Draft for video project
Scene 1: Roll Black Swan clip: “I wanted to be perfect.”
On July 22nd 2015, at the ripe old age of nineteen, I had already officially retired from my professional career. A career that had been driven by unwavering passion, desperate ambition, and my innate desire to be perfect. The irony is, once I signed my final company contract, those factors that were my core motivators, became the very sources of my failure. My name is Lizzy Cumbo, and I was once a ballerina. There’s a saying that goes, “dancers die two deaths, the once when they stop dancing, and again when they stop breathing, and the first is always the most painful.” I think it’s important to mention that the memories I have of this first life were predominantly positive. To this day, over a decade later, I have yet to experience anything comparable to performing on the Lincoln Center stage for the first time. I keep trying to think of an adjective to aptly describe the feeling, but I am convinced one doesn’t exist. This isn’t the story of my glory days. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but this the story of how I died. So without further a do, ballet, welcome to your tape.
Scene 2: Alright so some context is obviously needed. Up until my senior year of high school, I did everything I could to assure I had the best possible chance of getting a job in a ballet company. Starting when I was seven, summers were no longer spent eating ice cream and playing manhunt, because I had begun to train 8 hours a day six days a week; an opportunity I didn’t have when school was in session. I was 9 when I first lived away from my parents, traveling to different cities to train and perform. If you went to New York to watch the Nutcracker, there is a solid chance you saw me in a sick candy striped unitard swinging a hula hoop around to that iconic Russian music they always play in holiday commercials. You know, this one: *roll clip* I had a working resume by the time I was eleven, and left for boarding school when I was fifteen. At this point, I have lost count of how many Disney trips I missed, Christmases spent alone in a dressing room, and pieces of birthday cake I refused for the sake of my waistline. I am fully aware that I am seriously running the risk of sounding like a self-important, pretentious *bleep,* but each of these milestones are significant in showing how I literally let my childhood pass me by, yet at the time, I didn’t think twice about it. Each sacrifice I made seemed entirely worth it, because above anything else, I wanted to be a dancer. I NEEDED to be a dancer. It’s actually kind of sad how my senior year of high school, I refused, against all advice and better judgement, to apply for a single college. Instead, I spent my weekends taking the train into New York for auditions. I had convinced myself going to college the following fall would’ve meant I had epically failed. After being rejected dozens of times, by some miracle I was offered scholarships and callbacks from a couple of different companies. So after graduating high school in 2014, and spent that summer traveling around the country, sort of testing the waters and seeing what was good with the companies that showed interest. I started in New York City, made my way to Orlando, and then went onto my final destination in San Diego, where I ended up signing a year-long contract to dance with a company that I won’t name because I’m a very paranoid individual, and don’t want them to come after me and sue for slander. So the real substance of this story begins that August in San Diego, when I packed my bags and moved across the country, a decision that impacted my life forever.
Scene 3:
The first half of the year was pure bliss, even at the bottom of the totem pole, I was learning more than I ever had as a student. I had an apartment on the beach, a pretty cool boyfriend, and was truly living my best California life. But as January ran around, everything changed. You see, when you are first starting out, the only thing harder than getting a contract is getting that contract renewed for another season. And at this point, my position was precarious, so the best bet was to audition for other companies. Auditioning as a professional is a whole different ball game, think of it being along the lines of football, and pitting a recently graduated recruit against the fame and abilities of someone like Tom Brady. In this case, I was the recruit.
On July 22nd 2015, at the ripe old age of nineteen, I had already officially retired from my professional career. A career that had been driven by unwavering passion, desperate ambition, and my innate desire to be perfect. The irony is, once I signed my final company contract, those factors that were my core motivators, became the very sources of my failure. My name is Lizzy Cumbo, and I was once a ballerina. There’s a saying that goes, “dancers die two deaths, the once when they stop dancing, and again when they stop breathing, and the first is always the most painful.” I think it’s important to mention that the memories I have of this first life were predominantly positive. To this day, over a decade later, I have yet to experience anything comparable to performing on the Lincoln Center stage for the first time. I keep trying to think of an adjective to aptly describe the feeling, but I am convinced one doesn’t exist. This isn’t the story of my glory days. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but this the story of how I died. So without further a do, ballet, welcome to your tape.
Scene 2: Alright so some context is obviously needed. Up until my senior year of high school, I did everything I could to assure I had the best possible chance of getting a job in a ballet company. Starting when I was seven, summers were no longer spent eating ice cream and playing manhunt, because I had begun to train 8 hours a day six days a week; an opportunity I didn’t have when school was in session. I was 9 when I first lived away from my parents, traveling to different cities to train and perform. If you went to New York to watch the Nutcracker, there is a solid chance you saw me in a sick candy striped unitard swinging a hula hoop around to that iconic Russian music they always play in holiday commercials. You know, this one: *roll clip* I had a working resume by the time I was eleven, and left for boarding school when I was fifteen. At this point, I have lost count of how many Disney trips I missed, Christmases spent alone in a dressing room, and pieces of birthday cake I refused for the sake of my waistline. I am fully aware that I am seriously running the risk of sounding like a self-important, pretentious *bleep,* but each of these milestones are significant in showing how I literally let my childhood pass me by, yet at the time, I didn’t think twice about it. Each sacrifice I made seemed entirely worth it, because above anything else, I wanted to be a dancer. I NEEDED to be a dancer. It’s actually kind of sad how my senior year of high school, I refused, against all advice and better judgement, to apply for a single college. Instead, I spent my weekends taking the train into New York for auditions. I had convinced myself going to college the following fall would’ve meant I had epically failed. After being rejected dozens of times, by some miracle I was offered scholarships and callbacks from a couple of different companies. So after graduating high school in 2014, and spent that summer traveling around the country, sort of testing the waters and seeing what was good with the companies that showed interest. I started in New York City, made my way to Orlando, and then went onto my final destination in San Diego, where I ended up signing a year-long contract to dance with a company that I won’t name because I’m a very paranoid individual, and don’t want them to come after me and sue for slander. So the real substance of this story begins that August in San Diego, when I packed my bags and moved across the country, a decision that impacted my life forever.
Scene 3:
The first half of the year was pure bliss, even at the bottom of the totem pole, I was learning more than I ever had as a student. I had an apartment on the beach, a pretty cool boyfriend, and was truly living my best California life. But as January ran around, everything changed. You see, when you are first starting out, the only thing harder than getting a contract is getting that contract renewed for another season. And at this point, my position was precarious, so the best bet was to audition for other companies. Auditioning as a professional is a whole different ball game, think of it being along the lines of football, and pitting a recently graduated recruit against the fame and abilities of someone like Tom Brady. In this case, I was the recruit.
I love this idea so much! Faces many aspects about you personally because it involves what you love to do but can also be relatable in the sense of self esteem and internal conflict. I'm really excited to see how this turns out!
ReplyDeleteI'm curious as to why the rest of this didn't make it into the final draft of the video--it's good writing.
ReplyDelete