The main livestream camera steadily tracks Yuri as he takes to the ice. Even though the sound quality is not the best, it's possible to hear the crowd's cheering. After the explosive free skate he'd delivered to them yesterday, it's hardly surprising that the Rostelecom Cup audience would be more than a little curious to see what new stunt he might pull here, where there's no need to be concerned about what the judges might think.
Expectations notwithstanding, even Yuri Plisetsky knows that an exhibition program should be about enjoyment, not about point-scoring. And while The Angel of the Fire Festival is lighter and less driving in tempo than the Allegro Appassionato, it is still possessed of a certain breathless, whirling rhythm. So naturally, Lilia Baranovskaya has taken advantage of both the piece and the performer -- specifically, the performer's disconcerting flexibility -- to choreograph an exhibition skate full of fire and freedom, worthy of the Bolshoi's bold artistry and well suited to the Russian Fairy's notoriously inflammable temperament.
For a pair of older male skaters who know exactly how far their own bodies can bend, it might be difficult not to wince at least slightly when Yuri does something that seems to require a different number (or configuration) of vertebrae than either of them currently possess. Of particular note is a layback spin where he bends over backwards until his torso is parallel to the ice and his arms appear to rise and fall like flames dancing in a bonfire, a shimmering intensity that builds with the increasing speed of his spin as he lowers his free leg from its attitude position. Of the handful of jumps in it, the only quad among them is Yuri's beloved quad salchow, but it comes close to the end of the performance, part of the lead-up to a final spin combination that segues from the dizzying head-first dip of an illusion spin into the intricate twist of layover camel, rising from there into the demanding full-body stretch of a Biellmann, and finishing in a pose that makes him look like he's about to take flight and leave the earth behind him entirely.
In the midst of the cheers and applause from the delighted Russian audience, Yuri takes his bows, breathing hard from the exertion but nowhere near the point of collapse he'd been at when he'd completed the Allegro the previous day. Yet as he prepares to leave the ice, he pauses for a second and tilts his head to look up, away from the camera, his gaze fixed on something out in the tiers of seats in the darkness beyond. And whatever he seems to see there is enough to soften his expression, his usual fierce resolve (and some disappointment, still, for failing to carry off the gold medal here in Moscow) giving way to a hint of an actual smile.
It's a far cry from the snarling viciousness he'd flung at Viktor Nikiforov in the hotel lobby a few days earlier.
It's a pale echo of the unguarded happiness he'd shared with Yuuri Katsuki on a snow-caked street less than twenty-four hours before.
And then it's gone, as he turns and pushes off to make way for the next skater. But there's momentum beyond the movement itself, impatient and demanding. Calling his competitors onward to Barcelona, and the Grand Prix Final.
(Not much longer now, and he'll be home, too. But home's right here, when you know that the right person is watching you.)
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Expectations notwithstanding, even Yuri Plisetsky knows that an exhibition program should be about enjoyment, not about point-scoring. And while The Angel of the Fire Festival is lighter and less driving in tempo than the Allegro Appassionato, it is still possessed of a certain breathless, whirling rhythm. So naturally, Lilia Baranovskaya has taken advantage of both the piece and the performer -- specifically, the performer's disconcerting flexibility -- to choreograph an exhibition skate full of fire and freedom, worthy of the Bolshoi's bold artistry and well suited to the Russian Fairy's notoriously inflammable temperament.
For a pair of older male skaters who know exactly how far their own bodies can bend, it might be difficult not to wince at least slightly when Yuri does something that seems to require a different number (or configuration) of vertebrae than either of them currently possess. Of particular note is a layback spin where he bends over backwards until his torso is parallel to the ice and his arms appear to rise and fall like flames dancing in a bonfire, a shimmering intensity that builds with the increasing speed of his spin as he lowers his free leg from its attitude position. Of the handful of jumps in it, the only quad among them is Yuri's beloved quad salchow, but it comes close to the end of the performance, part of the lead-up to a final spin combination that segues from the dizzying head-first dip of an illusion spin into the intricate twist of layover camel, rising from there into the demanding full-body stretch of a Biellmann, and finishing in a pose that makes him look like he's about to take flight and leave the earth behind him entirely.
In the midst of the cheers and applause from the delighted Russian audience, Yuri takes his bows, breathing hard from the exertion but nowhere near the point of collapse he'd been at when he'd completed the Allegro the previous day. Yet as he prepares to leave the ice, he pauses for a second and tilts his head to look up, away from the camera, his gaze fixed on something out in the tiers of seats in the darkness beyond. And whatever he seems to see there is enough to soften his expression, his usual fierce resolve (and some disappointment, still, for failing to carry off the gold medal here in Moscow) giving way to a hint of an actual smile.
It's a far cry from the snarling viciousness he'd flung at Viktor Nikiforov in the hotel lobby a few days earlier.
It's a pale echo of the unguarded happiness he'd shared with Yuuri Katsuki on a snow-caked street less than twenty-four hours before.
And then it's gone, as he turns and pushes off to make way for the next skater. But there's momentum beyond the movement itself, impatient and demanding. Calling his competitors onward to Barcelona, and the Grand Prix Final.
(Not much longer now, and he'll be home, too.
But home's right here, when you know that the right person is watching you.)