As a professional ballerina, I experience dance differently than most. I look at lines, weight shifts, the stories bodies tell even before the music begins. So when I sat in the audience at the Broward Center to see Miami City Ballet’s latest production of Carmen, choreographed by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, I didn’t expect to be simply entertained—I hoped to be challenged. And I was.

This Carmen is not the opera’s sultry siren nor the free-spirited rebel we’ve come to expect. Ochoa has sculpted something new: a woman with intent, authority, and sharp intelligence. You can feel it from the opening moments, where instead of seduction, we’re offered strategy. Carmen’s allure isn’t frivolous—it’s calculated, grounded, and chillingly effective.

The set itself was almost a second character. Massive Gaudí-like cones in saturated reds and yellows reached skyward like flaming fingers, angular and surreal. Their transformation—first red and yellow, then softening into pinks, blues, and finally white—reflected Carmen’s own arc, from provocateur to sacrifice. The final tableau, with Carmen in a white flamenco dress edged in ruffled tails dancing with Death—cloaked in black with a matching tail—was haunting. It didn’t just signal the end; it underscored her fate, and perhaps, her choice in embracing it.

From a technical standpoint, the dancing was sharp, grounded, and unrelentingly precise. The title role, performed with unshakable control, showcased a dancer not so much intoxicated with passion as mastering it. This Carmen was physically stunning—legs like switchblades, turns that seemed to spiral into another dimension—but she held back emotionally. Not cold, but composed. Not indifferent, but powerful. There’s debate, even among my colleagues, about whether this detachment dulled the passion. For me, it heightened the sense of calculation. She wasn’t swept away—she was steering the ship straight into the storm.

The integration of flamenco into classical ballet was one of the performance’s richest textures. I’ve studied flamenco—it’s not easy to pull off in pointe shoes—but Ochoa didn’t use it as exotic garnish. It was woven into the structure of the storytelling. The use of fans during a stylized poker game, where each snap revealed dollar bills, was theatrical and clever. Movement served metaphor here, not just aesthetics.

Costume choices also reinforced the narrative arc. The transformation of Carmen’s wardrobe—from a flirty red dress to a commanding red pantsuit, and finally to that symbolic white gown—communicated character development in real time. She was never ornamental; her costuming made sure of that. This wasn’t Carmen seducing with a smile—this was Carmen making calculated plays in a world ruled by men.

While the emotional undercurrent may have been subtler than some opera lovers are used to, I found that restraint more powerful. Ochoa didn’t want us to pity Carmen or fall under her spell. She wanted us to watch her—and see ourselves.

Miami City Ballet’s Carmen is a visual and emotional tapestry, woven with bold choreographic choices, potent symbolism, and a firm grasp on modern storytelling. For dancers like myself, it was more than a performance—it was a thesis on how we retell old stories with new intentions.

– S&P