I
“En pointe Sophia! Focus on the tip of your toe.”
(The cloud of smoke clears and the proscenium comes into view. Flaming ginger hair twisted into a bun, a leotard straining firm against her bosom; all protruding derriere and slender hips- this is Sophia, trying to hold her one legged stance)
“The will to let go is too strong, mademoiselle”
“Discipline yourself silly girl, calluses and contusions pave the way to the New York City Ballet”
(Pain. White hot searing pain shoots down her Achilles tendon. Sophia’s knees buckle as she falls. The lights dim. Rehearsal is over)
II
(Sophia unfurls the cream colored ribbons that hold her toe shoes in place, one meter…two, then the blood-stained toe pad gives way, baring her feet)
“Dear Christ!”
(The sight is sickening, bleeding cuts from the pressure of toenails grating into each other ooze onto the linoleum floor. Silent sobs fill the air as a lean figure repositions herself on her toes, leaving a trail of red in her wake)
ENTRÉE
(Swift strumming quickly follows the steady thumps of the ‘tabla’. Rising with the first beat of the drum, Sophia traces the motion of the waves with outstretched hands that slice the air back...and forth, ready to move, ready to fly)
'My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's not so bad
it's not so bad'
(Bending ever so slightly in a plié she stiffens, ready to launch into a series of jumps, each Jeté leaving a quivering drop of blood where her bruised toe hits the paneled wood)
'I drank too much last night, got bills to pay
my head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today
I'm late for work again
and even if I'm there, they'll all imply that I might not last the
day
and then you call me and it's not so bad
it's not so bad'
(Like a ribbon, curling, winding asymmetrically before one’s eyes, her pirouette draws patterns. When the rotation ceases, so does the pain.)
III
(Ballet de Marseille- Centre Chorégraphique, a celebrated studio on the Gabes Boulevard is bustling with 12 year old girls in white tutus and pointe shoes, all queued up against a mirrored wall sporting a barre where they follow Sophia’s graceful plies to the melodious ‘Swan Lake’.)
(clearing of throat)
“Excusez-moi Miss. Sophia, there’s a call for you”
“Can it not wait till after class?”
“The man seems to be rather persistent”
(Sophia walks down the narrow corridor, stops and turns the doorknob of a room labeled ‘Admissions Office’, where she picks up the receiver and listens)
“I cannot live a lie anymore”
“What are you saying Jean?” (a quivering Sophia clutches the phone harder)
“She and I are in love Sophia, we leave tonight”
(Desperation)
“What about us Jean? What about ME? I love you.”
(The line goes dead)
PREMIERE
(Momentum builds steadily as the first octet of little girls perform a Grand Pas around Sophia, who is sprawled out across the floor in an unruly manner. A steady rivulet of mascara flows out of her tear ducts. The second octet ensues with a Grand jete as words begin to escape Sophia’s lips)
'I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
And I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory
Oh I am what I am
I'll do what I want
But I can't hide'
(The girls white ballet gowns darken with their every turn around Sophia, every rotation sending jets of noir from bodice to hem. To the spectator they seem like black petals circling the white nectary; an almost disturbing flower)
‘I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
Until you're resting here with me…’
(As the music ends, every black petal drops limp and lifeless around a broken-hearted Sophia)
IV
“Mic testing … one two three”
(The wings of the New York State Theater are buzzing with performers. For many this is the final lap on a journey of self-discovery through ballet. For Sophia, this is the single redefining moment of her career. She is but one of the sea of periwinkle blue undulating behind the scarlet curtains)
“Bonne Chance Lisa”
“Good Luck to you too Michelle”
“And what is your name?”
“Sophia”
“Best of luck out there Sophia”
(The smile that graces her lips is one of charm, both miraculous and momentary as she continues to repeatedly mutter “en pointe” under her breath)
DEUXIEME
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for an uplifting and exhilarating troupe that has been the pride of Manhattan since the dawn of the 20th century. I give you, 'the New York City Ballet’"
(Flashes of sounds fill the dark theater as the curtains are drawn. Sounds of moving traffic and blaring sirens are heard and following the first strums from the guitar, the formation of girls begin to tiptoe first closer then away from each other; coordinating their movements perfectly until every last one of them is ready to launch herself into space)
'Two weeks away, feels like the whole world should've changed
But I'm home now
And things still look the same
I think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night
That I'm back in my flat on the road
Where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can't watch the sunset
I don't have time
I don't have time….'
(As the tip of her toe roots itself firmly to the floorboard beneath her, Sophie counts down…3…2…1 The blinding stage lights flash and fade; coloring the world a blazing gold as every ballerina spins, then jumps, then turns, spinning, spinning- putting on an almost supernatural spectacle for the onlookers)
'I've still got sand in my shoes
And I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you but
why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would have been confused but I wanna see you again…'
(Fouette after Fouette, the girls perform their whipped throws- spinning constantly on one toe, 32 in succession before the girls tire, but not all of them.
36!
38!
41!
Then she falls…Sophia)
V
(A half empty bottle of Cabarnet lies forgotten on the night stand as Sophia is seen rummaging through the medicine cabinet for an aspirin, all in a state of undress. Fading photographs in rudimentary frames of ski-trips and nights spent under the Tour de Eiffel hang on the wall. A cluster of cobwebs seem to have settled around the horn of the gramophone, yet a vinyl record labeled ‘Life For Rent’ spins effortlessly under the copper stylus)
'I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?'
(Sophia downs the pills with wine, then walks across the room -stepping over careless piles of net and lace, the remnants of a tutu- to the double doors that open out into a quaint balcony overlooking the rooftops of Reims in France. It’s half past five and the looming gloom forecasts the arrival of heavy rain.)
'I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were'
(The first drops of rain settle on Sophia’s fist clenched tightly around the wrought iron railing. She’s a skimpy mirage in just a brassiere and underpants, a sight for lustful eyes. Eyes that settle on the droplets strewn over the shadowed cleft between her breasts, confused eyes that trace red drops of rain back to her nostrils… blood)
'I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be…'
(the flute glass slips from Sophia’s fingers and topples over the ledge, launching into a treacherous descent right onto the heart of the unyielding stone pavement)
-Ankiet
(edited by: Shakti Nambiar)
“En pointe Sophia! Focus on the tip of your toe.”
(The cloud of smoke clears and the proscenium comes into view. Flaming ginger hair twisted into a bun, a leotard straining firm against her bosom; all protruding derriere and slender hips- this is Sophia, trying to hold her one legged stance)
“The will to let go is too strong, mademoiselle”
“Discipline yourself silly girl, calluses and contusions pave the way to the New York City Ballet”
(Pain. White hot searing pain shoots down her Achilles tendon. Sophia’s knees buckle as she falls. The lights dim. Rehearsal is over)
II
(Sophia unfurls the cream colored ribbons that hold her toe shoes in place, one meter…two, then the blood-stained toe pad gives way, baring her feet)
“Dear Christ!”
(The sight is sickening, bleeding cuts from the pressure of toenails grating into each other ooze onto the linoleum floor. Silent sobs fill the air as a lean figure repositions herself on her toes, leaving a trail of red in her wake)
ENTRÉE
(Swift strumming quickly follows the steady thumps of the ‘tabla’. Rising with the first beat of the drum, Sophia traces the motion of the waves with outstretched hands that slice the air back...and forth, ready to move, ready to fly)
'My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's not so bad
it's not so bad'
(Bending ever so slightly in a plié she stiffens, ready to launch into a series of jumps, each Jeté leaving a quivering drop of blood where her bruised toe hits the paneled wood)
'I drank too much last night, got bills to pay
my head just feels in pain
I missed the bus and there'll be hell today
I'm late for work again
and even if I'm there, they'll all imply that I might not last the
day
and then you call me and it's not so bad
it's not so bad'
(Like a ribbon, curling, winding asymmetrically before one’s eyes, her pirouette draws patterns. When the rotation ceases, so does the pain.)
III
(Ballet de Marseille- Centre Chorégraphique, a celebrated studio on the Gabes Boulevard is bustling with 12 year old girls in white tutus and pointe shoes, all queued up against a mirrored wall sporting a barre where they follow Sophia’s graceful plies to the melodious ‘Swan Lake’.)
(clearing of throat)
“Excusez-moi Miss. Sophia, there’s a call for you”
“Can it not wait till after class?”
“The man seems to be rather persistent”
(Sophia walks down the narrow corridor, stops and turns the doorknob of a room labeled ‘Admissions Office’, where she picks up the receiver and listens)
“I cannot live a lie anymore”
“What are you saying Jean?” (a quivering Sophia clutches the phone harder)
“She and I are in love Sophia, we leave tonight”
(Desperation)
“What about us Jean? What about ME? I love you.”
(The line goes dead)
PREMIERE
(Momentum builds steadily as the first octet of little girls perform a Grand Pas around Sophia, who is sprawled out across the floor in an unruly manner. A steady rivulet of mascara flows out of her tear ducts. The second octet ensues with a Grand jete as words begin to escape Sophia’s lips)
'I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
And I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory
Oh I am what I am
I'll do what I want
But I can't hide'
(The girls white ballet gowns darken with their every turn around Sophia, every rotation sending jets of noir from bodice to hem. To the spectator they seem like black petals circling the white nectary; an almost disturbing flower)
‘I won't go
I won't sleep
I can't breathe
Until you're resting here with me…’
(As the music ends, every black petal drops limp and lifeless around a broken-hearted Sophia)
IV
“Mic testing … one two three”
(The wings of the New York State Theater are buzzing with performers. For many this is the final lap on a journey of self-discovery through ballet. For Sophia, this is the single redefining moment of her career. She is but one of the sea of periwinkle blue undulating behind the scarlet curtains)
“Bonne Chance Lisa”
“Good Luck to you too Michelle”
“And what is your name?”
“Sophia”
“Best of luck out there Sophia”
(The smile that graces her lips is one of charm, both miraculous and momentary as she continues to repeatedly mutter “en pointe” under her breath)
DEUXIEME
"Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for an uplifting and exhilarating troupe that has been the pride of Manhattan since the dawn of the 20th century. I give you, 'the New York City Ballet’"
(Flashes of sounds fill the dark theater as the curtains are drawn. Sounds of moving traffic and blaring sirens are heard and following the first strums from the guitar, the formation of girls begin to tiptoe first closer then away from each other; coordinating their movements perfectly until every last one of them is ready to launch herself into space)
'Two weeks away, feels like the whole world should've changed
But I'm home now
And things still look the same
I think I'll leave it till tomorrow to unpack
Try to forget for one more night
That I'm back in my flat on the road
Where the cars never stop going through the night
To a life where I can't watch the sunset
I don't have time
I don't have time….'
(As the tip of her toe roots itself firmly to the floorboard beneath her, Sophie counts down…3…2…1 The blinding stage lights flash and fade; coloring the world a blazing gold as every ballerina spins, then jumps, then turns, spinning, spinning- putting on an almost supernatural spectacle for the onlookers)
'I've still got sand in my shoes
And I can't shake the thought of you
I should get on, forget you but
why would I want to
I know we said goodbye
Anything else would have been confused but I wanna see you again…'
(Fouette after Fouette, the girls perform their whipped throws- spinning constantly on one toe, 32 in succession before the girls tire, but not all of them.
36!
38!
41!
Then she falls…Sophia)
V
(A half empty bottle of Cabarnet lies forgotten on the night stand as Sophia is seen rummaging through the medicine cabinet for an aspirin, all in a state of undress. Fading photographs in rudimentary frames of ski-trips and nights spent under the Tour de Eiffel hang on the wall. A cluster of cobwebs seem to have settled around the horn of the gramophone, yet a vinyl record labeled ‘Life For Rent’ spins effortlessly under the copper stylus)
'I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it
where's the sense in that?'
(Sophia downs the pills with wine, then walks across the room -stepping over careless piles of net and lace, the remnants of a tutu- to the double doors that open out into a quaint balcony overlooking the rooftops of Reims in France. It’s half past five and the looming gloom forecasts the arrival of heavy rain.)
'I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder
Or return to where we were'
(The first drops of rain settle on Sophia’s fist clenched tightly around the wrought iron railing. She’s a skimpy mirage in just a brassiere and underpants, a sight for lustful eyes. Eyes that settle on the droplets strewn over the shadowed cleft between her breasts, confused eyes that trace red drops of rain back to her nostrils… blood)
'I will go down with this ship
And I won't put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I'm in love and always will be…'
(the flute glass slips from Sophia’s fingers and topples over the ledge, launching into a treacherous descent right onto the heart of the unyielding stone pavement)
-Ankiet
(edited by: Shakti Nambiar)
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