It was just eleven years ago that Mikhail Baryshnikov slipped away from a touring troupe of Soviet dancers in Canada for a new life in the West. He was instantly acclaimed as a once-in-a-lifetime performer of genius. Who could miss his radiant classicism, his ardent romantic style, his deportment as a diffident young god? Never presenting himself on- or off-stage as "a star," he had a solitary air that his huge blue eyes only underscored. In fact he was starting out with only schoolboy French, no English, no clear idea of where to settle or which dance company to join.
Today...
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