If you glance at any theatre website at this time of year, the chances are, wherever you are in the world, there will be a fair crop of performances of The Nutcracker. Yet in spite of this great proliferation, by the time Christmas comes, most Nutcracker performances will be sold out.
The first performance of The Nutcracker was in December 1892 in St Petersburg, a collaboration between Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky and Marius Petipa and based on the ETA Hoffmann fairytale of The Nutcracker and The Mouse King. Unbelievably, at its opening night, the ballet received a lukewarm reception and was not deemed as successful as Tchaikovsky’s 20-minute Nutcracker Suite, which had been premiered nine months earlier. It has come a long way since then.
It’s probably top of the list for families who want to take their children to see a ballet for the first time. The story is easy to follow, it’s magical, seasonal and most importantly, Tchaikovsky’s music is transporting.
I don’t recall my first Nutcracker, but I remember watching John Gilpin dance the Prince with London Festival Ballet (now English National Ballet) in the 1960s and thinking that he was jumping so high I could almost touch his hands, even though I was sitting in the balcony. It was an illusion!
My first experience of dancing in it, was in 1978 when I joined LFB. It was Ronald Hynd’s wonderful 1976 production, and I was tasked with dancing a guest in the Prologue, followed by a snowflake in the Snow Scene, and a “bloom” (as we called them) in the Waltz of the Flowers. What I wasn’t fully prepared for was the really taxing nature of the season. We would do a full orchestral dress rehearsal on Christmas Eve, even if we had already done a few weeks of it on tour. Christmas Day was free and we dutifully stuffed ourselves with turkey and pudding. On Boxing Day we would return for a matinee and evening performance (breathe in, to have your tutu done up!). And from that day on, except on Sundays, we would do two performances every single day for three and a half weeks.
With the extra few weeks of touring eight shows a week, I probably clocked up around 400 shows of that production alone, in the seven years that I was with the company. It would be easy to assume that one could develop an aversion to all things Nutcracker-related with that sort of exposure, but it’s never happened.
I spoke briefly to Alain Dubreuil, a former principal with London Festival Ballet. He tells me about the various ballerinas he has partnered. “Patti Ruanne was my main partner in Ronnie Hynd’s 1976 production – but over the years I danced with, amongst others, Galina Samsova and Doreen Wells, who guested with us.” I ask him if he had ever danced it with Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet. “By the time we did it there, I was too old, darling!” he says, candidly. “I was Clara’s father. We did it in the 1990s and I was in my fifties. I don’t think they wanted an old, doddery prince.”
He tells me that he and Ruanne were 2nd cast to Eva Evdokimova and Peter Breuer in Hynd’s Nutcracker. “It was a great production, beautifully designed – but it was so hard! The man who became the Prince was also in the Prologue. Because Peter could chaîné backwards – can you imagine? It was his forté – we had this confrontation with the character who transformed into the King Rat. In order to get away from him, we had to chaîné backwards. Well, the only person who could chaîné backwards was bloody Peter Breuer! The rest of us couldn’t.” Amid peals of laughter he says, “I never forgave him for that!”
Dubreuil continues to regale the intricacies of what he describes as, “fiendishly difficult partnering”, in both the two big pas de deux. He refers to a particular section of pirouettes which went one way and then reversed at speed. He tells me, “Patti and I used to call it ‘Death Corner’, and everybody came off pointe. Ronnie didn’t mind if you came off, but nobody really wanted that to happen.”
He tells me that the sheer volume of performances meant that it didn’t always go well. He recalls one performance of his second act solo where he started to fall off his double tours en l’air. “Ronnie came backstage saying, ‘What happened, pet?’ and I just said, ‘I f**ked up!’ and he said, ‘Oh well, at least you’re honest!’” But in a heartfelt after-comment he says of Hynd, “He was always such a delight to work for. Such a nice man.” And we all feel that about Ronald Hynd. In the studio he is diligent, focused and precise, but he always maintains a wicked sense of humour.
In my second season I was cast as one of a number of Snow Queens, which was one of the most challenging roles I have danced. It required a lot of stamina as well as strong technique. There were four regulars that I remember: Mary McKendry (known as Mares), Janette Mulligan (Mully), Mireille Bourgeois (Milly) and me (Gerry – because the Chairman of LFB was called Gerry Weiss). We all found it tough but it was also very exciting. Hynd is the most musical of choreographers, and the way he used Tchaikovsky’s score was what spurred us on. The three Ms all went on to dance Sugar Plums and have led highly successful careers as teachers and coaches.
The advantage of doing multiple performances was that it was possible to build strength, to play with it, to take some risks. However, I would be the first to admit there were plenty of occasions where, post-performance, I was not so much Snow Queen as Drama Queen as I pulled myself apart with self-criticism.
Inevitably, accidents happen, and I was occasionally Queen Splatter (a slip and fall = splat). The Act 2 Nutcracker lino/floor was painted in beautiful, swirly colours. A little known fact was that the paint would build up on our pointe shoes and this could be hazardous. I did a memorable splat during a Waltz of the Flowers, as the entire corps de ballet waltzed in a big circle and, centre stage at the front, I skidded and hit the deck causing a pile up with the domino effect. It was rectified in a split second and we are all still friends!
Another vivid memory is of going on stage for the big finale of The Nutcracker. I could have been a Mirliton, but the number of performances danced in a season precludes confirmation of this.
Towards the end of the run, sometimes it was necessary to have a sit down, a relax, in the dressing room between diverts, before heading back to the stage. Occasionally we had to remind ourselves to remove leg warmers or check that we were stage ready. I remember us piling up in the wings of the Royal Festival Hall, where entrances and exits were navigated around the large steps that were usually used as choir stalls. That’s when I saw it: a coat hanger dangling nonchalantly on the back of a Flower tutu – and arabesque on one, and glissade, pas de chat. On she went, with her unlikely appendage in tow!
The appeal of The Nutcracker remains undiminished even for someone like myself, who has watched it from a young age, danced a variety of roles in a number of productions and has continued to write about it for three decades after hanging up my pointe shoes. Two outstanding elements have allowed me to continue loving The Nutcracker: the music, and watching different interpretations, of which I never tire. Having a live orchestra at every performance is something I will cherish forever. I was also fortunate to see (and continue to see) some of the greatest dancers, in numerous productions. Yes, the feet got sore, the back ached, injuries occurred and it was tiring, but once the conductor lifted the baton, the thrill was the same every time.
English National Ballet perform The Nutcracker at the London Coliseum until 7th January
