorer. ... Stop that lady—I'm going to call the usher on you.
Now, we're in the forest. Lakeside property. There's the Prince, begging Swan White's forgiveness. And, because you can't smack people around in Great Art, she takes him back. OK, here's Rothbart, pissed as usual, but look at those thighs. I bet he's got a Nautilus at home.
NO! To escape Rothbart, they're throwing themselves in the lake. Splooch! First Swan White, then gay Prince Moron.
I'm sorry. Like a jerk, I can't help choking up. I don't get what it means, but it's nice that the lovers are united in death. See? They're in eternal bliss behind that scrim? Everybody's sad but happy, knowing that perfection is not possible on earth.
'He and she.' This is the subject of all Great Art. Which is created by homosexuals, for obvious reasons.
Hey, baller-rhino boys. While you're taking your curtain call, why don't you admit you're all GAY? Huh. They probably have tickets to see a late show of The Hulk. Get it?
You don't want me to take you home? OK, then. You're welcome. See you around. Well. At least I got the hat. Adjustable. Pink.
Hey, lady up there. You like Art?
( c ) Susie Day, 2003
