(And I nearly left in the first five minutes because one reason I don't watch films in theatres is they're so fricking LOUD. They hurt my ears-- which, unlike everyone else in my generation I must assume, were not damaged in the 60s by rock concerts and thereafter by walkmans and ipods played at maximum volume.)
I liked it very much, aside from being confused because I thought it was a documentary. How else could you get a Chinese actor who also speaks English and can dance? Appears there's more than one around, and Cao Ci is gorgeous. As is the female dancer he briefly partners in China-- who is that?
And of course I wept like a drain at the appropriate moment. But one thing bothered me about that-- two, actually.
Like, if you pull high-level diplomatic strings to bring your dancer's parents to the US, after aaaaalllll these yeeears apaaaart, so they can finally see him dance on stage, and keep it a big hush-hush secret from him and all--
1) wouldn't you provide them with an interpreter, on account of them probably never having been out of their home province even, let alone travelled on a plane to a foreign city?
2) of all the western ballets to display their son's dancing in, why pick The Rite of Spring, which even westerners might find foreign and incomprehensible (and loud and ugly) if suddenly dropped into it?
Now I want to read the book and find out what really happened.