MAY|JUNE

 

Maslow’s Peak, A Full Length For The Future.

Jennifer Archibald’s first full Maslow’s Peak doesn’t simply invite you into the world of the ballet —it invites you into the ballet world itself.

BY THERESA RUTH HOWARD

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve known Jennifer Archibald since the start of her career. I also commissioned her to create a work for Pathways to Performance during its debut season at the Kennedy Center and Jacob’s Pillow. That said, I am confident in my ability to approach this commentary with objectivity. When personal bias may influence my perspective, I will name it clearly and transparently within the piece.

On the evening of May 2nd, the weather in Philadelphia could not have been more perfect for BalletX’s premiere of choreographer Jennifer Archibald’s Maslow’s Peak at the open-air Mann Center for the Performing Arts. The light breeze in the air added an immersive effect to Archibald’s first full-length ballet, inspired by themes from William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. There was a palpable buzz of excitement that even the openness of the space could not dissipate. In the wake of news about the dissolution of the National Endowment for the Arts, the moment felt like one that might soon be remembered wistfully—as a “remember when…” echoing the “before times” that COVID created.

Archibald uses Lord of the Flies not as a libretto but as an anchor—a familiar structure and setting (a group stranded, forced to determine how to govern themselves in order to survive) from which to explore the themes of Abraham Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Developed in 1943, the psychological theory is represented as a five-tier pyramid of human needs, ascending from basic survival to self-actualization:

Per Maslow, society in the United States appears to be descending the pyramid, with most Americans now preoccupied with sustaining basic needs—grappling with high rent, the price of eggs, and the policing of female reproductive rights. Daily, we watch the world bear an unsettling resemblance to the dystopian futures of the films we “Netflix and chill” with, needing a beta blocker just to go to the grocery store. The plot of Maslow’s Peak feels eerily apropos—strangely timely in a Carrie Bradshaw kind of way:

“I couldn’t help but wonder: What was Archibald trying to say? Was this a manifesto? A provocation? Or an artistic invitation to personal reflection? All of the above—or none at all?”

As the ballet unfolded and the sun set completely midway through the first act, I came to the conclusion that perhaps I was witnessing a potential solution to a long-standing problem ballet has been trying to solve for decades: how to create a full-length work that satisfies elite sensibilities and traditional “standards,” appeals to core audiences (those who love the classical three-act structure), while also attracting new audiences who may carry preconceived notions about what ballet is—or isn’t.

A core identifier of ballet as an art form is the three-act story ballet—so central that it might well be considered a protected species. These works, particularly those that include a ballet blanc, are often used as the ultimate measure of classicism. To be considered a “classical” ballet company, it is almost a prerequisite to have at least one canonical full-length ballet in the repertory.

A historical yet illustrative example: Although Dance Theatre of Harlem had mastered the Balanchine repertory, co-founders Arthur Mitchell and Karl Shook understood that without a classical full-length ballet, the company would never be taken seriously within the larger ballet establishment. However, they also recognized that the work needed to be culturally appropriate for a company of Black dancers. In 1984, Creole Giselle premiered—retaining the traditional story and choreography, but set in 1840s Louisiana on a Creole plantation, with costumes reflecting the period and social status of free Black people.

Full-length ballets are the bread and butter of most ballet companies. But as the white-haired, hardcore patrons (and donors) who support them age out, ballet must find ways to connect with a younger, more diverse audience. Unfortunately, the pomp and circumstance of heavily costumed productions—along with some of their outdated or offensive narratives—often fail to resonate with contemporary viewers. In fact, many themes in these historic works are now deemed problematic.

Still, ballet (and opera) institutions rarely let go of the classics, even when the works are widely acknowledged as racist, sexist, or antiquated. Rather than simply honoring requests from communities harmed by these portrayals to retire such works, companies often opt for performative gestures of accountability—organizing panels or hiring scholars—to give the appearance of searching for a solution, when the obvious one is clear: just don’t stage them. Even when groups directly impacted by this racism politely request an end to these productions, companies often choose performative gestures—like hosting panels or hiring scholars—to appear as though they are “seeking solutions,” when the answer is obvious: just stop doing them.

Here lies the twisted irony: ballet companies can’t afford to let go of the historic full-lengths, financially speaking. Yet creating new productions—especially those that aspire to the scale and prestige of the classics—is akin to earning a degree in higher education: it may enhance long-term prospects, but the upfront cost may never be recouped. So what is an art form to do?

One workaround has been the restaging and reimagining of the classics, in the vein of Creole Giselle, as ways of keeping these canonical staples alive: Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake (1995), Jean-Christophe Maillot’s minimalist Romeo and Juliet (1996), and Akram Khan’s Giselle (2016). In ballet, the pinnacle of a choreographic commission is the full-length story ballet. It is a heavy lift and an acquired skill that requires a full artistic and production team, time, space, and money—lots of it. There are a handful of choreographer juggernauts and major players shaping this genre today:

• Alexei Ratmansky is the king of re-staging and reconstruction in ballet. Although he has created new works, some, like Of Love and Rage (based on the ancient Greek novel Callirhoe, 2020, American Ballet Theatre), are highly problematic due to themes of slavery, piracy, and the subjugation of women.
• Christopher Wheeldon’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (based on Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, 2011, The Royal Ballet) and The Winter’s Tale (based on a play by William Shakespeare, 2014, The Royal Ballet and The National Ballet of Canada) were both co-productions. Like Water For Chocolate (based on Mexican author Laura Esquivel’s 1989 novel 2022, The Royal Ballet and American Ballet Theatre)
• Cathy Marston’s works include Wuthering Heights (based on Emily Brontë’s novel, 2009, Bern Ballett), Lolita (based on Vladimir Nabokov’s novel, 2015, Copenhagen Summer Ballet), Lady Chatterley’s Lover (adaptation of D.H. Lawrence’s novel, 2018, Les Grands Ballets Canadiens), and Jane Eyre (based on the novel by Charlotte Brontë, 2016, Northern Ballet).
• Helen Pickett has opted for classic source material with Camino Real (inspired by Tennessee Williams’ play, 2015, Atlanta Ballet), The Crucible (an adaptation of Arthur Miller’s play, 2017, Scottish Ballet), and Lady Macbeth (based on the play by William Shakespeare, 2025, Dutch National Ballet).
• Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, the Colombian-Belgian choreographer, has used source material from the Western Eurocentric canon as well as stories reflective of her South American heritage. These include A Streetcar Named Desire (based on Tennessee Williams’ play, 2012, Scottish Ballet), Frida (based on the life of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, 2020, Dutch National Ballet), Doña Perón (a narrative ballet about Eva Perón, 2022, Ballet Hispánico), and Coco Chanel: The Life of a Fashion Icon (based on the life of fashion designer Coco Chanel, 2023, Hong Kong Ballet).
  

This very brief list indicates two things: first, that ballet is committed to the full-length narrative, even with its heavy price tag; and second, that it is just as committed to stories from the white literary canon, which, while historically tracking, now seems less inclusive or progressive given the increasing diversity over the decades. Eurocentric stories set in eras and spaces absent of people of color seem outdated. Seeing Asian, Latine, and Black dancers in blonde wigs, performing stories that don’t recognize them, feels very much like a remnant of the 1900s.

Recently, on the Easy Talk podcast, Oscar, Tony, and Emmy-winning actress Viola Davis spoke about her education as a theater major at Juilliard. The training emphasized technical mastery geared toward performing classical works by playwrights such as Shakespeare, Chekhov, O’Neill, and Strindberg—a curriculum, she said, designed to make her the perfect “White” actress. Her identity as a Black woman was never a consideration, as she would never be hired to portray a white woman. “What it did was erase the human being behind all of that,” Davis stated.

If we are to believe that ballet has evolved over the past decade through meaningful diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) education—efforts that go beyond simply placing non-white bodies in classical forms, and instead critically examine what stories are told, how bodies are presented, and who is centered—then it follows that ballet companies are now more attuned to the multiplicity of the communities they represent, belong to, and serve. This includes those within their institutions, those who enter the theater, and those they hope to enroll. If ballet’s leaders and creators have truly learned and grown, then aren’t they seeking out stories that are innately capacious—ones that reflect a broader range of lived experience, more resonant with the artists and audiences they’re working so hard to engage?

 

There is no doubt that when choreographer Jennifer Archibald began searching for the story she wanted to tell in her first full-length ballet, she was looking for material that—like Davis—she herself could fully inhabit. Archibald, a 6-foot-tall mixed-race Canadian woman who identifies as Black, is an iconoclast in the ballet world. She cut her teeth in hip hop, never danced with a ballet company, yet became the first Black female resident choreographer of a ballet company in the United States (Cincinnati Ballet). She has never sought to conform—perhaps because she knew she wouldn’t fit the mold. Like many women of color, she has charted her own path and let the work speak for itself. She is of the tribe of barrier-breaking choreographers like five-time Tony nominee Camille A. Brown, has broken barriers in musical theater as a choreographer and director, in addition to sustaining her own concert dance company, and the innovative Dada Masilo, whose reimaginings of classical ballets deconstruct European tales and masterfully reweave them with South African threads retold through contemporary vernacular.

As a Black woman in the industry Archibald knows enough to respect boundaries, how to test their elasticity, and when to buck. Choosing a white, European literary foundation like Lord of the Flies—with its recognizable name—falls within conventional bounds. But it is her departure from the original narrative (which centered on British schoolboys) and her amplification of the book’s core themes—human nature, the fragility of civilization, socialization, and the innate savagery of man—that mark her creative leap. By incorporating the foundational framework of humanistic psychology, particularly Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, she achieves a multitude of things at once.

It creates an entry point for every dancer—regardless of race, religion, culture, gender, or sexual identity—making space for each artist to find their place in the work and develop a character authentic to them. Rather than being asked to erase themselves, they are invited to use who they are, echoing Viola Davis’s reflection on being trained in the “classics” at Juilliard, where she was taught to expunge her identity in order to conform.

To that point: as the epicenter of the creative process, perhaps in this choice of source material, she herself had to be able to enter—and feel a part of it. By centering psychological theory, the work invites intellectual, academic, and sociopolitical reflection—something ballet, particularly classical ballet, has traditionally preferred to avoid.

 

I can hear the naysayers now: “But BalletX is not a classical company, it’s a contemporary ballet company.” That’s true. However, would you be so quick to dismiss the message or commentary if it was about Wayne McGregor or Crystal Pite? To quibble about genre misses the point. It’s about the content within the form—and what’s needed to sustain and advance it in a world that finds it less and less interesting. The Swan is dying. Does it matter whether it’s in a tutu or a leotard, a pointe shoe or a sock? Are you interested in trying to resuscitate it—or would you rather nurse your elitist superiority while it wizens? Your choice.

The truth is, the white-haired warriors who supported ballet for the last 60 years are on the wane. Gone are the days of the Gilded Age, when societal status was tied to the rooms you were invited into, and affluence was displayed by having a box seat and being seen at the theater. Today, the ultra-wealthy take you into their luxury lifestyle via social media. They are the Silicon Valley set, entrepreneurs, and influencers. If concert dance wants to survive, it needs to make them give a damn.

In a world where the average attention span has dropped to 8.25 seconds from 12 in 2000, where reading has become listening—or streaming—and societal shifts have rendered many classical themes problematic (colonialism and imperialism, racism and racial stereotyping, sexism and gender roles, classism and elitism), the debate over classical versus contemporary is moot. Especially when all classical companies now have contemporary repertory.

We need to get—and keep—people interested and entertained.
Yes, I wrote it.

As long as “entertaining” remains a dirty word in concert dance, it will struggle to find audiences. Because the one thing the world is not short on… is entertainment.

Which brings me to my final point about Jennifer Archibald’s Maslow’s Peak: it was entertaining, meant not in a shady, elitist euphemism of not “good,” whatever that means. It is entertaining in that Archibald, with her artistic team of collaborators, creates a world that is a visual spectacle. She has given us top-tier concert dance work with the theatricality of Cirque du Soleil—well, she is Canadian. The harmony between the set, designed by Guy de Lancey, and the visual projection and soundscape, both created by Archibald herself, creates the environment for the castaways. This is complemented by Drew Billiau’s lighting and Emily Morgan’s militaristic costumes, which become increasingly distressed over the course of the ballet mirroring the unraveling of order and identity.

Archibald has adroitly matched her artistic vision with the identity of BalletX as a company and, most importantly, with its artists. The movement simultaneously highlights their strengths—athleticism, agility, and power—while stretching them beyond what they thought they could do as they maneuver de Lancey’s set: jumping off the boulder, sliding down the airplane wing, scaling the dangling ropes, making them perform a poetic dance of their own.

Structurally, it has a clear arc, progression, character development, and a dynamic movement vernacular. It is consistently interesting which is hard to achieve in a full length. There is always something compelling to see—and it’s the viewer’s choice. If you want to follow the arc of the story through the dance, you can; if you want to be lulled by the visuals, music, and dancing ropes, you can; if you are intrigued by the action on the sidelines (someone high on a rope, atop the wing, or up a ladder), you can. If you want to analyze it for deeper meaning or take it at face value, you can.

Most relevant to this commentary is, Maslow’s Peak is a work that can satisfy a multiplicity of palates: highbrow dance lovers, newcomers who got dragged along, and children. Archibald has made a full-length ballet that is accessible in the best of ways. You don’t need to know the story to follow along. You don’t need to know dance to enjoy the physicality and emotion in the movement. If you do know dance, you will be awed by both the vocabulary and its execution by the indefatigable and dynamic BalletX artists. It leaves you with a range of takeaways for reflection and conversation on the way home. Most of all, you might want to see more dance “if it’s like that”.

Maslow’s Peak is layered—with subtle complexities and details—but not pretentious or fussy. Its depth warrants, if not requires, a second or even third viewing, and the world is so captivating that you want to experience it again. This is what makes it better than “good”, which is subjective; it makes it successful. If it comes back (and it should) it will sell tickets and no doubt be a hit for BalletX. And in the state of the arts in this union, the bottom line is the ultimate measure.

Maslow’s Peak could be considered one of the models for the future of the full-length ballet. It doesn’t simply invite you into the world of the ballet —it invites you into the ballet world itself.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________READ OASIS IN JUNE: Review: Ayodele Casel: THE REMIX| The Joyce Theater

Jennifer Archibald Has Commissions Seemingly Everywhere This Season—But Don’t Call Her An Overnight Success