MILAN — Alysa Liu’s smile commands attention. Not just because it beams with an authentic exuberance, but because the smiley accessory highlighting her grin adds a flair that can’t be missed. She pierced her own labial frenulum, the thin, rope-like string of tissue that connects the upper lip to the gums, with a silver curved hook. At each tip, an arrow rests on her front two teeth, bedazzling her glee.
And her choreographer, Massimo Scali, loved it when he saw it. So much so, it made him want another piercing.
“She will do my next one,” he joked.
It was a window into their relationship, an illustration of his influence on what makes Liu stand out, even among Olympic figure skaters.
When Liu, 20, decided to return to skating after retiring at 16, she did so with conditions. She’d wear what she wants. Dance to the music she wants. Eat what she wants. Take breaks when she wants. This second dance with figure skating wouldn’t swallow her up. Instead, it would be the vehicle through which she displayed the real Alysa.
This ride carries significance because Liu gets to tell her story. The artistic soul, dripping with Bay Area swag, presents itself to the world. For her, after committing most of her youth to the pursuit of victory, this matters more than winning.
Her ethos meshes perfectly with that of Scali, her longtime choreographer.
If Liu pulls this off, becoming the first U.S. woman to medal in individual figure skating since Sasha Cohen won silver in 2006, it would punctuate her storybook comeback. The American prodigy who broke free from the shackles of her sport, only to return and deliver the glory her talent once promised.
The story can’t be told without Scali.
“There’s no way to describe how much he’s done for me,” said Liu, who is in third place, bunched tightly with a pack of skaters at the top, as the women’s competition enters its free skate on Thursday night. “Something so special about him is that he’s actively always trying to understand and learn about who I am. He aims to understand me as a person.”
Massimo Scali, at right, with Liu and Phillip DiGuglielmo in the kiss and cry zone after one of Liu’s skates at the U.S. championship in January. (Matthew Stockman / Getty Images)
The former ice dancer coaches with balance. Exacting yet understanding. Organized yet creative. Demanding yet collaborative. His skill is projecting the person he coaches. The ice becomes the canvas, the skating their brush. With this approach, he promotes autonomy.
Scali’s rebellious spirit drives his process. In such a regimented sport, judged so much on execution, fates determined by the subjective expertise of others, Scali counters figure skating’s authoritarian leaning with a bent toward liberating his athletes.
That’s Liu’s language.
“We share a very similar way of believing in skating and in life in general,” said Scali, 46. “We have the same values, the same sensitivity, and a deep respect for each other and for the people around us.”
Scali’s path to becoming one of the sport’s most sought-after choreographers began almost accidentally. He grew up in a small town outside Rome in a hard-working, middle-class family. His father was a house painter; his mother, a housekeeper. He described his upbringing as simple and free — “real countryside life.”
No technology at all. He spent his days outside climbing trees, riding bikes and playing marbles with friends. He got his first computer at 27, when he moved to the United States.
Gym class at school introduced him to figure skating during a class trip to a local rink. He declared it love at first sight. Through ice dance, he discovered his love of dancing.
“There’s a strong connection between the movement and the music,” he said, “and a freedom that reflects the skater’s personality rather than forcing them into a mold.”
Scali competed in an ice dancing competition in Moscow in 2010 with his partner, Federica Faiella. (Dmitry Korotayev / Epsilon / Getty Images)
He won six medals on the Junior Grand Prix tour with partner Flavia Ottaviani. In 2001, he partnered with Federica Faiella. In 2002, they made the Winter Olympics, finishing 18th. At 23, Scali’s career looked up.
They won seven Italian national titles together and won two silver medals at the European championships. They made three Olympics together, finishing as high as fifth in the 2010 Vancouver Games. They followed with a bronze medal at the 2010 World Championships in Turin.
In 2012, he retired. Coaching wasn’t part of the plan, but it was how he could earn a living until he figured out what to do.
His ice dance training informs his coaching, even when it’s not ice dance he’s coaching. Scali said it’s easier to choreograph singles, in part for the obvious reason of maneuvering one fewer person. Scali focuses on marrying the skater’s movements with the music and the emotional story being told.
He believes the programs are about the skaters, not the coaches. It’s essential the skater feels the music, owns the routine and fuels the concept. It requires him to know his skaters closely, their personalities and their physical abilities. It requires film sessions to focus on the finest details. It requires empowering more than shaping. Scali’s experience and his own swag allow him to catch any vibe the skater inspires.
“I love that he is so himself,” Liu said, “and he’s so artistic. He’s so creative, and that is seen through more than just him as a choreographer, but (also) him, like, in his style. And I love how he uses his voice to speak out for others. And he cares about justice.
“Not only does it translate better on the ice, with the choreography and everything,” Liu added, “but he also helps guide me throughout my training, throughout my skating experience. It’s crucial to have a coach that cares. And he cares not just about my skating but about my well-being, about how I’m doing off the ice. And he knows I care about so much more than just skating, and he makes sure that I get all that in.”
Liu isn’t just performing in the Olympics. She is doing so as herself. (Sarah Stier / Getty Images)
Coaching took him to Michigan, where he worked at the Detroit Skating Club. He coached siblings Maia and Alex Shibutani to a bronze medal in the 2018 Olympics. He also worked with Olympic gold medalist Nathan Chen and ice dancers Madison Chock and Evan Bates, the silver medal winners in Milan.
By 2020, he moved to San Francisco to coach at the Yerba Buena Ice Skating Center. He now lives in Oakland and trains Liu at the Oakland Ice Center, where they worked tirelessly to develop the program she’s performing in the Olympics.
The story goes that in 2024, Liu, fully retired and attending UCLA, went on a ski trip to Lake Tahoe. Something about skiing made her want to skate again. So she did. She called Phillip DiGuglielmo, one of her former coaches, and informed him of a morning session she would be skating with her best friend at the Yerba Buena rink. He watched her land a triple toe loop and a double axel.
Months later, she called DiGuglielmo again and declared she wanted to return. As he tells the story, he presumed she meant to UCLA. She meant professionally. She wanted back in the mix. And she wanted DiGuglielmo and Scali — who had been fired by her father — to coach her on this comeback.
DiGuglielmo poured himself a glass of wine. It was on.
“I saw freedom and control,” Scali said. “I saw a woman who knew what she wanted and was ready to step back into the arena with even more passion and joy than before. I didn’t know if she was going to be great. I just knew I wanted to be there for her, no matter what, throughout her journey.”
That journey wound its way to the Milano Ice Skating Arena on Tuesday night. As Liu began gliding along the ice for the most significant skate of her life to date, her coaches stood rinkside with their focus on the 20-year-old phenom. DiGuglielmo, the technical master behind the reigning world champion, typically sharper than a box cutter, tensed into a stiff ball of nerves.
But next to him, Scali swayed with Liu. He guided her motions in his mind, having seen them countless times, watching her hands, her expressions, her posture. His widened eyes traced her every turn, her every movement. He leaned and bent as if he were entranced.
Liu wasn’t just performing in the Olympics. She was doing so as herself. And Scali, ever so central to choreographing this presentation to the world, knows exactly how much that meant.
“Helping people reach the best version of themselves in this sport is something truly special, regardless of their talent or level,” he said. “I believe champions are not only the ones who win medals.”
In Liu, he has one who does. She’s one more immaculate skate from adding an Olympic one to her bounty.
