In Ballet, the new Frederick Wiseman film that documents a season with American Ballet Theatre, the most memorable character is the moon. Coming out of the ABT studios after a long day of leg warmers and pliés and visits to the company chiropractor, the camera lifts past the Manhattan twilight and settles on that big round monosyllable in the sky. Later, when the company goes on tour to Europe, Wiseman’s camera wanders habitually upward, more solemn sighing on those oh-so-silent moons. It’s a theme, a motif, but so static that the viewer is likewise stunned into slow wit: what does it mean? Perhaps Wiseman wants to punctuate the seasonal rhythms of the company, or to suggest the nocturnal performance life of dance. In the end, Ballet just looks bovine—the mooooo-n.

And that’s pretty much how ABTcomes off, too. We never see the entire artistic enterprise interlock, the sheer muscular reverberation of the company in a big corps-de-ballet scene. We never see temperament or ambition or relationships or spark. Rather, Wiseman focuses on a few placid principals and the odd soloist, showing them in rehearsal with coaches (who give the film’s most spirited performances). He also lets us see administrators pushing pencils behind their desks. When the company gets to Europe, the ranks look so straggly and sparse you’d think these were survivors of some battle. And with the rocks and ruins of Athens rising up behind the ancient outdoor stage, the documentary begins to look