Oh, the Tutus! The Tutus Are On Fire!
Darling, hold onto your pointe shoes! Today, November 16th, 1996, was the day the world of ballet took a whirlwind spin into the realms of the utterly ridiculous, and I wouldnât have missed it for all the swan lakes in the world.
Letâs face it, we all know ballet is a glorious spectacle, but letâs not pretend itâs not rife with⊠well, letâs call it 'dramatic flair', shall we? We're talking tutus, darling, and tutus can be just as fierce as a pirouette on pointe.
It all kicked off, quite literally, with the infamous "Great Tutu Conflagration" at the esteemed Royal Academy of Ballet. Now, this isn't your everyday little misunderstanding in the wardrobe department, mind you. Picture this: The Academy's annual Nutcracker performance was in full swing, and the audience, all clad in their best tiaras and pearl necklaces (a good little social gathering, naturally), were fully engrossed. Thatâs when the first plumes of smoke began wafting through the auditorium, just above the lead ballerina, Henrietta Plumtart, during her show-stopping, glitter-clad Arabian Dance number. Oh, the scandal!
Turns out, Henrietta's tutu wasnât just a pretty confection. It was, well, let's be polite - slightly 'flame-resistant challenged'. Apparently, Henrietta, who can get a little carried away on stage (darling, she can whirl faster than a hurricane in a teapot), had brushed up against a particularly enthusiastic stage light. The end result was, shall we say, a little more fiery than she had bargained for.
In a flash (pun intended, darling), the stage lights were plunged into darkness, a chorus of yelps could be heard from the bewildered audience, and, oh, how do I put this delicately... Henrietta's tutu was quite literally combusting.
Panic erupted in the theatre like a startled flock of pigeons in Hyde Park. Men and women scrambled for their respective fire exits. It was a scene of pure theatrical mayhem, a ballet of sorts - except with more frantic scrambling and fewer pirouettes, darling! Iâm surprised no one ended up tangled in a string of pearls, let alone trying a pliĂ©. And, as for Henrietta? Well, bless her little cotton socks, she took the whole debacle in her stride, naturally. Did she run off stage? Absolutely not. She simply dusted off her shimmering sequins, curtsied to the stunned audience, and then threw on the closest fire blanket she could find (pink, of course), announcing to the audience: âOh, dear, I do think my tulle has gone a little âcrispyâ.â
Needless to say, this event has become ballet legend. The story of the âBurning Tutu of â96' (it has been called this since, darling. Honestly, one must take a good drama title when itâs been handed to you on a silver platter).
So, what lessons can we glean from this? First, darling, never, EVER underestimate the power of a well-designed tutu - even if itâs as combustible as a Roman candle.
Second, if you are going to see a ballet, keep a spare tutu at the ready. The most elegant of ladies are always prepared, you know. It can't be too gaudy!
Lastly, I have it on good authority that Henrietta Plumtart has not suffered any long-lasting burns â though she is now insistent that all of her future costumes have âfire retardant' labelled proudly on the hem. And, while some might see her misfortune as an unfortunate incident, dear readers, we here at âTulle and Tinselâ see it as a victory - a glorious reminder of the theatrical flair and pure joy that only a well-placed and well-burnt tutu can deliver.
Until next time, darlings!