Norway's 'Ballet Boys' dive deep into the world of dance

The road to becoming a professional athlete is paved with thorns, but there's more trouble than that awaiting three aspiring male ballet dancers in the Norwegian documentary "Ballet Boys." Directed by Kenneth Elvebakk, the film examines the lives of teens Lukas, Syvert and Torgeir, which involve practice, practice and more practice at the Norwegian Ballet School in Oslo.

Their daily routines go beyond Coco Chanel's maxim, "There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time." With these three, there's only dancing, period. The rest of the world hardly seems to exist.

Anyone who has stood at a barre in a ballet studio may have an inkling as to why these three have had to sacrifice a major portion of their young lives for this art. Ballet is a rigorous, dictatorial and ever-demanding master, and the process of becoming accomplished is far from pretty. "It's ridiculous, really, because ballet destroys the body," says Lukas.

The boys are also aware that a professional dancer faces retirement at 40 — if he manages to beat the astronomic odds to keep dancing even that long. Only a handful of young male dancers get a slot in a ballet company, and even fewer become principals. Injuries pose a constant risk and compensation is often scarce. "Why do we do it?" asks Torgeir at one point. It's a rhetorical question: They do it because ballet is who they are, which is not as simple as it sounds.

Unfortunately, "Ballet Boys" never delves into that complexity, and instead seems hell-bent on showing the boys' practice routines and bodies. Elvebakk has a keen fascination for thigh muscles, the arc of a gracefully raised arm, or the lines of a torso. He even takes the camera into the shower stalls, where one boy emerges in nothing but a black thong and another laughs with embarrassment at the camera. Such borderline voyeurism should at least have an objective — isn't ballet the focus of the film? Surprisingly there's more backstage scenes than actual dancing on stage, which is unfortunate.

On the other hand, "Ballet Boys" is as slim and pared down to the essentials as the protagonists. The visuals are often beautiful, such as shots of the boys coming into the studio to warm up before anyone else with routines, or the way they lift their female partners during the pas de deux in a way that seems to defy all the laws of physics. In comparison, shots of mere mortals (such as coaches, teachers and parents) make them look as though they are, well, mere mortals. Still, the boys need those mortals in order to keep doing what they're doing.

One of the facets of ballet dancing that Elvebakk glosses over is the considerable cost of putting a boy dancer on stage (it's even more for a girl): A pair of ballet shoes can cost as much as $15-20, and they are often worn out quickly — sometimes within a single day.

Instead, "Ballet Boys" is content to show that dancing is always on their minds, even as they engage in normal teenage behavior, like discussing how bad their grades are and talking about girls. "It would be stupid if guys took up ballet in order to meet girls," Lukas says with a laugh. At the same time, he marvels at the privileged positions he and the other male dancers have — they are surrounded by crowds of gorgeous girls in leotards at the ballet school, and practicing requires a lot of body contact.

The film reveals a kind of fatalism at work in the boys' minds. Torgeir says he and his two buddies want to go out and see the world, and that ballet is their only ticket. If not for dancing they will wind up like everyone else, "staying in Norway and sitting in front of the computer."

There's a price to pay for being different and, for some, the cost may be too high. Not for these boys. Any doubts or emotional problems that may arise are worked out at the barre.

For now, they seem invincible.