Flights of Fancy

A man, much to his wife’s chagrin, has a nasty little habit: at night, he turns into a bat and flies out of their marital bed to partake in all kinds of infidelities. “Die Fledermaus,” the Roland Petit ballet set to the music of Johann Strauss II, follows her plot to win him back—and stop his nighttime escapades for good.

This is a timely production by the Vienna State Ballet, which, like the rest of the city, is celebrating the bicentenary of the composer known as the Waltz King. “Die Fledermaus,” the ballet, is far newer. Petit debuted the two-act work with the Ballet National de Marseille in 1979; the Vienna State Ballet performed it for the first time in 2009. Inspired by Strauss’s operetta of the same name, “Die Fledermaus” is decidedly comic, campy, and clearly told.

Performance

Vienna State Ballet: “Die Fledermaus” by Roland Petit

Place

Wiener Staatsoper, Vienna, Austria, November 24, 2025

Words

Rebecca Deczynski

Ketevan Papava, Eno Peçi, Duccio Tariello, and Vienna State Ballet in “Die Fledermaus” by Roland Petit. Photograph by Ashley Taylor

Admittedly, it doesn’t always follow an expected path. Consider the opening of the piece, as a Queen of the Night-type figure (to mix operatic metaphors) stands monumental, center stage, wielding a fan like a saber as an army of tuxedo’d men pony around her, carrying the edges of her flowing black skirt in a continuous wave. We cut, after this scene, to a strictly domestic view, which begins the narrative.

“Die Fledermaus” resists the neat categorization of a true classical ballet. So integral to Petit’s choreography is his use of pantomime and more character-driven movement. When the family—husband Johann (Masayu Kimoto), wife Bella (Ketevan Papava), and their five children—are sat for dinner, served by their maid (Laura Nistor)—they pretend to eat by rapidly pummeling their arms in front of them. When Ulrich (Eno Peci), a family friend and Bella’s eventual co-conspirator, arrives, he performs a dandyish petite allegro as the children cheer.

In their first pas de deux, Kimoto and Papava punctuate more balletic phrases with cheeky accents. One repeated gesture brings the couple chest to chest as they scuttle, penguin-like, together. These moves lean pedestrian and add some friction to the way they relate to one another. It can’t be so much of a surprise when Kimoto later emerges from bed to sneak out. It is, however, a delight to see him suddenly outfitted with bat wings as he flies into the night—literally. Hoisted up by a cable, the dancer waves his arms like a hawk, but flutters his legs in a shimmy, both flexed in attitude behind him.

Ketevan Papava and Masayu Kimoto in “Die Fledermaus” by Roland Petit. Photograph by Ashley Taylor

How does Bella get him back? Why, through a masquerade, of course. With the help of Ulrich, Bella finds her husband out for a night on the town and he becomes enamoured with her as she’s disguised as a mystery woman. Later, amid his pursuit of her, Johann gets into a fight and is jailed. Once he’s freed, Bella surreptitiously snips off his wings, condemning her husband to the earth—and to fidelity.

Larger ensemble numbers are one of the biggest strengths of “Die Fledermaus.” In the bar where Johann first meets his disguised wife, three waiters—portrayed by Javier González Cabrera, Trevor Hayden, and Václav Lamparter—make a particularly eclectic trio. They flex their feet in entrechat. They dramatically bend forward at the waist to walk across the stage, holding one hand out for an imaginary platter. At one point, they perform a sequence of double tours en l’air into middle splits, again, and again, and again.

While Kimoto and Papava both carry out the comedic inclinations of their roles, they really shine in more classical phrases. Petit’s choreography favors many a piqué and other turns, and Kimoto has a billowy quality to his pirouettes. Papava, in her striking disguise (tiny dress, her natural dark hair uncovered by the red wig she dons for domestic scenes, long legs that are particularly striking amid the other women’s waltz-ready gowns), is something of a Black Swan: enchanting and illusive. Their most poignant moments come in their pas de deux before Bella clips Johann’s wings; in several dramatic lifts, Papava practically floats.

Ketevan Papava and Masayu Kimoto in “Die Fledermaus” by Roland Petit. Photograph by Ashley Taylor

There are times, though, when the ballet gets weighted down even by its pared-down plot. In the second act, when Johann is imprisoned, we see Kimoto perform an operatic lip sync to the only song in the ballet that features vocals; with the embedded comedy of Petit’s choreography already running through the ballet, this kind of farce is wholly unnecessary and a bit buffoonish.

Despite some moments of lag time, “Die Fledermaus” does culminate into a satisfying finale, which brings the ensemble and our reunited couple together in a grand waltz, which, in its majesty, does call to mind George Balanchine’s finale to “Vienna Waltzes,” his jewel box of a ballet which New York City Ballet premiered in 1977.

It’s ballet meets ballroom, and with stripes of a mirrored backdrop, the stage looks full and flush with sweeping skirts and promenading couples. It’s hard to imagine an ending more fitting for this ballet which has plenty of heart even with its foundation of humor.

Rebecca Deczynski

Rebecca Deczynski is a New York City-based writer and editor publishes the newsletter Mezzanine Society. Her work has appeared in publications including Inc., Domino, NYLON, and InStyle. She graduated from Barnard College cum laude with a degree in English and a minor in dance.

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