Classicism, by definition, has well-established roots—a slant on beauty that is governed by tradition, achieved only through a kind of monastic grit. But even the most Apollonian of ballet dancers, David Hallberg, has found a way to skirt the usual order of things, in part by refusing to stay rooted. In 2011, six years into his reign as a principal with New York’s American Ballet Theatre, the lithe-limbed South Dakota native took on a historic post: the first US emissary to join the Bolshoi in Russia. Given the country’s famously exacting state-funded arts program—with no shortage of homegrown talent—it was a coup for an American to nab the title of premier dancer. It also was an unusual case of reverse migration, after a decades-long tide of Soviet stars heading west.
Hallberg got his first taste of the foreigner’s life as a coltish teen, during a year spent training with the Paris Opera Ballet. Later, as the ABT and Bolshoi touring schedules ramped up, he settled into an intercontinental rhythm. But it was a devastating lower-leg injury in 2014, followed by a cascade of complications, that sent the dancer halfway around the globe. There, in Melbourne, he hunkered down with the Australian Ballet’s physiotherapy team—and a steady drip of good local coffee—for fifteen months. The Hail Mary pass worked (as chronicled in Hallberg’s memoir, A Body of Work: Dancing to the Edge and Back), and he returned to dancing in December 2016, just as the firestorm raged about Russian election interference.
What is it like to represent the two adversaries in the Trump era? Hallberg sees himself in the role of “artistic ambassador,” operating in a different sphere than politics. (There is much to disagree with on both sides, he points out.) It’s the close friendships, along with the unspoken language of ballet, that connects him with his Russian counterparts, including Natalia Osipova, the luminous former Bolshoi principal—now with the Royal Ballet in London—who recently headlined a program with Hallberg at New York’s City Center. The following morning, en route to the airport bound for Moscow, he made time for a call to talk about travel. Fitting enough.
Tell me about the quick turnaround from last night’s performance to today’s flight. Do you have certain routines for a smooth transition? Totally. Adrenaline doesn’t stop after a show for at least four hours, so by 2am is when you start to consider winding down, maybe going to sleep. Fast forward to the morning after, and you’re kind of shell-shocked because of the obvious exertion of energy. You have to put your travel brain on, which means switching gears. All of that has to happen pretty quickly—but there’s always a point after a show where I just need a really cold beer and a moment.
Is that your favorite way to wind down? A cold beer, or last night it was a Belvedere martini. I went to the Park Hyatt lobby; usually it’s somewhere close by. My favorite thing to do when I finish shows at the Met Opera is to sneak away with my manager and go to Café Luxembourg. We sit in a corner and have a beer and a meal—no big party after, no big event.
What makes Moscow feel like home to you? My friends really anchor the sense of feeling like I’m back in Moscow. There’s a very famous bar called Simachev, which, after ten years, is closing its doors today. I’m missing it by a matter of twelve hours, but all my friends are bidding it farewell right now. To be honest, the canteen at Bolshoi Theatre is something I have grown to love so much because it’s serving the same kind of Soviet food that it’s been serving for decades. It’s very simple meat, vinaigrette salads, borscht, great soups. An entire meal is like $4, and the food is very fresh and delicious. Almost every day that’s where I either have lunch or a snack before the performance.
How’s your Russian language coming along? It’s not bad; it’s certainly better than in past years. The problem is that all of my colleagues—the dancers, the administrative staff, the cleaning ladies—everyone knows the American in the building, and so they all try to practice their English! It has been a point of connection, but lately I’ve sort of put a stop to that. I’m ready to learn the language in the country that I’m spending a good amount of time in.
Is there a nonverbal code-shift when you return to Bolshoi, in terms of the ballet vocabulary? There’s certainly a difference in style, but as well at Bolshoi you really feel the weight of its history. A lot of modern ballet dancers working today could find that very daunting, but I see it through an outsider’s eye and have really grown to appreciate the traditions that Bolshoi has, and the language that it speaks. But dance is also a universal art form. I’ve been in circumstances where my partner and I don’t speak the same language, but we can dance together—we can get the job done.
