I haven’t been following hockey that closely this season, but before attending a recent game, I could catch up by quickly consulting a few stats. Ballet does not work that way, thankfully. It is not a zero-sum game, it is an art form that builds a mood, an alternate world. And unlike in hockey, where a shoveled-in scrum goal counts as much as a finessed triple-pass goal, the how is often more important than the what. And especially during the long and repetitive “Nutcracker” season, there is usually great leeway in the how, like the varied Drosselmeier and Dewdrop shadings. I have noticed, however, that the Party Scene has gotten consistently less fun in recent years. Where Frau Stahlbaum used to skip along with her son Fritz and get caught by the guests in the London Bridge sequence, she now more primly walks and avoids the trap. Likewise, the Grandmother is no longer invited to dance by Drosselmeier during the jig repeat in the Grandfather’s Dance. These and a few other small tweaks add up, and the scene is feeling a bit stiffer overall. It was more interesting when the individual dancers could play around with whichever version they pleased in the moment. After all, you need some way to keep 50 shows a season fresh.  

Some dancers were having a very good time out there, however. Specifically, the tall guys in fat suits and drag. Gilbert Bolden III was a Mouse King with panache—adding a whimsical rond de jambe layout to his fight. And Preston Chamblee was the best Mother Ginger I’ve seen in a while. He gave hysterical Cole Escola/Mary Todd Lincoln vibes. When you’ve been around hundreds of the same “Nutcracker” production, these little liberties taken are incredibly entertaining. 

But no matter how many times I’ve seen Balanchine’s “Nutcracker,” I always discover something new. This year, I was thinking how it should be mandatory viewing for budding novelists: the story structure is so tight. Rouben Ter-Arutunian’s beautiful scrim with the angel and the star that accompanies the overture reverberates throughout the show. (And contemplating that backdrop is my favorite part of my new audience-only vantage point. What depth of field on those icy rooftops! Mark Stanley’s brilliant lighting (after Ronald Bates) catches the glitter and creates twinkling movement to match Tchaikovsky’s bright score.) Marie and the Prince close out the act by walking towards another backdrop star, the North Star, amongst the snowy pines. And as that painted angel opens Act I, the tiny angels—the youngest children in the production—open Act II, as if to signal that we’ve now entered the artwork in the fanciful second half. They are bidden across the stage by the angelic Sugarplum Fairy, whose delicate wand is a miniature shooting star.