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Opposite Week

I caught the New York City Ballet’s two Winter Season premieres last week, and it seems that opposites are still attracting over at the Koch Theater. Justin Peck’s plotless “The Wind-Up” is an athletic showcase for a sextet of superstars, while Alexei Ratmansky’s “The Naked King” exposes the folly of a powerful man and his numerous enablers, after Hans Christian Andersen’s story “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” However, both new dances were surprisingly aligned in their timeliness. Peck’s ballet, which flits back and forth between a rah-rah group motif and highly technical solo spots, mimics the Team USA Winter Olympic promos—perhaps inadvertently. Conversely, Ratmansky conceived his dance at a No Kings march, and it deliberately skewers Donald and Melania Trump with poison-tipped toe pointes.  

Performance

New York City Ballet: “The Wind-Up” by Justin Peck / “The Naked King” by Alexei Ratmansky

Place

David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center, New York, February 5, 2026

Words

Faye Arthurs

Tiler Peck and Roman Mejia in Justin Peck’s “The Wind-Up.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Peck took his heroic theme, aptly, from the first movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s “Eroica” symphony. Reid Bartelme and Harriet Jung’s terrific costumes followed suit, evoking team spirit and Marvel chic. Sleek skirted leotards and biker unitards featured racing stripes in American Flag neighbor shades: burgundy, light blue, pink. Black accents matched the austere backdrop and lighting by Brandon Stirling Baker. All six dancers were all-stars, though they were culled from all three ranks. Corps de ballet member Ruby Lister and soloist KJ Takahashi held their own against principals Chun Wai Chan and Roman Mejia and divas Mira Nadon and Tiler Peck. Lister’s baseball slide underneath Takahashi’s hang glide into a somersault cheekily anchored the group refrain. This bold phrase resembled a superhero squad’s theme song footage. I could envision an anime starburst every time the group clumped around Takahashi as he froze in the air over Lister.

The solos were less memorable. They were so jam-packed with feats that it was almost hard to process them all. But perhaps because these vignettes were so tailored to their stars, each one had a distinct vibe—as if each dancer was competing in a different Olympic event. Peck spun like a figure skater; muscle man Mejia did burpees. When they paired up, he was an archer and she became the bow and arrow—a playful “Sylvia” riff. 

Justin Peck’s signature quicksilver directional shifts were the through-line, whether midair or mid balance. These were most effective in an exciting pas de deux for Nadon and Chan. Like the Divertissement pas from Balanchine’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” on fast forward, Chan kept tossing Nadon’s weight from one hand to the other. Their daring and her length made this passage sing.  Another highlight was a trio for the men in canon format, which provided more structure and musical clarity (which was sometimes lacking in the many in-and-out bravura solos). 

Peck’s recent “Dig the Say” (2024) pas de deux and epic masterpiece “Everywhere We Go” (2014) ran in the same week (sharing a bill with “The Naked King”), providing an overview of Peck’s last decade. “Dig the Say” is also a sporty display, with Tiler Peck and Mejia bouncing a ball to each other off the backdrop between technique-pushing solos. Her ability to pull off a double piqué turn with arms overhead and an extreme bend on the second rotation is incredible, yet the best parts of the ballet rely on Justin Peck’s choreographic wit—as when Mejia keeps tossing the ball into the wings and Peck repeatedly hops back onstage, and into his arms, with it.    

In “Everywhere We Go,” from a decade prior, Justin Peck was also preoccupied with his principals’ rigorous technique, but the finest moments are in the kaleidoscopic group work. When the large cast lies on the ground, each dancer with one leg extended straight up, the stage is magically transformed into a field of flowers or a bed of coral. When “Eroica’s” smaller cast does the same pose, it is a bit weedy and less effective. 

Likewise, in “EWG,” a nice moment hinges upon several dancers—Emily Kikta (who was on fire), Taylor Stanley, and Emma von Enck—performing basic pirouettes from fifth to piano pings Sufjan Stevens’s score. Chun Wai Chan executing loads of clean pirouettes on his own in “Eroica” was less compelling. Skillfulness and athleticism have always been among Peck’s top interests, though I find that I am always more interested in his humor and architectural groupwork. It was telling that all three pieces featured a soloist performing a center stage fouetté sequence from an en face, classroom preparation, and in each case, the turns felt like filler.

Ruby Lister in Justin Peck’s “The Wind-Up.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Ruby Lister in Justin Peck’s “The Wind-Up.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Ratmansky, on the other hand, was not asking his stellar cast to break personal records in “The Naked King.” Rather, he transformed them into recognizable, and reprehensible, political figures. Yet he managed to make each dancer shine in their own way at the same time. Miriam Miller’s generous movement quality was evident despite the insensitive hauteur of her Queen role (aka First Lady—the impression was sealed with shades and severe brims). David Gabriel, KJ Takahashi, and Daniel Ulbricht’s individual personalities came through even in their unison cavorting as the Swindlers who convince the King that he is expertly clothed when he is not. And the recently retired Andrew Veyette was back in impish form as the megalomaniac King—admiring his goofy royal portrait and whipping out impressive à la seconde turns in a fat suit (maybe too impressive for Ratmansky’s point about Trump’s ineptitude). 

Ratmansky adhered to the boisterous pacing of composer Jean Françaix’s “Le Roi Nu,” with Santo Loquasto’s tacky sets and costumes upping the circus factor. Though tastelessness was the objective, Loquasto still managed to cross the line. I understood the specificity of the Queen’s headgear and the King’s paunch and orange wig, but why was David Gabriel styled exactly like David Lee Roth circa the Van Halen years? However, I did enjoy how the demi-soloist couples of the King’s entourage sported 70s halters, French twists, and gold hoop earrings straight out of American Hustle. And Peter Walker, wonderfully animated as the Queen’s Lover, was slickly styled to look like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, another solid reference for this American horror story of depravity and excess.

Dance is not the first medium that comes to mind for the purposes of political satire (in this century, anyway), but Ratmansky made a very strong case for it. There was a lot going on in this short and frenetic ballet, but his stylistic shifts and tiny details subtly enriched his shallow characters. A trio of sycophants (Owen Flacke, Preston Chamblee, and Jules Mabie, all fabulous) posed expectantly in fifth position with an exaggerated Balanchine head tilt, which was hysterical. The obedient striving of ballet class was a perfect analog for brown-nosing toadies. 

In a similar vein, Miller and Walker’s dalliances employed the Charleston and jazz hands instead of passionate Kenneth MacMillan lifts—a telltale sign that their affair was more about boredom and diversion than true love. The demi-couples snuck in ass grabs during their slow dancing, which displayed their vulgar greed. And the technical prowess of the Swindlers was key, reminding me of the suavity of the Profiteer in Kurt Joos’s powerful anti-war dance “The Green Table.” Balletomanes could even find fodder to support various conspiracy theories in the Balanchine quotes. At intermission, I overheard someone wondering if the “Apollo” chariot snippet implicated Peter Martins as well as Trump. 

Andrew Veyette with Preston Chamblee, Owen Flacke, Peter Walker, and Jules Mabie in
Alexei Ratmansky’s “The Naked King.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Andrew Veyette with Preston Chamblee, Owen Flacke, Peter Walker, and Jules Mabie in
Alexei Ratmansky’s “The Naked King. Photograph by Erin Baiano

Improbably, what “The Naked King” called to mind most of all was the recent season of South Park. The King’s nude devolution into a pathetic, stomping imbecile was so much like that TV show’s AI generated sequence of Trump naked and flailing in the desert—right down to the tiny willy—that perhaps Trey Parker and Matt Stone could sue for plagiarism. I admit: few things have made me happier lately than South Park and City Ballet playing the same scene. These are strange times. 

And Ratmansky and Peck’s diametric artistic responses are understandable. Ratmansky, who is Russian-Ukranian, has been processing his rage about the Russian invasion of Ukraine in different ways on the stage: from his Ukrainian ode, “Wartime Elegy,” for the Pacific Northwest Ballet, to his devastating “Solitude,” about the collateral death of a civilian boy, for NYCB, and now this hilarious, razor-sharp, farce. I have been thrilled and moved by his recent endeavors, and I hope his work opens the door for more balletic activism.     

If the “The Naked King” demonstrates how our leaders have failed us, Peck’s “Eroica” puts its faith in heroes. But the dancers’ tremendous physicality went beyond mere wishful thinking. “Eroica” also offered the consoling idea that there are still people out there at the top of their fields who deserve their titles. We are a long way off from “EWG”—an Obama era ballet—with its focus on glorious camaraderie. That ballet repeats a segment in which dancers of every rank crumple to the ground but are caught by others who randomly fly to their sides to soften their landings. That would ring false today; it is safer to push Tiler Peck and Mejia to new heights.           

Attending the ballet last week tapped the same conflicted feelings I’ve had while watching the Olympic Games. I have been rooting (and shedding a few tears) for the Team USA skiers and skaters who have devoted their lives to mastering their sports even as I enjoy the Vice President getting booed by the international crowds. During this fraught season—a time so stressful that Lindsey Vonn and Ilia Malinin have flamed out—the fact that Tiler Peck continues to be super awesome at ballet is no small thing.                   

Faye Arthurs


Faye Arthurs is a former ballet dancer with New York City Ballet. She chronicled her time as a professional dancer in her blog Thoughts from the Paint. She graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. in English from Fordham University. She lives in Brooklyn with her partner and their sons.

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