Not a film. Okay? Plenty of 3D animation and a TON of video. For the first time since 2007 took in the Rockettes Christmas Special at Radio City Music Hall.
If anything, the high-stepping, military-precision, terpsichorean beauties have gotten BETTER. I looked for a mistake. Anything. A single dancer moving left when the other 35 were moving right. A slip. A missed turn. A late entrance or exit.
I pride myself on a high level of sophistication in the art form. Been dancing since I was 13. Worked in NYC and Philadelphia for five years after college. Toured with Lionel Hampton for part of 1982. Met and worked with Diana Ross, and Canadian star, Louise Robey.
But in a 90 minute show with several numbers, did not see a single mistake. It was the equivalent of Olga Korbut landing a 10 at the Olympics.
But there it was.
Absolute perfection.
Must laud many other components of the show. The costume designer(s) and wardrobe stylists assembled outfits of traditional brilliance. No rainbow flags. No overabundance of pink. No goth.
Goodness, how did those straight guys end up working in the theater?
When the women came out to perform the 'March of the Wooden (Toy) Soldiers,' they wore the military jackets, crisp white pants, and tall, tassled hats.
Their 'Christmas in New York' number had the dancers in either green or red classic sequined Hollywood leotards. The gold lame' faux tuxedos for the finale was the equal of 'One' from A Chorus Line.
And the orchestra. On a hydraulic stage which rose and fell with absolute precision, sat a 50 piece ensemble which performed so brilliantly that they could have enthralled the audience without the aid of the Rockettes and the additional performers which included a mesmerizing St. Nick. He was so good, I wished I was seven years old again.
The show is pure entertainment. Not a single number virtue signaled. No one changed the lyrics of Good King Wenceslas to "Screw the Imperialistic United States." Santa Claus didn't stencil "Black Lives Matter" across his sleigh.
What the audience got to do for almost two hours was be professionally entertained with a bright, and inspiring message about the Holiday Season. No preaching. No screeching. No "Get Whitey" admonishments.
The Rockettes. May you kick over your heads forever.
Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers.