It Takes Two

What makes a good partner? For the dancers of New York City Ballet who are lined up on the stage—KJ Takahashi, Adrian Danchig-Waring, Emma Von Enck, and Sara Mearns—the answer is different, though together, their responses create a pretty comprehensive prescription. A good partner should be collaborative, honest, present, and sensitive.

Performance

New York City Ballet

Place

David H. Koch Theater, Lincoln Center, New York, NY, January 26, 2026

Words

Rebecca Deczynski

Sara Mearns and Taylor Stanley in George Balanchine’s “Serenade.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

Those are the qualities that the company put on display during “The Art of the Pas de Deux,” an hour-long presentation hosted by New York City Ballet associate artistic director Wendy Whelan, featuring seven pieces—four Balanchine, one Bournonville, one Robbins, and one Martins (after Petipa). In effect, the program is an expansive survey of pas de deux in various shapes and forms, spanning from traditional to avant garde. It also served as a sampler of City Ballet’s winter season.

The pas de deux from “Flower Festival in Genzano,” choreographed by August Bournonville in 1858, makes a lively start to the evening. Emma Von Enck is spritely and girlish through repeated cabrioles, while KJ Takahashi is all youthful charm through a beat-filled petit allegro. In many ways, this is a traditional pas, though some unexpected twists add to its playful nature. A partnered développé into arabesque on flat feels almost academic and a promenade—during which Takahashi, with his leg in back attitude, holds Von Enck as she bourrées them in a full revolution—is delightfully inventive. Despite its age, “Flower Festival” stays fresh.

This is the only work performed in full this evening, and it gives the audience an understanding of traditional pas de deux structure, with adagio, variations, and coda. With the essentials understood, we can move forward to even dreamier territory, with George Balanchine’s 1934 “Serenade” and 1975 “Walpurgisnacht Ballet.” Despite the nearly 40-year gap between these pieces, they share a similar romantic temperament.

Andres Zuniga and Megan Fairchild in Jerome Robbins’ “Dances at a Gathering.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

In “Serenade,” Sara Mearns is seraphic, lingering in her penchés, and Adrian Danchig-Waring is a supportive partner. That is: he keeps the attention on her. This dynamic is native to Balanchine’s choreography, and it’s a reflection of his oft-quoted belief that “ballet is woman.” In most of her movements, Mearns keeps her body facing the audience—much like Miriam Miller does in “Walpurgisnacht Ballet,” dancing with Owen Flacke.

But where “Serenade” is dreamy, “Walpurgisnacht” is a touch more regal. Miller expands in her lifts as Flacke carries her across the stage. He makes a courtly attendant, filling space with elegant port de bras. The ending of this pas is the best part: Flacke dips Miller toward the audience as she bends back, crossing her hands over her face in reverie.

The introduction of Jerome Robbins to the program brightens its tone and offers a different take on a duet. In an excerpt from the 1969 “Dances at a Gathering” known as the “giggle dance” Indiana Woodward and Andres Zuniga are energetic equals, taking turns running around one another yet inhabiting their own worlds. Where “Flower Festival” shows a sweet take on courtship, this one is all play. When Zuniga goes off on his own, Woodward watches him bemusedly as he follows a pirouette with a cartwheel. It wouldn’t be totally right to call this piece a game of cat and mouse—it’s more cat and cat. Woodward and Zuniga pull off the lighthearted piece perfectly with their precision and ease of movement.

Sara Mearns in George Balanchine’s “Prodigal Son.” Photograph by Paul Kolnik

At the other end of the spectrum of Robbins’s festive flair is Balanchine’s 1929 “Prodigal Son,” created for the Ballets Russes—dramatic and provocative. Mearns is as beguiling as the siren as Daniel Ulbricht is naive as the son. Their ability to fully inhabit these personas is imperative to the choreography; without it, moves, like Mearns wrapping her leg around Ulbricht in a hug as they pass through a promenade, would simply look awkward. Instead, it’s mesmerizing (though still comedic at times). Where much of this program focuses on pas de deux in a romantic sense, this one offers another meaning: it’s about power.

Still, a pas de deux can also be nothing more than a visual delight, with no deeper meaning past its layering of bodies. That’s true of the pas de deux for two women in Balanchine’s 1978 “Kammermusik No. 2.” Typically, the full-length work places the women in front of an eight-man ensemble, but in this program, Miller and Emily Kikta stand together, alone. They are an electrifying pair—ponytails swinging as they stretch their impossibly long limbs, prance, and jump, one dancer moving just a beat behind the other. The staggering of the choreography makes it look far more interesting and complex than it would with a single dancer performing it. Here, two is better than one.

Emily Kikta and Miriam Miller in George Balanchine’s “Kammermusik No. 2.” Photograph by Erin Baiano

In the final piece of the night, the Rose Adagio from “The Sleeping Beauty”—produced by Peter Martins after Maurius Petipa’s choreography in 1991—shows that a pas de deux doesn’t even necessarily involve two dancers. Here, there are five: Woodward as Princess Aurora with Flacke, Zuniga, Charlie Klesa, and Jules Mabie as her suitors.

With this piece, the evening closes as traditionally as it started. The men in the Rose Adagio serve the purpose of supporting Aurora through her balances, penchés, and pirouttes. One of the most ecstatic moments of the dance is one in which Woodward stands alone, quickening her feet in a bourrée as she swirls her arms and torso in a flourish. She comes back to the men to receive their flowers and again to float through the iconique multi-partnered promenade.

You can never really get away from yourself, even while dancing with another person, Danchig-Waring said during one of the interludes of the night. In Woodward’s self possession, that much is clear.

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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It Takes Two

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