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Boy God

Like many great roles, Balanchine’s Apollo is a character in constant evolution. Every male dancer who steps into it brings, or at least attempts to bring, something of himself. Some approaches, like Peter Martins’s in the 1970s, seem to stay around longer, becoming models for those who come after. I can’t count how many cool, long-limbed, Nordic types I’ve seen in the role, most memorably David Hallberg at American Ballet Theatre and then the extremely solemn Chase Finlay, who would later get into trouble for his bad behavior and leave the profession altogether.

Performance

New York City Ballet: “Apollo” / “Ballo della Regina” / “Tschaikovsky Pas de Deux” / “Chaconne”’

Place

David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center, New York, NY, April 2025

Words

Marina Harss

Roman Mejia in George Balanchine’s “Apollo.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

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Others have challenged type, in different ways. Baryshnikov famously imbued his Apollo with a quality of intellectual seeking. More recently ABT’s Calvin Royal, who is Black, was a noble, introspective, and gentle Apollo. And Taylor Stanley, of City Ballet, was the most delicate, elfin Apollo I think I’ll ever see. On April 29th it was Roman Mejía’s turn. Mejía, a principal dancer since 2023, is not at all what one imagines when one thinks of the young Greek god. Dashing, boyish, always smiling, broad-shouldered and muscularly built, he brings to mind more a soccer player or a young pugilist than a piece of classical sculpture. 

In this he is a throwback to Edward Villella, though, if one looks back at videos, one can see that even Villella was more slightly built. But Mejía is proof that really good dancers transcend preconceived ideas, and find a way to inhabit their characters while remaining fully themselves. His Apollo, as performed in this début, was a young man, a boy almost, brimming with self-confidence and a hunger for life. His relationship with his three muses, his teachers, was joyful, open, unencumbered. Like an athlete eager to try new challenges and flex his muscles, he took risks, raring to go further than he thought possible and surprise even himself. 

Roman Mejia in George Balanchine’s “Apollo.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Mejía combined this sense of discovery with an instinctual, natural musicality. This was not a reverent first stab at one of the Great Roles in the male repertory. He approached it, instead, as if the role were naturally his, with a smile, and some swagger, feet well planted on the ground, arms open to the sky. Two moments in particular stayed with me. One is from the pas de deux with Terpsichore, danced here by the glamorous Unity Phelan. Mejía has a knack for partnering; it is an extension of his dancing, and reflects the easy-going self-confidence he projects onstage. Phelan looked comfortable, happy, in his arms as he tilted her forward and then back over his shoulder. Then, in the famous “swimming lift,” he lifted her onto his back as he kneeled. Where others make tiny adjustments, he seemed to just plop her there, high on his shoulders, in just the right spot so that she could float, legs and arms opening and closing as if she were swimming in infinity. 

The other moment came in the following section, as Mejía and the three muses careened across the stage, he the chariot driver, they his charging steeds. He crouched low, his knees almost touching the ground, counterbalancing their force as they pulled him forward. You could feel his effort, the wind in his hair. And after this wild ride, at a clap of their hands, he fell into a deep trance, his head resting on their palms, like a kid who has tired himself out and needs a nap.

 

Emma Von Enck and David Gabriel in George Balanchine’s “Ballo della Regina.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

His muses, Dominika Afanasenkov (Calliope, muse of poetry), Ashely Hod (Polyhymnia, muse of mime), and Phelan (Terpsichore, muse of dance) responded to his lightness of tone with their own. Afanasenkov’s running steps on pointe had verve; Hod galloped and swung her arms freely. When Calliope and Polyhymnia returned after the pas de deux, they shared a kind of happy jig, all quick footwork, like a giggle. The walk to Mount Olympus felt like the start of an adventure.

It was an auspicious opening to an excellent program of Balanchine ballets, generally well-danced. In “Ballo della Regina,” set to the ballet music from Verdi’s “Don Carlos,” Emma Von Enck was her usual precise, crisp self, uncowed by the role’s speed and technical difficulties, including multiple, super-fast jumps and hops on pointe. I just wish she would relax and give the audience a chance to know her better. She still has the sheen of a highly proficient student. David Gabriel, with whom she débuted in the ballet just last week, again proved himself one of the company’s most polished male technicians. The corps women danced to Verdi’s sweeping waltz music with lilt and amplitude.

Sara Mearns and Tyler Angle in George Balanchine’s “Chaconne.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

The company’s queen of amplitude is of course Sara Mearns, whose reign over “Chaconne” is still unchallenged. She may not dance with the same clarity in the steps that she once had, but no-one can yet challenge her authority or sense of theater. The opening, set to the “Dance of the Blessed Spirits” from Glück’s “Orfeo ed Euridice,” is one of Balanchine’s walking dances, like the pas de deux in Diamonds and Emeralds. Mearns and her partner Tyler Angle paced around the stage, their eyes downcast, as a breeze caressed Mearns’s long hair and chiffon skirt. This opening is filled with otherworldly sadness; eventually it builds toward a dramatic diagonal of gliding lifts. The woman’s free leg stirs the air, as if propelling her, and her partner, forward, like a Zeppelin.

Then, as in Balanchine’s “Mozartiana” and “Scotch Symphony,” the mood changes completely. Balanchine had no interest in continuity. After a break, “Chaconne” becomes a courtly divertissement, closing with a regal pas de deux. Mearns returned, sliding one toe against the floor as she walked, a mannered flourish that announced that the lady will do exactly as she pleases. 

Just before, Megan Fairchild, who has announced that she’ll be retiring at the end of the ’25-’26 season, polished off yet another “Tschaikovsky Pas de Deux,” partnered by a somewhat underpowered Joseph Gordon. “Apollo” aside, this program is a tribute to some of Balanchine’s greatest ballerinas: Merrill Ashley, for whom he created “Ballo;” Suzanne Farrell, the originator of “Chaconne;” and the joyful Violette Verdy, for whom he made “Tschaikovsky Pas.” In a way, their dancing still inhabits the steps. I sensed a little bit of Verdy in Fairchild’s performance. There was the playfulness, the joy, the sparkle.

Marina Harss

Marina Harss is a dance writer in New York, a frequent contributor to the New York Times and the New Yorker Magazine, as well as to Dance Magazine and Fjord Review. She is the author of a book about the choreographer Alexei Ratmansky, The Boy from Kyiv, published by Farrar Straus and Giroux in 2023.

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