Philly Fringe 2026: Chris Davis presents The 40-Year-Old Ballerino

Authentic and funny

Davis isn’t 40, he tells us at the beginning of his show. He’s 44. And he’s a ballet addict. For the past several years, he’s been taking five or six classes a week. Ballet has replaced other addictions, and if he goes too long without a class, Davis finds himself hunting for a fix.

The writer/performer doesn’t dwell on the more unusual aspects of his pursuit. Most serious dancers start ballet as young children. Most of the people who pick it up or return to it later in life are women. Davis could easily focus on being a middle-aged dude in a room full of young women. As he points out, isn’t it funny how out of place he is? Aren’t the tights funny? Isn’t the bald spot funny?

Instead, Davis tells us about his ex, a professional dancer with whom he used to get high and watch Modern Family. He tells us about how much he loves being at the barre in his classes, and how scary it can be to step away from it. He tells us about his feet (they’re good ballet feet). The comedy is based on situations and relationships Davis describes, and it comes naturally. It never once feels like Davis is trying for laughs. And yet the audience at the performance I attended barely stopped laughing.

A fully human ballerino

So about that eyeline. Davis is onstage from the moment the house opens until the moment Ballerino ends. The audience is clearly visible throughout the show. It would be hard for anyone to pretend there’s a fourth wall there, and Davis just doesn’t. He makes small talk with the audience as they come in. He makes aggressive eye contact with the audience during the opening dance. He spots someone he recognizes in the audience and directs an aside to them. It might be uncomfortable for some in the audience. Maybe even for Davis himself. But it also makes it feel like we’re getting the real guy onstage.

Which is why, when Davis nearly trips over a prop, or when he sets his barre up a little too close to the back wall, or when he knocks over a light, as he did in the performance I attended, it doesn’t feel sloppy or unrehearsed. It feels authentic. It feels human. And for a performance piece about an artform that’s often derided as inaccessible, that’s quite a feat.

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