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COPYRIGHT 2005 All rights reserved. Reproduced by permission of The Condé Nast Publications Inc.
The Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo, a travesty troupe, with men darting about on point as sylphs and odalisques, made its debut in 1974 in a loft on Fourteenth Street managed by the West Side Discussion Group, a homophile organization. The stage was a twelve-by-twelve piece of plywood; the audience sat on folding chairs. "The place was on the second floor, and the stairs were steep," says Eugene McDougle, an archeologist who lost his heart to that show and has been the general director of the company ever since. "The Fire Department could have closed us down." So could the ballet authorities. With a cast of ten, the show had only two men who could actually do classical dancing. That first season lasted two weekends. Today, the Trocks, as they are known, work forty weeks a year. They are a sensation, and a staple. Has success spoiled them? I don't know--I wasn't there in 1974--but when, last month at the Joyce, I watched the opening night of their thirtieth-anniversary season, I thought, These people are delivering more bang for the buck than most other classical companies in America.
The Trocks' business is comedy, and the basic joke, of course, is that men are dancing women's roles. Just to see those size-10 point shoes, those yawning armpits, that chest hair peeping up over the bodices--I do not mention what greets you when the ballerina turns and her skirts fly up--is to laugh. Then, there are what you could call the vaudeville gags, excellent ones. (The cavalier and his lady, their dance completed, exit demurely; a moment later, you hear a crash and a scream from...
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