In the first half of 2022, the dancers and staff at the National Ballet of Canada were pouring themselves into rehearsals for a historic opening: a new production of the iconic Swan Lake directed by ballet legend Karen Kain. This was Kain’s first time directing, and her bold and modern vision for the production came with a handful of unique challenges for the company to navigate. But the most unusual element of this production had nothing to do with the creative direction, the choreography, the costumes, or even the company itself. The strangest thing about the rehearsals and production meetings was the presence of a film crew. Director and co-writer Chelsea McMullan (director of Crystal Pite: Angels’ Atlas, another documentary focusing on the Canadian National Ballet) had recognized the significance of this production and chose it as the subject of their new project. It was clear to them that Kain’s version of Swan Lake was going to be something special, but in those early days of rehearsals and production, they couldn’t have foreseen the rich and dynamic story that would eventually reveal itself from hundreds of hours of footage. The finished product, a feature documentary appropriately titled Swan Song, is a poignant and beautiful film that humanizes its subjects through engaging and well-structured storytelling.
Dancer Tene Ward and other members of the corps de ballet in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
Although initial planning for Kain’s version of Swan Lake and McMullen’s documentary began in 2020, both projects were delayed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The two-year delay marked a time of uncertainty for the National Ballet (which, we learn at the beginning of the documentary, lost $13 million in box office sales during the 18 months that it was closed), but it would prove to be the perfect starting point for Swan Song. By addressing this setback at the start of the film, McMullan shapes the documentary as an underdog story and seamlessly integrates a theme of resilience. You might not know or care much about ballet when you start watching Swan Song, but there’s a really good chance you can relate to the disappointment, panic, and frustration that Kain feels when her dream project is delayed because of the pandemic.
Karen Kain in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
Kain’s story punctuates the documentary, but Swan Song isn’t just about her. McMullen develops a rich and multi-layered story by weaving together the individual perspectives of several members of the company — mainly Jurgita Dronina, one of the principal dancers at the National Ballet who takes on the white swan/black swan role in Swan Lake, and Shaelynn, a member of the corps de ballet. Although Swan Song covers multiple stories and perspectives, it’s incredibly focused and organized. There’s this underlying sense of unity throughout the documentary, even during moments of tension, frustration, and jealousy. Each interview and anecdote helps drive the story toward its climax (the opening night of Swan Lake), supporting the overall narrative while honoring the unique perspective of dancers from different backgrounds.
Dancer Shaelynn Estrada in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
With almost 500 hours of footage to work with, piecing together this narrative was no easy feat for McMullen. The fact that they were able to construct such a rich and well-formed story out of all that footage is impressive, to say the least. As you watch the narrative come together, you can’t help but wonder what was cut out and whose story was overlooked — which is probably why McMullen decided to release Swan Song as a four-part series in addition to a feature film (the docuseries version was released on CBC Television in November 2023 and is now available on CBC Gem). Some might argue that the feature version of Swan Song is too broad and buries certain stories and perspectives under others. However, making such an argument would overlook what this documentary is trying to do. Swan Song isn’t trying to cover every issue or perspective in the ballet community. It’s trying to tell a relatable and humanistic story. If anything, by exploring the differences among Karen, Jurgita, and Shaelynn, Swan Song reminds us that there’s so much more complexity and diversity to the ballet community than we might think. These unique and dynamic individual stories simply open the door for a bigger conversation; they don’t close the door to other perspectives that may have been left out.
Principal dancer Jurgita Dronina in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
Those who don’t have first-hand experience in the world of professional ballet (this reviewer included) might unconsciously expect a documentary about Swan Lake to be dark and visceral, seeing as one of the most popular cultural references to this particular ballet is Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (2010). Pop culture has positioned ballet on this sort of dark/light, evil/pure binary with Black Swan and other psychologically intense dance films like The Red Shoes (1948) on one end and children’s programs like Angelina Ballerina (2001) on the other. Luckily, Swan Song finds its place right in the middle. It doesn’t shy away from the “ugly” side of the industry (if you have a needle phobia, beware of the scene in the second half of the film in which Jurgita receives an injection to help with pain), nor does it ignore the intensity that the dancers put their bodies through for the love of their craft. But it’s refreshingly humanizing compared to other depictions of ballet in pop culture. It depicts its subjects as more than just dancers, but also as wives, mothers, partners, cat-lovers, women with insecurities, creative women, and most importantly, ordinary people trying to get through another day of work. McMullen highlights everyday moments in the dancers’ lives that people in just about any profession can relate to: miscommunication, disappointing decisions from higher ups, late hours, and creative tension. As a viewer, you don’t have to be a troubled artist or a hard-core athlete to understand and empathize with the everyday frustrations that Kain, Jurgita, and Shaelynn experience.
Tene Ward in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
For some of the dancers, those frustrations often stem from the racist traditions and practices that have governed the world of ballet since it began. When Kain begins discussing her ideas for Swan Lake costumes, the documentary briefly shifts its focus to racism within ballet, particularly the issue of colorism and costuming. In a forward-thinking and unconventional move, Kain decides to let the corps de ballet dance in bare legs without the traditional light pink tights. Unfortunately, this topic proves to be more of an aside than an actual theme of the documentary, and it’s quickly overshadowed as the film shifts gears to focus on how dancing without tights may cause other issues that aren’t related to race or skin color. By moving on so quickly, the film sort of gives the impression that this one simple change fixes everything and that there’s no more racism to worry about. Swan Song can’t adequately address every problem within the ballet community (and it shouldn’t be expected to), but its treatment of colorism does come across as a bit rushed. Hopefully, the docu-series version provides more historical context as well as a more comprehensive look at other changes that need to be implemented in the ballet industry.
A dancer stretching in SWAN SONG. Photo courtesy of Greenwich Entertainment.
In addition to the post-production challenge of transforming hundreds of hours of footage into a well-structured and digestible documentary, McMullen also had their fair share of challenges during filming. They had to learn how to work around the Canadian National Ballet’s strict schedule and intense rehearsal rhythm, finding ways to authentically capture the atmosphere of rehearsals without getting in the way. Watching the final feature, you’d never know that they were up against such challenges. The camera just blends into the dancers’ environment, working in harmony with its subjects rather than against them. In the footage that made the final cut, the dancers don’t seem at all phased by the presence of the film crew. Save for one moment when Kain remarks to a costume designer that she’d rather not discuss a certain issue in front of the camera, you forget that the filmmakers are there. The final result is a seamless documentary with an engaging narrative, one that finds the beauty in everyday moments without feeling inauthentic or contrived. It’s emotionally engaging, highly insightful, and surprisingly human, making you feel intimately connected with beautiful strangers.
In select theaters and available to stream on Apple TV and Amazon July 26th, 2024.
For more information, head to the official Greenwich Entertainment Swan Song webpage.
Final Score: 4 out of 5.
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Categories: In Theaters, Reviews, streaming
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