The megalomaniacal antics of Mr. Chevalier may seem overwrought to some, but his tantrums would not be out of place among the leadership of some of the world’s foremost ballet companies. There is also something political in his ego too, especially for our times, “could the director of this company be weak?” he asks semi-nude and panting after a creative outburst that saw him strop around the stage. The ever elegant Mousset, sat on the sidelines, curdles the further into the chaos we go. She is often gesturing to stage hands to try and do something or keeps out of Chevalier’s destructive path. The pair are strong but the impact starts to wear thin as the piece goes on. While the sardonic antics are lapped up by a public so culturally literate in sarcasm, the work begins to play out like an overly long Monty Python sketch once Chevalier whips out a guitar—he’s also a rock musician if you didn't know. 

While pacing is an issue, the evening still packs a lot of laughs out of its sheer absurdity. As an experiment the piece finds more success, particularly as Mousset discloses in a post-show talk the many responses she has encountered with the work across various countries and festivals, particularly for audiences who do not realise that it is all a farce. We learn that this is the first time the cast have dropped their personas after the show. As it turns out, the Ballet National Folklorique has grown a life of its own and has even received very real funding from the Luxembourgish government. While Luxembourg may not have the academies of Russia, the innovators of America, or the theorists of Germany, it now has this company. Mousset, to the truest essence of the phrase, faked it until she made it. I like to believe the Bal sisters would be proud.