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Our Generation

Quadrophenia is about young men . . . and I do weep for young men still, because we are still struggling,” Pete Townshend—80 years old—playfully told Stephen Colbert while promoting the latest incarnation of the Who’s 1973 rock opera and 1979 film: “Quadrophenia: A Rock Ballet,” which ran last weekend at City Center. I wouldn’t have expected the violent clash between the mods and the rockers, niche 1960s British gangs, to be relevant to our technological era. Their beefs were between leather and trim tailoring, hair spray versus natural shags (though the mods did resemble Justin Bieber in the coiffure department). I was wrong. The old Soho rivals’ conflation of appearance and identity felt remarkably timely, as did their attempt to mask loneliness with tribalism.

Performance

“Quadrophenia: A Rock Ballet,” a Sadler’s Wells, Extended Play and Universal Music UK production. Choreography by Paul Roberts

Place

New York City Center, New York, NY, November 2025

Words

Faye Arthurs

Paris Fitzpatrckin “Quadrophenia: A Rock Ballet.” Photograph by Johan Persson

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There was even an eerie 6-7 echo. As the program excerpt from Richard Barnes’s 1979 book MODS! explained, the lowest mods on the totem pole (i.e. the poorest, which also sounds contemporary) were called “Seven and Sixers” because their t-shirts were not from Carnaby Street boutiques but, “from Woolworths and cost seven shilling and sixpence.” Is there nothing new under the sun? Or, as the Who would put it: “And the world looks just the same/And history ain’t changed.”   

I also wouldn’t have thought that the four-way split personality of the protagonist, Jimmy (Paris Fitzpatrick, superbly disturbed), was a danceable concept. I was off there too. From the opening flash-forward scene in which Jimmy hovers on a shoreline precipice, four dancers representing the fractured quartet of his mind—the Tough Guy (Curtis Angus), the Lunatic (Dylan Jones), the Romantic (Seirian Griffiths), and the Hypocrite (Yasset Roldan)—shadowed him. They emerged from the waves to mimic his movements in ripples or arrange their faces behind him like a totem pole. The effect was neat, like filmic afterimages. Later, they haunted him, popping out of the scenery. They watched his interactions with the Mod Girl (Serena McCall) at the diner and the dance hall, and they tailed him on the 5:15 train to Brighton. 

The rest of the Quadrophenia album’s drug-addled characters—the Ace Face, the Godfather, and the gang members—were surprisingly suited to the full-length ballet milieu too. Like swans, sylphs, or snowflakes, mods and rockers have their own distinct imagery and movement vocabularies. And it was genius to cast a woman dressed like a sparkly blueberry to represent the blue Dexamyl pills the teens popped in alarming quantities (Amaris Gillies danced the role of Drugs). She shimmied and seduced, conducting the gangs’ movements like a human orchestra. Whenever the teens touched her, they got tweaky—a perfect conceit for a dance. Oh, and the show’s ending was about as balletic as it gets: Jimmy made the same swan dive off a craggy rock as Odette and Siegfried.

Luckily, the top-notch production team had more vision than I. Townshend set the project in motion in 2012, when he asked his wife, the composer Rachel Fuller, to orchestrate the Quadrophenia album. (The liner notes were the basis for the ballet’s plot, though many details from the film were incorporated, like Ace Face’s bleached hair, styled after Sting’s memorable portrayal in the movie.) The ballet premiered last June in London, codeveloped by Sadler’s Wells, Extended Play, and Universal Music UK Production. The production values were high all around: the Shakespearean expert Robert Ashford directed, Paul Smith designed the terrific costumes, Yeastculture.org made the cool video projections, and Christopher Oram designed the fantastic mobile sets. The genre-spanning choreography was by Paul Roberts, who recently passed away, and in a post-show speech Townshend explained how he brought the show to City Center on his own dime to honor Roberts’s memory. 

“Quadrophenia: A Rock Ballet.” Photograph by Johan Persson

The onstage talent was stellar too. Fitzpatrick imbued Jimmy with bristling angst despite his fluid classical technique. McCall was magnetic as his dream girl, and Dan Baines was strong as the swaggering Ace Face mod leader who is exposed as a lowly bell boy by day. In his first entrance, Baines manipulated his trench coat like a matador to castanet accents in the score. New York City Ballet soloist Harrison Coll played Jimmy’s childhood friend-turned-rocker enemy with heartbreaking sweetness. Roberts’s choreography for the buddy duo utilized playground games like somersaults and trust falls. 

And Ansel Elgort was perfect as the Roger Daltry stand-in, the Godfather. Since Elgort played Tony in Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story film, his casting stressed the connections between the mods and rockers, the Sharks and Jets, the Montagues and Capulets, and the cyclical history of gang violence in general—onstage and off. Elgort thrashed his long, Mick Jagger hair while engaging in coital acts with his electric guitar to “My Generation” (borrowed from The Who’s debut album). Instead of air guitar mime, Roberts gave him a sensual pas de deux with the instrument, which was hilarious. I laughed outright when Elgort played catch with it. It called to mind Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic’s disastrous “sensational bass toss.”   

This rock God interlude was a smart invention, though this scene begged for lyrics and a drum kit. Throughout, Fuller and Martin Batchelar’s orchestral arrangements were string heavy and devoid of words except for the muffled refrain, “bell boy.” Though the cascading violins worked beautifully in the recurrent ballad “Love Reign O’er Me,” they underwhelmed in bangers like “The Real Me,” “5:15” and “Punk and the Godfather.” And many of the numbers dragged on too long, especially in the second half. I’m not sure if the staging or the score was to blame, but there were too many reprises of relationships that had been well-established in the first act (I didn’t need another long Mod Girl and Ace Face pas de deux). 

If this rock ballet could be tightened up, it could go from intermittently brilliant to unmissable. So many of the dance-based innovations were excellent, like Jimmy’s parents’ listless tangos. And the decision to depict his father’s depressed alcoholism through a wartime flashback that utilized the precision of the large male corps de ballet was a good one. The menage à trois fake-out opening of the second act, set to “I’ve Had Enough,” was great too. First Jimmy emerged from under the sheets in his childhood bedroom. Then the Mod Girl, then Ace Face. When his father walked in, however, the guests disappeared and Jimmy was revealed to be masturbating alone. The trio’s acrobatic pas de trois was physically and psychologically arresting. It cleverly depicted how Jimmy lusted after his idol’s suavity and status as much as his crush’s body. Confused identities and competing self-interests are the point of Quadrophenia, after all.

Serena McCall in “Quadrophenia.” Photo by Johan Persson

They are also the eternal preoccupations of the Who—an aptly named band if ever there was one. The group has always reveled in contradiction: “Rock is Dead—Long Live Rock!” They rode the progressive mod and hippie movements even as they acknowledged that progress didn’t really exist (“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss”). They mocked commercialism while overtly engaging in it on The Who Sell Out. Townshend rebelliously smashed his guitars in performance, only to painstakingly glue them back together in between shows. Colbert chided Townshend for being on his third farewell tour since 1982. And though Townshend made it clear to Colbert that he was not in the ballet at City Center, on opening night he appeared as a street busker, strumming his guitar to “I’m One” while Jimmy performed a solo of Fred Astaire swivels and Springsteen sliding pelvic thrusts. In general, you can’t trust anything he—or the band—says. 

He'd be the first to admit that. When Townshend lumped his octogenarian self in with the troubled youth of today, it was telling. One of the most poignant scenes in the ballet showed the “quadro-schizophrenia” of the Godfather too. After the arena show, the rock star rebuffed Jimmy at the stage door, focusing instead on his lady fans. When Jimmy begged him to sign his record, he wrote “fuck off” on it before chucking it on the floor. But after Jimmy slinked off, dejected, Elgort looked ill. He picked the album up and stared sadly at its cover. The ballet did a wonderful job of showing how everyone—including the Godfather, the Ace Face, the Mod Girl, the parents, and the gang kids—was just as conflicted and confused as Jimmy, posturing their way through life. “Who Are You?” indeed. Who is anyone?

Aptly, the best scene in “Quadrophenia: A Rock Ballet” took place at the dance hall. The full cast performed a thrilling medley of mod dances to the Who’s first single, “Can’t Explain.”  Oddly enough, the best parts of the movie are the dance scenes too—at the house parties, the underground London clubs, and at the Brighton ball where Jimmy gyrates on a dangerous balcony—foreshadowing that tormented cliffside dance. Though the mods and rockers used drugs to disassociate from their bodies, they used rock music and dancing to put them back in. (Maybe every Who album should be a ballet?) We’re all just “helpless dancers,” as Townshend phrased it in Quadrophenia, where the alternative to rocking out was taking the jagged rock path out.          

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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