Biography

Diminutive, but still built, handsome and striking and as graceful as a man his size can possibly be, Sascha Radetsky has had a traditional dance history up until the new millennium. Radetsky is not only a skilled and gifted dancer, but also a heart-throb and sex symbol in his own right.

Born in Santa Cruz, California, Radetsky began his ballet studies in the San Francisco Bay Area with Damara Bennett and Ayako Takahashi. Like a lot of other male dancers, Sascha got started in ballet when his older sister took classes and Sascha would have to sit and watch. He was blown away by the men in the class taking those big long leaps and jumps and decided to join the class.

By 15, he was invited to Moscow's Bolshoi Academy underneath the renowned male teacher Pyotr Pestov.

After a year in Russia, he studied on scholarship at the Kirov Academy in Washington, D. C. under Rudolph Kharatian and Andrei Garbouz. He toured with the Kirov Ballet throughout the United States and internationally.

He also studied on scholarship at the summer programs of the School of American Ballet, American Ballet Theatre's School of Classical Ballet with Mikhail Baryshnikov, the San Francisco Ballet School and the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Vail, Colorado.

Radetsky joined the ABT as an apprentice in 1995 and moved up to the corps in 1996.

But his real break came in 2000 when he starred as Charlie, a dance student and loved interest in the movie "Center Stage." He reprised his role in pop singer Mandy Moore's music video "I Wanna Be With You" from the Center Stage soundtrack.

And as for his dancing career, Radetsky became a soloist in 2003.
- IMDb mini biography by: dane youssef

Dancers aren't necessarily a rare species, drawn to their craft like swans to water. In my opinion, the greatest artists lift their eyes beyond the mirror to the larger world around them. Such professionals forgo ostentation and consistently leaven their work with elegance and humanity. Sometimes critics and bosses honor that excellence; sometimes it goes unnoticed. Either way, to their peers, they are rock-stars. They labor toward something more meaningful than applause. My wife and best pals are of this ilk. They've seen me through long hours of rehearsal and travel, formidable roles, cycles of injury and rehab, thickets of grief. They've brought humor to interminable Nutcracker seasons, made adventures out of tours to noxious Beijing and forsaken Detroit. As if bound by some inverse Faustian contract, an imperative to help others attends their professional success: They've created schools, competitions, charities, scholarships, outreach programs, and mentor-ships. A few left performing behind to become doctors, physical and psychological therapists, and teachers. One dancer friend joined the Marines before 9/11, fought in Fallujah, and now directs ballet companies in New York and Connecticut. In 2012, he served another tour to Iraq, this time as a ballet teacher with the Mission Continues. A close ABT buddy is in the process of becoming a New York City policeman; he'll soon swap one grand stage for another. When I take my final bow next week, the curtain will draw on the joys of live performance and the arduous but uniquely rewarding journeys that preceded it. The loss will surely take time to reconcile. But I won't be bereft. Of the many gifts this career has given me, the most valuable are love and fellowship. The curtain will continue to open onto those joys.

My injuries are more due to attrition than accidents. I have a couple of herniated discs in my neck, and that more than anything else-I had a flare-up last December, and I had actually made the decision to retire before that, but that just cemented the choice. I was flat on my back. I couldn't move for a few days, and I had Nutcrackers that I had to cancel. So those injuries and the tendinitis, the wear and tear, arthritis in places. I don't know if I have more injuries than anyone else my age. But also even if I were perfectly healthy, I think it's a good time to stop. I'm doing a lot of the same roles that I once did, but probably not as well. I'd rather go out on a somewhat high note.

If age someday grounds my feet and wilts my port de bras, what vestige of the old life will be left? The signs that I was a dancer will gradually fade like stripes on a beach towel. Even my knowledge of the art form, reaped in sweat over decades, could be lost over time.