It seems that Christopher Hampson, Scottish Ballet’s artistic director, just can’t leave Nutcracker alone. This was the third revival since he fished Peter Darrell’s mini-masterpiece out of the archive in 2014 and each time he’s done some tweaking. The 2021 staging introduced us to a female Drosselmeyer (why not – he also gave us a male Cinders…) and toned down the traditional national dances to side-step charges of cultural insensitivity. So what was new this year?
Well, this time – in line with his encouragement of home-grown choreography within the company – he has allowed members to create their own versions of those dances. Like many of Hampson’s ideas, this is well researched: nineteenth-century dancers often choreographed their own versions of these variations, although here the choreographers are not (necessarily) dancing their own work. The sensuous Arabian dance has moved to an earlier spot at the opening party where it adds mystery to Drosselmeyer’s magic.
There’s no sweetie-overkill in the Realm of the Sugar Plum Fairy, but the dances now represent the goodies of various countries: chocolate from Spain, tea from China, candy canes from Russia (well, OK) and bonbons from France. Soloist Javier Andreu has produced a new Spanish dance for two couples (no flamenco here, but echoes of other traditional dance from his homeland, and Clara is given a souvenir fan as a subtle identifier). The French variation (previously Mirlitons), created by principal Jessica Fyfe, is now a trio of pink-and-white bonbons; the Russians, in the safe hands of resident choreographer Sophie Laplane, are more like court jesters in their speedy and bouncy acrobatics, while Annie Au has again overseen the Chinese dance, with soft shoes as worn in traditional fan dances rather than the teeny-step shuffling of old. The English hornpipe solo, cheekily inserted by Darrell in his original production and danced here with gusto by Andrea Azzari, always scores and counts, especially north of the border, as ‘foreign’.
A great admirer of Peter Darrell’s classical choreography, Hampson has elsewhere retained much of the original whilst adding some of his own but you can hardly see the join. Lez Brotherston’s clever design has taken its cue from the small-scale staging originally demanded by the relatively small stage of Edinburgh’s lovely Lyceum theatre, where the production was premiered in 1973. The Realm of the Sugar Plum Fairy is a fabulous cave of a thousand shimmering Christmas baubles, while the Land of Ice and Snow is set within an arc of white, fashioned like a paper doily, when the snowflakes fall, it’s an old-fashioned shaken snow-globe.
In the cast I saw, Roseanna Leney was a Snow Queen of languid grace, equally matched by Jessica Fyfe’s Sugar Plum Fairy, both squired with style by Yuri Marques Da Silva. Grace Horler dominated the stage as Drosselmeyer, swirling magisterially around like a principal man in a spangly red and blue cape and pulling off the conjuring tricks with the ease of a seasoned Magic Circle member. The company currently seems to have principals and soloists to spare, offering opportunities for all these major roles throughout the run.
This was my third viewing of the production and it’s lost none of its charm. The mice, dream versions of the party children, wear posh Victorian frocks, hold their tails neatly over their shoulders and carry giant Quality Street chocolates (other sweets are available), apple cores and chunks of cheese - surely no threat and soon safely out of the firing line. Even the scary King Rat seems to be only stunned.
In an age of extravagant staging and battalions of snowflakes, the fewer dancers onstage, especially in the big set pieces, encourage closer viewing. The production scores, too, by allowing Clara (Ava Morrison) to remain a child in her own dream. She sat wide-eyed at the entertainments and was tenderly scooped up like a junior princess by the Nutcracker, frequently on his shoulder with a smile as wide as Christmas. And as she woke from her lovely dream and was carried off to bed, there was one more excitement for the audience – which, of course, I could not possibly reveal. On what had to be the wettest night of Glasgow’s year, thanks to storm Darragh, we went out into the night smiling.
