I am not a dancer, but I have a love of dance. When I was in college I took a class in ballet and I completed an independent study and wrote a paper on liturgical dance. In that class, in addition to writing about dance, I presented dance performances at local churches and presented a junior dance recital with another dancer. Most of what I know about dance, and much of my love for the art comes from being a ballet dad. From the time she was only two years old, our daughter was fascinated with dance. We lived at that time in Boise, Idaho, which is home to the American Festival Ballet. Just down the street from our home was a dance academy run by a member of the troupe. It was located in a strip mall with a wall of windows in the front of the studio. Our daughter would stand by the windows, staring at the dancers, in pink leotards, going through their paces and begged to be allowed to go in. She was too young for kinder ballet, but as soon as she was old enough, she was enrolled. From that time through a couple of years of college she danced her way through life.

She danced through math, which was a challenging subject for her to learn. She memorized math facts to rhythm and learned fractions from time signatures. She memorized the names and styles of classical composers and became familiar with the characters in popular ballet performances. When she was in high school she earned credit at her dance academy by teaching young children the basics. A series of knee injuries changed her participation in dance when she was in college, but by that time, there was a closet in our home with a row of ballet costumes from years of dance recitals. I had become a skilled dance dad. “You job, dad is to drive the car. Don’t talk when we give other dancers rides.” I loved all of it.

Ever since, my ears have perked at opportunities to read about and to watch dancers. Yesterday, I listened with fascination to an interview with Guillaume Côté, a principal dancer and Choreographic Associate at the National Ballet of Canada. Guillaume has announced that he will retire at the end of the 2024/25 season. A special production titled Adieu: A Celebration of Guillaume Côté will cap his stunning career. In that production he will restate his thrilling rendition of Bolero and perform a new work, Into the fade. It will be a stunning cap to a career that began with his being the youngest performer ever to dance Drosselmeyer in the company’s production of the Nutcracker when he was only 18 years old He has danced Prince Siegfried in 11 versions of Swan Lake with 17 different dancers performing the role of Odette.

In addition to being a dancer, Guillaume is a trained musician and composer. He plays rock guitar and was awarded the Best International Short Film at the 2020 Milan International Film Festival for his work, Lulu.

What struck me about the interview most, however, was the conversation about his dance company, Côté Danse. His company produced a ballet version of Hamlet which had its world premier before a sold out audience on April 3 at the Elgin Theatre in Toronto. The show will be performed in Romania in May.

I am fascinated at the notion of a wordless performance of Shakespeare’s classic play. It is hard for me to imagine. The play is cerebral, filled with self reflection and Shakespeare’s typical brilliant word-play with layers of meaning. How can its meaning be presented in motion alone without words? It turns out that the idea isn’t new. A dance version of Hamlet was produced in Venice in 1788 and there have been many productions since. The Stuttgart Ballet danced Hamlet in 2008 and Côté himself starred in a production of Hamlet by the Canadian National Ballet in 2012.

In the interview, Côté described the famous “to be or not to be” scene. Having previously engaged in swordplay, Hamlet still holds his blade in his hand as the third act begins and contemplates life’s hardships as he considers suicide as a possible option. In the dance version, Hamlet holds the blade to his wrist and later draws it across his throat without touching the skin. In the original play, Hamlet reflects, “There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. O, what a rougue and peasant slave am I! To be, or not to be, that is the question.” The scene presents suicide as a dangerous option so dramatically that it is chilling in a conventional presentation of the play. Côté’s description of the dance scene left me shaking, almost fearful to watch the scene should I ever have the opportunity. I am drawn to the dance, but at the same time have no particular desire to watch that scene. It seems more frightening than any horror movie to me.

I have been witness to too many scenes of death by suicide. When I was working with suicide loss, I learned to avoid viewing scenes as investigators did their work. I shuddered to listen to the officers’ descriptions of what they had witnessed. I have too many gruesome scenes in my memory to ever want to see another.

And yet, suicide is a topic we need to discuss. It is one to be brought out into the public. Its often hidden nature makes the tragedy somehow more filled with stigma for the survivors who have lost loved ones. Prevention requires that we learn to speak directly, as does Hamlet, of its presence as a possibility. Survivors of suicide are themselves over twice as likely to die by suicide than those who have not experienced suicide loss. However, talking about suicide is an effective way to prevent suicide. Those who are experiencing suicidal thoughts who are able to confide those thoughts are less likely to act upon them.

Art is a reflection of life. Dance invites reflection and conversation about important real world issues. I will continue to follow Côté and his dance troupe. Who knows, I may even have the opportunity to see the dance staged when it comes to Vancouver, only 40 miles from my home. In the meantime, just the radio interview has given me this opportunity to continue the work of conversation that helps prevent tragedy. Choosing to live continues to be possible now just as it was for Hamlet, despite his dramatic death in Horatio’s arms, not of his own hand, but from a wound of Laertes’ sword, with its tip poisoned by Claudius in his quest to remain king.