American Ballet Theatre’s Othello: Elegance, Madness, and Psychological Depth Deliver Unsettling Opulence on ABT Day

By Lauren Berlin

Photo by Quinn Wharton, Courtesy of ABT

Some theaters carry history in the air, and the David H. Koch Theater at Lincoln Center is one of them. On opening night, the house was packed, patrons dressed in their finest. I paused for a moment to take in the scene. This is hallowed ground for ballet, a stage that carries the echoes of generations of dancers and bold artistic risks. Early in the evening, Artistic Director Susan Jaffe announced the establishment of ABT Day, and the audience erupted in applause, a moment of celebration that set the tone for what would become an extraordinary night. In a moment when actors like Timothée Chalamet have casually dismissed ballet and opera as overly serious relics, a full house at American Ballet Theatre offered the most elegant rebuttal imaginable. Ballet, at its highest level, is technical, psychological, narrative, and profoundly human all at once.

The curtain rises on a single unforgettable image. Calvin Royal III kneels, head bowed, already inhabiting Othello in full. He does not need to move. The weight of the story radiates from his presence alone. Royal III is statuesque and expansive, a dancer whose reach seems to claim the entire theatre. As his port de bras sweep outward into space, I felt a small, private pride knowing he is from Florida like me. Floridians are no strangers to vivid emotional extremes, and Royal III channels that intensity into something remarkably controlled. His portrayal captures the psychological unraveling of a man consumed not by reality but by corrosive suspicion, revealed slowly and terrifyingly. Every subtle contraction, shift of weight, and tightening of the torso signals the creeping fracture of Othello’s mind. Even the smallest gesture—the tilt of a head, the flex of a hand, the turn of a body—pulls the audience deeper into his unraveling.

Othello is one of Shakespeare’s most devastating tragedies. The story follows a noble Moorish general whose love for Desdemona is slowly poisoned by the manipulative scheming of his ensign Iago, driving him toward suspicion, paranoia, and catastrophic violence. American Ballet Theatre premiered Lar Lubovitch’s adaptation in 1997, translating Shakespeare’s exploration of jealousy, obsession, and betrayal into a language of sweeping gesture, tense partnering, and deeply psychological movement.

Act One unfolds in Venice, where Othello has shocked society by marrying Desdemona. Royal III moves with nobility and restraint, yet every posture, extension, and subtle shift of weight communicates deep emotional tension. Fangqi Li’s Desdemona floats across the stage with ethereal clarity. Her phrasing is delicate, every port de bras and arabesque intentional. The handkerchief, a tiny prop with vast symbolic weight, is treated with reverence: Li’s fingertips trace it, her gaze follows it, her movement frames it as an extension of the narrative itself. Every detail is a lesson in how classical technique serves storytelling.

James Whiteside as Iago dominates the stage with precision and psychological insight. Every contraction, weight shift, and measured pause becomes a study in manipulation. One moment, he lifts Madison Brown’s Emilia by the neck while she holds a straddle split, the line clean, the tension terrifying. The audience feels the menace radiating from him. Every movement, from slow extensions to controlled port de bras, conveys malevolence without a word. The casual slick of his hair, as if to say yes, I just did that, makes him gleefully, horrifyingly human.

Act Two moves to Cyprus after Othello’s victorious campaign at sea. The choreography erupts with the Tarantella. The corps whirl in a frenzy, torsos twisting, feet striking rapid rhythms, hair flying. This is hysteria and ritual made visible. Each step is precise, each lift exact, yet the energy appears untethered and wild. Amid this chaos, Desdemona loses the handkerchief, and every movement surrounding it—the way she reaches, turns, and reacts—is amplified by the corps’ kinetic energy. Lubovitch transforms a small prop into a symbol of trust, betrayal, and obsession, carried entirely through physicality.

Jake Roxander as Cassio demonstrates precision, clarity, and finesse. Every extension is articulate, every pirouette exact, every lift perfectly partnered. He navigates the technical and narrative demands with confidence, reminding the audience that Shakespeare and ballet require nuance, patience, and depth. Roxander’s timing, phrasing, and attention to line make his Cassio both technically brilliant and fully human. His brother premiered the night before in Philadelphia Ballet’s The Merry Widow, and it is thrilling to see such fine artistry run in the family.

Act Three is a study in psychological collapse. Royal III’s Othello slowly unravels. The torso contracts, steps grow heavier, arms stretch with tension; despair radiates from every movement. Whiteside’s Iago watches with satisfaction, restrained yet full of menace. Li’s Desdemona floats with purity, her arms, legs, and extensions clean, precise, and emotionally luminous. Lubovitch allows moments to breathe, showing that physicality carries narrative and psychological weight as clearly as words. The lifts, the partnering, the intricate corps formations, the delicate phrasing of solos—all choreographed with clarity that makes the audience feel every beat of the characters’ minds and hearts.

The set further amplifies the tension. Long ropes stretch across the stage like rigging. Rich red tones signal danger, and the icy throne anchors the scene in forbidding grandeur. Projections on the scrim echo the dancers’ inner states, sometimes violent, sometimes ethereal. Elliot Goldenthal’s score pierces the senses: strings tremble with menace, woodwinds shiver with foreboding, percussion punctuates the psychological tension, and together the music interacts with every movement, emphasizing narrative stakes and emotional intensity.

Ultimately, ABT’s Othello is extraordinary because it embodies Shakespeare’s complexity through movement. Royal III is noble, fallible, and terrifyingly human. Whiteside terrifies because every movement is deliberate, precise, and full of psychological insight. Li’s Desdemona moves with ethereal clarity, grace, and technical brilliance. Roxander demonstrates refinement, musicality, and depth that elevates supporting roles. Lubovitch’s choreography fuses narrative, emotion, and technical mastery, creating a performance that is psychologically intricate and physically breathtaking.

Othello is dark, unsettling, and breathtaking. On opening night, ABT reminded us that ballet is not merely steps and extensions.

Timothée Chalamet may dismiss ballet as irrelevant, but true artistry demands more than opinion—it demands stamina, grit, and devotion to craft. As Cassio warns in Shakespeare’s Othello, “Reputation, reputation, reputation! O, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial” (Shakespeare 2.3.248–250). At American Ballet Theatre, one sees exactly what he overlooks: dancers whose bodies, hearts, and minds are honed to perfection, transforming every movement into a testament of human perseverance and beauty. Here, reputation is not a fleeting notion—it is lived, earned, and immortalized in every lift, every leap, every breathtaking moment on stage. And in that light, Chalamet’s shrug feels small, a reminder that true artistry, like the ballet itself, cannot be dismissed—it endures.

Othello, American Ballet Theatre, New York City, David Koch Theatre, March 6-20, 2026.