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Showing posts with label Ритмика. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ритмика. Show all posts

Friday, April 20, 2012

Again with the "Rhythmics" love?


YES, dear readers. I can't stop. I've been doing "Ритмика" (still trying to figure out how to pronounce it -- any Russian speakers out there?) every day this week. It's freaking fantastic. I've explained why before, here and here, but mostly it just came out like WEWWHWE;H;NACNAC OMG OMG OMGOMG LOVE!!!!!!


Instead of trying again (and inevitably failing) to capture its essence, today I'll focus on the majestical art direction on this show. However chintzy some of the episodes end up looking, the people behind this show knew how to take a couple lean bodies, put them in nature or against a weird conceptual set, and produce some HUMAN BODY HIGH DRAMA. Behold:












Isn't that last one beautiful? Way to turn an ugly-carpeted studio into a perfect picture of post-workout serenity. It doesn't hurt that the dancers are flawless specimens who probably spent their adolescence hyperextending their limbs in rhythmic gymnastics training camps. But they went through all that just so we could feel behooved to work out. How 'bout that!


Oh, and the GIFs. THE GIFs, PEOPLE. They're ripe for the picking. I'll have a fresh basket of 'em next time we take a ramble through "Ритмика." I know you can't wait.

Monday, April 2, 2012

World of Ритмика


What is there to say about this other than noises I'm insufficient in expressing onomatopoetically? 

"Rhymics," or "Ритмика," the Soviet Russian half-hour TV fitness program I first examined here, has become a part of me. Since Friday, I have spent several hours with this show, maybe 40% actually doing it and the rest just watching in awe. Of THINGS LIKE THIS:








I almost can't handle it, you guys. So much going on here that's cranking my gears: krautrocky electropop, lithe n' limber ballerina bodies with perfect carriage and insanely innate-looking epaulement, cry-worthy workoutfits, every kind of set known to man, ballet-meets-b-boy (or meets Russian folk dance, or meets military training) choreography, collector-geek cred, delightful weirdness and, dare I say, sex appeal. I mean --