Not all men in tights are superheroes

Everyone has played the wishing game, “If I won the lottery” or suddenly had a million dollars. Of course that doesn’t go quite as far as it used to, but if I found myself with enough money to repair my crumbling old house and pay for my kids' education, I wouldn’t splurge on a fancy car or diamonds, I would, though, buy two subscriptions to Lincoln Center, one for ballet and one for opera.


Not that they cost quite that much, but I can never let myself spend that money when I’m still paying orthodontists. Yet, I go to a fair amount of theater and ballet, thanks to a great job and friends.

Yesterday was one of those days. It was the perfect spring day at Lincoln Center, though I do hope that at some point the scaffolding, which feels as if it has always been there, comes down.

The performance of Herman Cornejo in “Don Quixote” was one of those magical moments. The sort where you leave a theater with hands, stinging from clapping, and voice sore from shouting “Bravo.”

I’ve seen ballet at Lincoln Center since shortly after it opened. I was, in the Dark Ages, a ballet student and a serious enough one to study at Carnegie Hall, get scholarships and spend every spare moment practicing. I was never good enough to make it as a pro.

But that never lessened my pure admiration of those who can, and Cornejo is among the most brilliant danseurs I’ve ever seen. I watched Nureyev and Fonteyn perform, and nothing may ever beat that. But Cornejo makes his own magic.

He springs from the stage as if he were doing martial arts leaps; he stays suspended in air. He pirouettes as if he were on ice. He’s a little guy, compact and extremely muscular, and catches ballerinas with one hand.

If anyone has the slightest chance to see him perform, do. For his sort of talent comes along perhaps once in a generation, and we can’t wait to win the lottery to see him.