SFB’s “Nutcracker”—Still Elegant, Still Cool

“Nutcracker”
San Francisco Ballet
War Memorial Opera House
San Francisco, CA
December 15,2007

by Rita Felciano
copyright © Rita Felciano

Seeing three “Nutcrackers” in three days (Ballet San Jose, Mark Morris Dance Company and San Francisco Ballet) should cure anybody of ever going to see that Holiday treat again. At least, for the next ten years. Instead, I came away with a new respect for Tchaikovsky’s score, its subtle grace and its wondrous ability to shift moods and create atmosphere. Given the restrictions under which he was working, it seems nothing short of the miraculous that the composition became as masterful as it turned out to be. To hear the “Nutcracker” music interpreted by three different conductors—Dwight Oltman, Robert Cole, Gary Sheldon—also offered its own pleasure, independent from the dance on stage.

Unfortunately, I also came away from this marathon session realizing that Helgi Tomasson’s 2004 “Nutcracker” will never win a place in my heart. The work is elegant, beautifully designed but distant to the point of being cool. No matter how excellent the dancing, and SFB’s performers are a wonder to behold, can ameliorate what I finally decided is an essential weakness—an emotional reserve that keeps the audience at bay. (Not that many in attendance that evening would agree with me. They cheered lustily and loudly).

Maybe in an effort to sweep the slate clean of overly sentimentalized pictures of family-togetherness, maybe also because of a decision to set this “Nutcracker” in San Francisco, a place often described as “a cool, gray city” in which sunshine comes at a premium, Tomasson held back emotionally. The choreography is competent but--with the exception of the final Pas de Deux-- rarely inspired.

For me the work’s single most affecting moment comes when Clara (the lovely Jessica Cohen) stands alone in front of the giant Christmas tree. That change of scale and that sense of loneliness—a second later brought home brilliantly and more obviously by the claustrophobia produced by the presents and furniture having grown gigantic —beautifully suggested how scary growing up and entering the unknown can be. It’s also a moment that looked uncannily like a similar one in Morris’ “Hard Nut.”

Though Act One’s comfortable upper class environment looks welcoming, I keep being bothered by the discrepancy by the warmth centerstage and the stiffness of the peripheral action. Different as they are, both Dennis Nahat and Mark Morris present an essentially integrated vision of a family celebration. While Tomasson’s choreography for the toys and the social dances convince—the way Clara is introduced into the adult world is rather lovely—there is a curious disjoint between the actual dancing and its frame.

The sets—a spacious living room with a grand staircase—and the costumes (all by Martin Pakledinaz) for the ladies—ca. 1915--are detailed and exquisite. The brown/beige palette is gorgeous. Were that the party guests’ demeanor were of similar quality. Much of what passes for animated conversation looks so artificial to be effete. Refined, elegant behavior is reduced to mouthing words, flitting about, drooping wrists and empty posturing, These guests don’t look any more plausible than the famously vacuous Russian ensembles, standing around looking pretty.

The mini-divertissements of Tomasson’s first act doll choreography, however, work fine with Rory Hohenstein’s impressively flop-jointed clown contrasting with Dores Andre’s pristinely piqueeing doll. 

In the Snowflake Waltz I thought for a while that I was suffering from Balanchine-nostalgitis (“ah, but you should have seen Patty/Violette/Suzanne….”) because the earlier version had still a hold on my imagination. Tomasson nicely paces his skimming patterns but they don’t build sufficiently; the crescendo appears to come as much from the intensification of the snow fall than from more the choreography. These days the dancers wear spiked little headgear and glittering armbands that reflect the light nicely but also suggest something from outer space.

As King of the Snow Hansuke Yamamoto, who in his lifts had some moments of insecurity partnered Katita Waldo as the Snow Queen. Crystalline in her balance, Waldo was a joy to behold.

After intermission, Tomasson’s “Nutcracker” became even more problematic for me. On one level, it enchanted, on another I thought it cold. Set in a Crystal Palace—made possible at the end of the 19th century by new forging and glass-making techniques and much beloved by Victorian audiences because of the spectacular distribution of natural light--the space is luminous but also empty, the delightful butterflies, lady bugs and dragon flies not withstanding. An ebullient Frances Chung was their guiding spirit/mother hen.

James F. Ingalls’ brilliant Lighting Design suggests a progression of daylight, starting at dawn. But to have Clara plopped down and scooted around in her chariot turned settee, just look awkward. The divertissements duly arrive one after another, and while I could intellectually make that connection to the crystal palaces—in which entertainments from around the world provided the major attractions--emotionally I felt a disconnect. The place was too empty—even if it was Clara’s dream.

Corps member Diego Cruz impressed with height and speed in “Chinese;” Pauli Magiereck with sinuous curvatures in “Spanish.”  A masterstroke of theatricality was the “Russian” dance--lead by a splendid and genial Garrett Anderson--which burst out of Faberge eggs. Tomasson has retained the original Anatol Vilznak choreography. Though beautifully danced, the choreography for “Waltz of the Flowers,” continues to disappoint because these flowers don’t grow enough into the music. The last group image comes out of nowhere; it looks almost like an after thought.

One of Tomasson’s major changes was the transformation of Clara into the Princess that gets to dance with her Prince, only to wake up again at home. Technically the change takes place as one of Drosselmeyer’s magic tricks--a nice reference to the first act—but I thought it an awkward theatrical device. For the Grand Pas de Deux, Tomasson pulled out all the stops—including fouettes galore. It was grand choreoraphy, danced in stellar manner by the regal Sarah Van Patten and Pierre-Francois Vilanoba who, however, did have an off-night.

For me SFB’s “Nutcracker”, filmed during the current run for commercial distribution, remains an elegant, though flawed interpretation of a glorious score. It’s a work more to be admired from a distance, than to be loved up close.

Photo: Garrett Anderson in Tomasson's “Nutcracker”       
© Erik Tomasson

copyright © Rita Felciano