Martin Zimmerman is a young playwright whose reflection on George Balanchine and his wives has a good outline, interesting performers (Mike Timoney as an overbearing pain-in-the-ass choreographer, the lovely Erin Fogarty, who is quite a good ballet dancer in the clear choreography of Avichai Scher, as the ingénue; and Maria Portman Kelly as the polio-ridden wife who also gets to dance in flashbacks) and needs a a blue pencil.
Because of too much exposition, too much lecturing by an authoritarian dictator about dance (in general and in specific terms), and too much intricacy into narrow world of ballet, although the performers are engaging, too much of the play is not.
Director Maura Farver's staging is fine, but she might have found more varying tones for the strong persona and wide capability of Timoney to play - a little lightness, a little humor, the charm that might seduce a succession of dancers.
Mr. Zimmerman: keep writing. Let's see what you come up with next year.
