Judging Manon, and why we shouldn't
Hi all,
I realize I've been away, and I apologize for that. I have been very busy, and yesterday I saw a matinee of the ballet Manon. It was beautifully danced by everyone, but more importantly, I feel it is more relevant than ever because it pertains to sexwork.
The ballet is set in Paris. Manon, as she arrives, is being shunned by respectable society, but never fear, she has a ne'er-do-well brother who owns a certain establishment. Des Grieux, a poet, sees her and immediately falls in love. As opposed to the harlots and courtesans who always have an eye out as they dance their variations, looking for the highest bidder, he waits until she is by herself and then dances a beautiful variation. The message is: You have my heart. Worthless as it is, it is yours.
Manon buys into this fantasy, and they run away. But Lescaut, her brother, hunts her down because he has made a deal with a very wealthy man, and Monsignor brings her a fur coat, and diamonds, and she puts them on and admires herself in them and she thinks, of course. This is what adults do. They play the hand they have been dealt. She takes the wealthy client into her bed and shows him a good time.
Des Grieux is heartbroken. Manon has ruined it. More than that, he's now being spun into her web. He must win even more money from the Monsignor; except that he is no hand at cards, and gets thrown out of the hotel run by Madame. Manon and Des Grieux are both arrested, she is charged with being a prostitute and he is charged with theft, and they are transported to the New World, where the French have a hold in Louisiana.
They arrive starved and weak. Manon is arrested almost staight off the boat and raped by the gaoler. Des Grieux stabs him and now they are on the run again, but it's a big country.
Unfortunately, just as she able to communicate that she wants to start over, that she wants a new life with Des Grieux, Manon dies, exposed to the Lousiana marshlands and diseases. She dies in Des Grieux's arms.
To me, part of this reads as extremely black-and-white. This is what adults do; this is a fantasy we can have. Fantasy, adult sexwork, fantasy, life. To some extent, however, we are saved by the choreographer coming from the wrong side of the tracks; Kenneth was a Scot, and never lost his accent, which you must to blend in among the upper echelons of power in England. He was a genius, however, so although we have two operatic versions of Manon, with very strict morals, the ballet is on the side of the underdog, Manon herself. This is the ballet's saving grace.
Manon is a prefix to our sexworking community. When she finally comes to her senses, so to speak, at the very end, she could be saying, "I want a new life with you, where you don't have to support me, because this is not some poetic fancy of yours; I don't want to be a damsel in distress." Yes, it lends itself to cisnormativity, but the scene at the hotel - little boys, for instance, dancing variations, offering themselves - is much more open. In the eighteenth century, people also tended to pretend to be cisnormative, even if they weren't.
Of all its renditions, the ballet Manon supports the fact that sexworkers are human beings; they can be sad, infatuated, flighty, etc. In the short time that has elapsed since it has been choreographed, an amazing amount of people have lauded it, even if they do not approve of sexwork. The fact that a community uses its brains, autonomy, and creativity to survive seems to be OK in ballet and theatre.
Let's please do all we can to make it OK in real life.
Sincerely,
Olivia
