Russian composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake is now 150 years old, but still, crowds bottlenecked the theater when I attended a performance at the American Ballet Theatre in New York. Some people desperately held up signs declaring their willingness to pay well over the original price for a seat.

Despite its legendary name, Swan Lake is actually a simple story. An evil sorcerer transforms Princess Odette into a swan. The curse lifts briefly every night but will continue forever unless a man wholeheartedly commits to Odette. During a midnight hunting expedition, Prince Siegfried encounters Odette. Moved and enchanted, he swears an oath of loyalty to her. However, when the sorcerer shows up at the royal ball with his bewitching niece, Siegfried breaks his promise. Devastated, Odette leaps off a cliff to avoid being imprisoned as a swan forever. Siegfried rushes after her and follows her to his death.

The parting curtains sent a hush through the room. The opening scene alone showed me why this ballet is a classic. Swan Lake meticulously shapes its themes, presentation and ending to encapsulate the universal desire for certainty — something which is ironically absent in a modern age of scientific knowledge and digital abundance.

Romantic certainty

Swan Lake was first released in 1877, but after the Russian Revolution, the Soviets changed the ending to better align with Marxist-Leninist values. Instead of ending in tragedy, good prevails over evil when Siegfried removes the sorcerer’s wings and his power. In Soviet hands, Swan Lake became an allegory, a symbol of national pride.

Nowadays, most American audiences interpret this ballet as a romantic tragedy. Siegfried’s ultimate triumph (or demise) signifies his unwavering determination to fix his betrayal of Odette and prove his sincerity. To 21st-century Americans, this plot point takes precedence over the ballet’s previous allegorical themes. Siegfried’s romantic and moral certainty is refreshing because we ourselves are awash in a sea of digital options.

At the royal ball, Siegfried is presented with many contenders for marriage, but he refuses them because of his vow to Odette. We experience the same surplus of options — less glamorously — with dating apps, where 60 million people are available at the convenience of a swipe. This excess hardly helps our decision-making; instead, it leads to choice overload.

Our brains stop processing information beyond a certain limit. At the same time, the more information we receive, the less time we spend considering each option, so we inevitably lose depth of assessment. Social media encourages us to scroll through endless content in a way that feels good, which is why reversing these patterns is so difficult. And when we aren’t being bombarded with content, countless ads compete for our time and energy. Perhaps Siegfried’s simplicity and clarity could be available to us without so many artificial online options.

Swan Lake only flashes a glimpse of this problem, but the ballet inspires us to think more deeply about the cost of convenience. Even compared to a brief, formal meeting at an aristocratic ball, online dating is a generic experience. An app strips any unique context from meeting someone new and reduces its users to a list of bullet points on a screen. People become used to judging others superficially, even offline. The experience leaves us empty, deprived of real, concrete interactions. The chemistry and sincerity in Siegfried’s encounter with Odette, for example, is something that cannot be replicated online. Encountering another person organically allows more realistic first impressions that encourage us to invest time in getting to know others.

Perhaps this is why, although social media has shrunken the average human attention span from two and a half minutes to an alarming 45 seconds, Swan Lake can still keep an audience rapt for two and a half hours without anyone turning to their phones. Indeed, there is drama in every second, from a breathtaking stage set to flawless costumes, music and choreography. Among this spectacle, even the world-renowned orchestra can afford to fade into the background. Not a single moment fails to dazzle. Swan Lake suggests that every moment can be spectacular if we decide that the mundane is important and what we have now is enough.

Open to interpretation

In the end, the message in Swan Lake is never explicitly stated. There are no long-winded speeches or virtue signaling. Instead, the ballet shows us consequences and leaves the rest for imagination. This space allows the audience to personally interact with the plot by interpreting its implications, gestures and symbolism.

Moreover, instead of setting perfect standards by presenting faultless characters, the original and modern versions depict a flawed prince who goes to great lengths to rectify a mistake. This artistic decision inspires audiences in a way that feels compelling and realistic, since everyone can relate to a sore regret. Fiction provides a safe distance from our pasts to feel these emotions and perhaps reconcile with them. With such polished execution and subtlety, Swan Lake conveys the full weight of its message.

It is up to each production to decide whether Odette and Siegfried will triumph or meet their demise. Another detail to factor into the theme is whether Siegfried hesitates before he jumps. In some versions, Siegfried evaluates the full scope of his decision. He recognizes all potential consequences and still takes the plunge. In others, Siegfried single-mindedly leaps after Odette in the attempt to restore a broken promise with his life. Although the character implications differ, both endings portray the inherent human desire to choose and to be chosen back with unfaltering certainty.

In the version I saw, Siegfried jumps after Odette without pause, which perfectly captures the unwavering foundation of a promise that should overshadow any future circumstance. The two are then reunited, their embrace projected onto the theater screen in a rising halo. From his determination to reinstate an original intention at any cost, Siegfried has perfected his promise in flawed circumstances. His death symbolizes how he has transcended his faults and shortcomings by sacrificing every imaginable constraint to prove his devotion to Odette as he had intended in the beginning.

Although this version is compelling, I prefer the bleaker ending when the ballet ends after Siegfried jumps. With that striking visual, the message isn’t sugar-coated; there is no guarantee of reuniting, and betrayals are irreversible. A broken promise can never be undone because a promise is sacred.

Our interpretations of Swan Lake today are as valid as one in 1877. Every time this ballet is revisited, it takes on different meanings in context with an ever-changing society. That very wrestling with its themes gives this classic further complexity. With such divided politics and values in society, many feel uncertain about the future. Art offers a nonjudgmental sense of community and preserves hope by continuing valuable conversations that span over generations.

Perhaps the art that survives history expresses itself through the medium of universal emotions. Even the most pessimistic audience member wants reassurance that there is certainty in promises.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.