Pacific Northwest Ballet School student in “The Nutcracker” (Photo: © Angela Sterling)
Now in its 27th year, PNB’s iconic production of The Nutcracker (at McCaw Hall through December 27) doesn’t disappoint. With sets and costumes by Maurice Sendak and choreography by Kent Stowell, this Nutcracker is just multi-level enough to appeal to a broad range; it’s almost guaranteed that you and your ten-year-old will each experience it from a different perspective.
If you’ve been following The Nutcracker Chronicles, Alastair Macaulay’s blog in the New York Times about his cross-country Nutracker-a-thon, you know that while the basics of the story remain largely the same from production to production, many ballet companies–large and small–employ artistic license to contextualize their Nutcracker for a local audience.
In the Nashville Ballet’s production, young Clara goes to the 1897 Tennessee Centennial Exposition and her dreams take her to the land of sweets. In San Francisco, National Jewish Theatre Festival presented The MeshugaNutcracker! with the traditional Tchaikovsky music played in a klezmer style. The Tucson Regional Ballet’s version is set in Tucson in the 1880’s and features a battle between the coyotes and the U.S. Calvary.
With this in mind, I was wondering at last Friday night’s performance what the Stowell/Sendak Nutcracker says about Seattle. I’d argue that it’s: “Sure, we like our land of sweets, but it shouldn’t be all fun and games, ya know.” Maybe it’s our Scandinavian heritage.
Sendak has never been one who is afraid of the dark, and his touch permeates not only the aesthetics of the production, but the subtext as well. Towards the end the first act party scene, young Clara’s godfather, Herr Drosselmeier, whispers something to her that has her shaking her head and seriously creeped out. Across the stage, one of the older men at the party whispers something to a young girl that gets his face slapped. It’s doubtful that the children in the audience noticed this or understood what was likely going on. It’s a brief and subtle touch, among others, that gives this Nutcracker its bittersweet texture.
For the most part, the performances are terrific. Amelia Jay as young Clara danced with confidence and innocence. Sarah Ricard Orza was beguiling as the Ballerina Dolls brought to life at the first act’s party, but her counterpart Sword-Dancer Doll, danced by James Moore, lacked the crispness of movement that can make that brief role thrilling.
When young Clara falls asleep (within her own dream of the entire show–this production is so meta) after the climatic mouse battle, she awakens as the now-grown Clara, danced by principal Carla Körbes. She gives herself a surprised once-over and then has the same “Let’s see what this baby can do” look that I would get if handed the keys to an Audi R8 before launching into a pas de deux with the Nutcracker Prince. Her Clara is the essence of lyrical grace. The almost-always-excellent PNB corps danced beautifully in the snowflakes at the end of Act I, with soft undertones of green, yellow and red in the flowing, soft tulle of their white ballet dresses.
While first act is about story, second act is about dancing. Act II dances in the land of sweets are good, if not more than a little politically incorrect (the whirling dervishes, for example, look like they’re in blackface), which is a bit counter to my “Seattle’s Nutcracker” theory. The land is ruled by the Pasha, with oversized turban and an eyepatch suspiciously like the one worn by Herr Drosselmeier (hmmmm…). Highlights include Ariana Lallone’s sensual Peacock. With a sense of regal elegance, she holds the entire audience captive from the moment she emerges from her cage. Carrie Imler, leading the Waltz of the Flowers, is another standout, with seemingly effortless and perfect fouetée turns. As the Nutcracker Prince, Batkhurel Bold does exactly what he is supposed to (and well): make Körbes’ Clara look weightless.
In the end, adults and children will take away different things from this Nutcracker. The magic is there for everyone, though. There was a four-year-old sitting behind me, loudly asking her mom questions through whole of Act I–and making it hard for me to suppress my inner Niles Crane. As annoyed as I was with her–well, her mom, actually–she probably summed the whole thing up best when she turned to her mom and said, “I want to go there.”
