Making a dramatic entrance this week, the new head of the Royal Ballet School jetéd onto centre stage, twirled into a pirouette, arabesque, pas de bourré for good measure, and tah-dah! Former student Iain Mackay is back and looks set to ruffle some tutus with his plans to modernise the nearly century-old institution. And he takes the helm amid no small amount of controversy. In January, the school reached a financial settlement with alumna Ellen Elphick, who said the body-shaming she endured during her time there left her psychologically damaged.
She claims at 16-years-old, she was humiliated by a teacher who stood her in front of a mirror, traced a line around her body and said: “If I had a knife, this is what I would cut off.” Having attended ballet school as a child, I can tell you this kind of sadistic bullying was par for the course. It was common knowledge that the full-time students ate tissue paper to stave off hunger-pangs, terrified of putting on weight.
Our ballet mistress (nicknamed The Dragon for good reason) used to whip the inside of our thighs with a wooden cane if they weren’t “turned out”.
Frequently I was exiled to the “naughty barre” because my feet refused to rotate into the unnatural 180 degrees required for the various positions. Thankfully, I wasn’t scarred for life and, if anything, it taught me to set myself realistic goals. A valuable life lesson.
Clearly, a culture shift is due as young, impressionable students should not be mauled by a deranged Roald Dahl-esque baddie when they attend class. And Mackay is determined to uphold high standards, as well as care for students’ wellbeing.
He’s also predicted a future with more body diversity on stage, including plus-sized ballerinas. “Audiences want dancers they can relate to,” he said in his first public interview this week. Erm, you sure about that?
I’m not convinced that’s what the paying public go to the Royal Ballet for. If I go (rarely, admittedly) I have absolutely no desire to see myself reflected on stage.
I really do not want to see a pudgy middle-age woman wearing a tatty fleece covered in cat hair, jeans with an elasticated waist, and a pair of cheap plastic garden clogs leaping around.
People go to the ballet to see extraordinary performers, with extraordinary bodies, doing extraordinary things. Representation has its place, but if I want to watch ‘dancers I can relate to’ I’ll join the Thursday night Zumba class at my local church hall.