Every year, on the day after Thanksgiving, a spell falls upon McCaw Hall. The lobby is decked in holiday finery, snow falls and is blown by unseen winds, we are transported to a land of awe-inspiring wonder, and through it all, magic floats about on the wings of Tchaikovsky’s indelible melodies. The yearly return of George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker feels like coming home for the holidays. I wait all year for this indescribable joy to reappear, and from the first notes of the overture, it is like greeting a very dear old friend.
There are few sights more beautiful than getting to dwell in McCaw Hall this time of year. No matter what occurs outside, year after year, this beloved tale arrives one late November day and beckons audiences with the chance to disappear into a land of pure bliss and magic for two blessed hours. Here within this theater shines the epitome of the innocent wonder that humans are capable of creating. For both the tiniest children, who gaze with big eyes, to the adults who have enjoyed a lifetime of this classic holiday tradition and yet still cannot help but let tears cloud their eyes, The Nutcracker is an incomparable delight.
George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker celebrates its 70th anniversary this year, but on this side of the country, fresh designs make that difficult to believe. Pacific Northwest Ballet’s production is vibrant, starkly patterned, and flooded with color thanks to Ian Falconer’s designs. This is the ninth Nutcracker season for this production, which premiered in 2015 (it would have been the tenth were it not for Covid), and it's becoming as classic as the Sendak and Stowell production that so many in the Pacific Northwest cherished.
Nationwide, multiple companies perform George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker, but Pacific Northwest Ballet’s production is declaratively their own from the start. Unlike the New York City Ballet original, audiences lucky enough to find themselves in McCaw Hall are immediately transported by the overture video produced by Straightface Studios, a local company who also crafted the animation which accompanies the ever-breathtaking violin solo following the party scene. When this production first premiered, I believe many were initially thrown off by the inclusion of an animated video, but it has quickly grown to be a vital part of this production’s identity. Year after year, it is the vehicle that brings audiences from their everyday lives into the magic of this story. It feels like coming home, to travel over familiar snow-decked hills, down the frosted streets of a picturesque town, right to the doorstep where mice await to bring a chuckle to unsuspecting eyes. For those of us who wait all year for the wonder of The Nutcracker to flit before our eyes again, this video is the train that takes us there.
And, having arrived safely at the Stahlbaum’s house, there the story waits for us, in the hands of two children who, thanks to some theater magic, fade from animated characters into real dancers right before our eyes. One detail I adore about PNB’s production is that the corridor scrim features portraits on the walls and busts of many notable people who are the reason that this ballet gets to greet our eyes today. Look closely and you’ll spot Alexander Dumas, E.T.A. Hoffman, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky, Marius Petipa, Lev Ivanov, George Balanchine, and Lincoln Kirstein.
The party scene might be the most ordinary part of the ballet, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t full of charm. Some productions of the Nutcracker, especially those featuring an older Clara dancing on pointe, tend to involve much more serious dancing for the party children, but the beauty in Balanchine’s simple, very age-appropriate choreography is that it feels authentically childlike. In “Tchaikovsky’s Empire”, Simon Morrison remarks that Tchaikovsky “associated childhood with the divine and sought to preserve, in sound, childhood’s blending of reality and fantasy. Growing old encumbers the mind, a development Tchaikovsky resisted in his balletic masterpiece celebrating the joys and sorrows of youth at the end of another year”. That honoring of childhood is seen throughout the ballet, but in the party scene, it is especially evident.
The first performance of the season featured Ryan Cardea as Drosselmeier, whose portrayal of the mysterious character was full of nimbleness, and good-natured warmth. Many versions of The Nutcracker cast Drosselmeier in a sinister light, but Balanchine’s depiction of this character, drawn through the lens of Falconer’s whimsical designs, softens him, gives him some jolliness, and picture book eccentricity. Battle scene is so full of action, but the wonderful pantomime that Drosselmeier conveys from the top of the clock as he conducts the mice to scurry about is captivating and humorous, as is the rest of the legendary battle between oversized mice and undersized soldiers.
The peace brought to the theater when snow begins to fall amidst a winter wonderland calls forth a human instinct for wonder. Towering birch trees arrive from the heavens, snowflakes drift earthbound, and the chaos of battle fades away into blissful serenity. Waltz of the Snowflakes, the first serious dancing of the ballet, is a whirlwind of patterns, canons, interweavings, and crisp footwork. It’s the only moment where the corps is the sole focus, and their stamina and crystal clear precision is a remarkable sight. Half of the corps for snow and flowers are professional division students who deserve endless amounts of appreciation not only for keeping Nutcracker afloat, but for how they sparkle in their own right. Waltz of the Snowflakes is a work of pure brilliance. Both Tchaikovsky and Balanchine's genius is on display in every pattern and melody, every moment of the dizzying blizzard that rises and settles with the complexity of Tchaikovsky’s score. I think I could stay amidst that scene of snow-decked trees all night, but alas, Clara and the Prince must journey onwards.
When the curtain rises on Act 2, and candle-lit angels greet us, a hushed awe always travels through the theater. Framed by candy cane striped columns, and crisp doilies, there is magic in the air when the Sugar Plum Fairy comes swirling through the fog. Madison Rayn Abeo, the first Sugar Plum of the season, was a vision of true fairy-like poise. Through each meticulous detail, she welcomed all to the Land of the Sweets with effortlessly weightless beauty and otherworldly grace flowing through every finger tip. No matter how many times I see The Nutcracker at Pacific Northwest Ballet, I am amazed again and again by the relentlessly perfect execution of Act Two in particular. The entire second act is one long moment of “wow”. Every single divertissement bursts with character and flair, and it is always a joy to see different casts step into these roles and make them their own.
In Hot Chocolate, Melisa Guilliams and Luther DeMyer were a fiery and high-flying sight, filling this far-too short divertissement with an abundance of contagious energy. In contrast, Coffee always manages to pause time, for when the stage darkens, and Tchaikovsky’s heavenly rhythmed score drifts from the orchestra pit, a single dancer must fill the stage with intoxicating energy. Amidst the other lighter divertissements, Coffee demands a dark, serious tone, and Audrey Malek certainly brought that element of commanding allure as the beautifully entrancing peacock.
When The Nutcracker made its post-pandemic return to the stage in 2021, a new character had joined the ranks. The Green Tea Cricket, who utilizes Balanchine’s original tea choreography while leaving the cultural caricature behind, has quickly become an Act Two favorite. While most companies trudge on without reconsidering the implications of appropriation, PNB has led a way forward. Instead of just cutting out Tea all together or removing its cultural roots, they have taken caricature and created a character who is a symbol of luck and good fortune.
How can one not smile when five lovely doily-adorned marzipans step out from the wings? I believe Ian Falconer’s designs for Marzipan are the most beautiful and brilliant costumes that have ever been made for this divertissement. Legend has it that he brought a doily inside a tupperware container into the costume shop, and let it serve as the inspiration for these darling tutus and headpieces. As the lead, Yuki Takahashi was a perfectly tart lemon, who not only managed to present a witty little character, but made all of the underappreciated intricacies of Marzipan look effortless.
Another delight of Act Two divertissements is the ever-popular Mother Ginger. Christopher D’Ariano’s portrayal of the bigger-than-life character knew her fans were waiting for her, and was so enchanted by the applause that she nearly forgot the children hiding beneath her skirt. Yet there they were, impossibly small and so clean in the detailed choreography that Balanchine tasked these young children. Likewise, the students in Candy Cane were, as always, beautifully rehearsed and gave great acclaim to the quality of education found at Pacific Northwest Ballet School.
The thing with Balanchine’s The Nutcracker, with Balanchine’s version of anything really, is that it makes any other choreography appear to be missing a certain musical genius, an eye for pattern, and moments of opportunity for brilliance. Like Waltz of the Snowflakes, in Waltz of the Flowers Balanchine shows his mastery of creating visual melodies and canons which ripple through the corps de ballet. It is without a doubt the warmest, most beautiful place to be amid a sea of sunset-hued flowers and one spritely Dewdrop.
Even if you’ve seen The Nutcracker dozens or hundreds of times, there is fresh thrill in Dewdrop’s nimble footwork, her soaring grande jetés, and her endearing playfulness. It should come as no surprise that Sarah-Gabrielle Ryan’s Dewdrop sparkles with joy, and an eager anticipation that stretches each gorgeous moment, letting us dwell there for a breath, before pouncing upon the music with unrestrained glee. Her musicality, weightless buoyancy, and fouetté turns that made me shake my head in disbelief, were an invigorating delight.
The heavenly Waltz of the Flowers comes to an end far too soon, but with the tender opening notes of the pas de deux, and the entrance of the Sugar Plum Fairy with her Cavalier in hand, that is forgotten, for there is so much more beauty to be had.
In the opening matinee, Madison Rayn Abeo and Christian Poppe spun pure poetry in the grand pas de deux. I’ve been lucky enough to see them craft these roles together for the past several years, and am blown away each time by the delicate nuances, and breathtaking resplendence that they bring to the stage. They are ethereal, lighter than air, seeming to float through each arduous lift and glimmering balance, and continuously finding moments that suspend time. There is something of the sacred woven into this pas de deux, a quality of overwhelming beauty that is made all the more poignant when brought to life by artists who capture each breath with divine intention.
The Nutcracker is often dismissed for its simplicity, or its child-centered storyline, but there is so much more there. Perhaps because it comes around every year, or because companies like Pacific Northwest Ballet perform 41 shows in a matter of five weeks, it is difficult for some to see its inherent, timeless brilliance. We start at a Christmas party in the 1800s and end up, some two hours later, in the grand pas de deux, a scene wrought with otherworldly bliss and layers of emotional depth. Although unlike Stowell’s Nutcracker, Balanchine’s does not show Clara growing up to perform this pas de deux herself, she is seated at the back, watching this exquisite, dramatic duet unfold, and is, in a way, changed by seeing herself in it. The audience too, is changed, if only they have the willingness to let themselves be moved by Tchaikovsky’s momentous composition. It was a friend’s dare that compelled him to compose a melody based on a sequential octave, and 152 years later, I’d say he was very successful in doing so. From its first notes, it is hauntingly beautiful, a scene which falls like a blessing upon the audience, and dwells there, letting hearts and tears well at the profound sight.
The everlasting gift of The Nutcracker is that the way it affects people now is exactly what Hoffman’s original tale intended to do. Hoffman’s 1816 tale The Nutcracker and the Mouse King was written as a critique of the rigid, unimaginative way that German children were raised at the time. Take one look around McCaw Hall during any weekend in December and you’ll see that Hoffman’s efforts were triumphant in a way that he never could have imagined. For children, the gift of The Nutcracker is that it is imbued with wonder, and the possibility of believing in other-worldly goodness. Within The Nutcracker, trees grow, toys come to life, chaotic battle gives way to heaven-sent snow, and what remains when the curtain comes down is a feeling of great warmth.
What could be more beautiful than letting your eyes fall upon snow drifting through birch trees, a land adorned with candy cane stripes and crisp doily, marzipan, delightful characters, and waltzing flowers, all bathed in rich hues? There will never be a way to properly capture any of it with words. It’s a fleeting thing which comes and goes as quickly as a dream, and when you leave the theater, the world seems kinder, more hopeful, softened somehow by the power of human kind to create such astounding beauty. There is magic in this ballet, woven through and through, little glimmers of light that have caused The Nutcracker to be the most performed ballet of all time. It is also the most nostalgic of ballets, holding both personal and global histories in every rich note which comes floating up from the orchestra pit. People crave this wonder, crave to relive childhood memories, and a full house less than eighteen hours after the last bite of turkey proved that to be as true as ever.
A huge thank you to every single person who makes this yearly marathon possible: those onstage, in the orchestra pit, in the lobby, and all of the invisible miracle workers who make magic like this a reality. The entire Pacific Northwest region owes you multitudes of gratitude.
Pacific Northwest Ballet’s The Nutcracker runs until December 28th, learn more at pnb.org/nutcracker
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