The Nutcracker
This was phenomenal.
Theatre Royal
So this is Christmas, apparently: a trip to the ballet to see The Nutcracker. It’s not a tradition I’d previously given much thought to, assuming in a petulant and self-defeating manner that this would be a festival of gaudy schmaltz which my world-weary brain would struggle to extract anything positive from. I was wrong.
This was phenomenal. If it failed to engender the Christmas spirit in me, that’s only because I’m predisposed to avoid such things until the middle of next month at the earliest. In every other way it was a success.
The ballet, which in addition to Tchaikovsky’s score, features a libretto adapted from Prussian author E.T.A. Hoffman’s 1816 short story ‘The Nutcracker and the Mouse King’ initially had a mixed reception. It was only during the second half of the last century that it became the cultural and commercial phenomenon it is today. Apart from its association with Christmas, the principal reason for its endurance must surely be the incredible score. Tonight, it was expertly performed by the Northern Ballet Sinfonia, led by Geoffrey Allan and conducted by Daniel Parkinson.
Although the music alone would have made for an excellent evening’s entertainment, the combination of Northern Ballet’s choreography, sets, costumes and the consistently astounding performances of the cast – excellently supported by students from the Norwich School of Dance - had a mesmerising effect.
Act I begins with Clara and her siblings preparing for a Christmas party. It doesn’t take long for things to be in full swing, the stage soon fills with dancers and the party seems to be approaching a demented festive fever pitch when the bewilderingly ostentatious Uncle Drosselmeyer arrives. He’s wearing black trousers, a silver waistcoat, a shiny red overcoat and an enormous sparkly purple cape. He’s also carrying a cane, despite not even the merest hint of a mobility impairment. He gives the children a present the size of a small caravan, from which a couple of life-sized mechanical dancing dolls emerge. Before there is any danger of the attention straying from him, Drosselmeyer reveals he has another gift for the children: a wooden soldier doll that can also crack nuts. Clara and her brother fight over the doll and break it. Thankfully Drosselmeyer fixes it.
The party ends and everyone goes to bed, except Drosselmeyer who remains behind to cast a magic spell over the nutcracker turning it into a fully conscious, life-sized Nutcracker Prince. This comes in handy when Clara can’t sleep and arrives downstairs to find herself surrounded by giant mice. Clara and the Nutcracker Prince defeat the Mouse King and his army of mice. Not to be outdone, Drosselmeyer deploys some more magic to turn the Nutcracker Prince into a boy. Clara holds the boy’s hand and they are transported into a snowy fairyland before Drosselmeyer reappears with – of course – a massive magic sleigh. This whisks them into Act II, which is more abstract but just as spectacular.
Clara finds herself in a beautiful garden and is introduced to the Sugar Plum Fairy and her cavalier. An incredible sequence of dances follows: Arabian Princesses, Russian Cossacks, French ballet dancers and exotic flowers. Clara joins them and then so does the Sugar Plum Fairy. The dancing ends and Clara is back at home, struggling to make sense of it all.
After it was over – a nearly two-hour performance that passed extraordinarily quickly - I was left contentedly exhausted from the sensory overload. It was clear that sensory overload was a key feature of the operation, and it was all handled so expertly there wasn’t room in my head to feel much other than gratitude for the skill and dedication of all those responsible for such an incredible experience.
