When David Hallberg, a principal dancer at New York's American Ballet Theatre appeared on the Colbert Report in 2011, Colbert immediately assaulted him with faux belligerence about his move to dance in Moscow: "Americans don't defect to go to the Bolshoi. The Ruskies defect to come here... Why are you trying to lose us the Cold War?" he asked. "Stephen," Hallberg replied, "the Cold War is over."
Ironically, that's the memo the company Hallberg left to join, the Bolshoi Ballet, wishes had not been issued. Though the Bolshoi and the Mariinsky Ballet in St. Petersburg were the two troupes of Imperial Russia, the Bolshoi today owes its prominence to the Soviet legacy: It was the Bolsheviks who moved the capital from Petersburg to Moscow, Stalin who insisted on building up the company, and under Brezhnev that Yuri Grigorovich -- the man who would run the troupe for three decades, defining Soviet ballet -- choreographed Spartacus, the embodiment of the Bolshoi's grand style.
Russians have treated the violence at the Bolshoi as a sign of general social degradation, reflected in one of the country's storied institutions.
In modern Russia, however, the Bolshoi brings all the political baggage, but much less of the political importance, to the regime that now funds it. The Bolshoi Ballet feels like a white elephant that the Putin's Ministry of Culture must be finding particularly troublesome recently. The horrific acid attack on the company's artistic director Sergei Filin in January made headlines throughout the world. But just as the state announced its investigation complete, the perpetrators caught, confession video-taped, and motives neatly assigned , Filin, his dancers, and the theatre's general manager Anatoly Iksanov have all demanded a re-probe in one form or another. Several hundred dancers have signed a letter to Putin calling into question the legitimacy of dancer Pavel Dmitrichenko's admission of guilt. Filin and Iksanov have both expressed their belief that Dmitrichenko was an agent of something greater, and that the mastermind has not been caught .
But from the state's point of view, the Bolshoi has become a Soviet agent that has largely outlived its usefulness -- it's still important within the Russian cultural landscape, and a fine place to take visiting dignitaries, but the Cold War prerogative to showcase it as high cultural achievement is gone. The scandal has highlighted how the ballet operates: with a mentality partly stuck in the past and partly changing with the times. This burdensomeness might be a thorn in the side of Putin's government ministries, but is a far worse thing for the Bolshoi itself.
History and lingering popular sentiments tether the institution to the state more than any other cultural venue, even if ideologically speaking, neither is much use to the other. Though Putin's own insistence on machismo makes clear his disinterest in cultivating the ballet, it is a subject impossible for his government to ignore.
"It's a petrol economy now, but oil isn't something that brings people together," Tim Scholl, a scholar of Russian ballet at Oberlin College, told me. "If you ride a cab in Moscow, the cab drivers are still talking to you about ballet."
It was not so long ago that the Bolshoi Ballet was Russia's cultural gem, and ambassadorial face to the West. Muscovites haven't forgotten, so the politically powerful have remained intimately attached to it, even post-perestroika. On the Bolshoi's Board of Trustees -- set up by the Ministry of Culture and the Moscow government in 2001 -- sits a mix of oligarchs and various apparatchiks . The state poured huge sums of money into renovating the theatre (with its the decadence, corruption, and exorbitant price tag all well reported ). Annual government monies allocated to running the theatre have ballooned to $120 million a year , an opulent expression of the state's burgeoning wealth.
The government has also long had a hand in arranging the Bolshoi's administration. When the ballet adopted its current system of competitive contracts for paying its dancers, under then-general director Vladmir Kokonin in 1994, it was imparted via a decree signed by the Prime Minister, Viktor Chernomyrdin, tacked onto the theatre's notice board. When Kokonin was later fired, the directive came from Boris Yeltsin. The current general director Iksanov was appointed to the post in 2000, through state mechanisms that also brought in McKinsey & Co., the consultancy.