Béjart is dance as obsession, he is dance as the art of the 20th Century: from music to fashion to spirituality, Africa and Molière and Islam and the light of distant stars made blinding in the glory of the stage, Béjart is dance. Béjart is Chopin and electronica, Stravinsky and Freddie Mercury; he is power and elegance and blue jeans, speed and brains and instinct -- the wizard of dance. He saw everything and listened to everything and breathed everything in and he turned everything into material -- even plagiarizing, whatevs -- because if like Béjart you think that dance is everything then everything is dance, too.
If the French still had their currency instead of that big pricey Euro they should slap his face on a big fat bill, and the Swiss should carve out a chunk of the Alps and sculpt his big head, Rushmore-like, on the side of a mountain.
Because if you've been to the ballet even once in your life, you've seen a Béjart performance, even if the master was not involved. Bonne nuit Maurice.
