Paris Opera Ballet Red Carpet Review
October 11, 2025 | New York City Center – New York, NY, USA
There was no shortage of Chanel jackets and purses in the audience at New York City Center’s US premier of Paris Opera Ballet’s Red Carpet. Some even brought bonbons to snack on.
The company’s director, José Martínez, stylish as ever in a black turtleneck, sat four rows in front of me, holding his breath, ready to unveil a magnificent dance party from his orchestra seat.
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Paris Opera Ballet Red Carpet Review
My all-time favorite ballerina is Élisabeth Platel, the company’s former Étoile and I’ve long admired their eclectic contemporary repertoire, from Appartement by Mats Ek to William Forsythe’s In The Middle, Somewhere Elevated (created on Sylvie Guilem), just to name a few.
As a dancer who once dreamed of becoming an Étoile myself, I never thought I’d say this, not even in my worst nightmare, but… the overall experience of Hofesh Shechter’s Red Carpet was rather underwhelming and disappointing.
Despite its world-class dancers and lavish embellishments - elaborate sets, glossy ads, pre-show literature, and the très très chic CHANEL costumes - Red Carpet felt more like a glitzy experiment than a dance with true choreographic cohesion.
I knew something was off when the title of the dance did not serve a clear purpose, as there wasn’t a red carpet in sight.
The usage of the grand chandelier is undoubtedly an appropriate nod to its history, since the dance premiered at Palais Garnier back in June of this year to commemorate the theatre’s 150th anniversary. However, throughout the evening, the lowering and rising of it seemed more random than intentional.
Shechter also composed the music and designed the sets; impressive indeed, but also unusual.
It later became clear that the 75-minute performance, presented without intermission, featured dancers moving more like rioters than a traditional ballet troupe, further amplifying its long-winded vagueness.
Three sets of red velvet curtains open like three gates to the heavens, revealing a grand chandelier mid stage and a jazz band in tux parked way upstage.
Dancers in opulent gowns and refined suits sequentially moving in flocks, their bodies in sparkling sequins that flash during pliés. They jam to the beats, pumping fists midair, like dancing at a posh gala after having a little too much wine.
After snaking their limber bodies from side to side to the sounds of a tuba, they arrive in front of the band and fan-fawning over them with gooey gestural arm motions. Quite a spectacular beginning!
We can all agree that louder doesn’t mean better. That is, all of us minus the jazz quartet.
The dancers vibrate their hands like butterfly wings, skipping or tip-toeing around the chandelier like worshippers of some kind, crawling on their knees, and holding their arms out as if carrying hors d’oeuvres.
At one point, the Middle-Eastern infused jazz fizzles out, a burlesque-y girl slowly unbuttons her lavender Chanel costume with her back facing us, baring her body in a nude leotard, then teases us with a gaze.
After this naughty ooh la la moment, dancers return, pulsating to the soundscape of a dungeonous body of water, reminding me of a risqué 80s Madonna music video. A ponytailed man strikes a picture-perfect split midair, while others change into nude-colored leotards and enter a collective meditative state.
Facing the diagonal like lotus flowers against a fog-filled dystopian landscape, the dancers slowly reach their arms up while the soothing sounds of an evangelical voice wash over them.
Without the dancers wearing the fancy Chanel costumes, I enjoyed making sense of how it conveys the idea of shedding materialistic goods in favor of spiritual transformations. But the elegant contrast didn’t last for long.
A moment passes. Then the loud music returns for more rounds of jamming. The eerie ensemble performs more of the same gooey arm moves from earlier, then powwows around again – rolling on the floor, swinging and dragging each other off of the floor, like a collective freakout session at a rock concert.
A punky mohawk man breaks free from the group, dancing in his own anger (but such an extraordinary performer!), then crawls sideways off the stage.
In the final section, dancers slowly reappear like the nymphs from Nijinsky’s Afternoon of a Faun, forming two lines, flicking their hands effortlessly, rolling their spines like Ss. A quintet lurks downstage until a man gasps and falls backwards, just in time for the other four to catch him.
Another dancer anxiously looks around the space and contaminates the group dynamic with her angst, while another looks like she is picking apples from a tree.
Suddenly, dancers fall back underneath the red light to thrust their hips upwards, before gathering underneath the chandelier in a slow, messy clump.
The piece ends ambiguously, with half of the dancers on the floor and half standing.
The least worrisome part of the show was the dramatic lighting design by Tom Visser, and it helped with enhancing the mood at certain sections of the performance.
But the repetitive mashups, the disconnectedness featuring only a smidge of actual ballet, are shortcomings that overpowered my urge to overlook it all.
Even though I truly value the importance of taking risks in creating new works that reflect our contemporary world, and I also understand that expanding one’s artistic identity is both creatively and financially strategic (though I’m not sure that Paris Opera Ballet has a funding problem), but how much expansion is too much expansion?
At the end of the day, no amount of aesthetic splendor (or funding) can sustain a dance that bombards the audience with a million blurry steps.
Feeling more puzzled than astonished, I also wonder:
- Why did Paris Opera Ballet decide to present Red Carpet in New York City as opposed to a crème de la crème piece featuring their pristine technique? Maybe a run of Suite en Blanc by Serge Lifar, a mixed bill, or Rudolf Nureyev’s Casse-Noisette around the holidays would’ve been a more successful New York tour.
- Why didn’t the company feature any of their Étoiles?
- And lastly, how can dance makers balance artistic exploration and producing transcendent experiences for the audience, rather than mirroring back the complexities of the world to further bewilder us?
New York City Center campaigns itself as “Bringing The World’s Best”, but even the world’s best isn’t immune to overpromising and underdelivering.
Red Carpet is a piece that read better on paper than seen on the stage, and only a company like Paris Opera Ballet can redeem themselves after sharing something that veered too far off from their well-established prestige.
Featured Photo of Paris Opera Ballet in Hofesh Shechter’s Red Carpet. Photo by Julien Benhamou, courtesy of New York City Center.
