I recently noticed while channel surfing that there had recently been a Nutcracker ballet competition hosted by Debbie Allen and Nigel Lythgoe (So You Think You Can Dance).

The latter convinced me to watch a couple of the versions via OnDemand.

Feh.

You see…despite having been forced into a few ridiculously expensive tutus to participate in many a Waltz of the Snowflakes during my days as a literally tiny dancer of say…six or seven, I am not a Nutcracker fan—yes, I know, I know.  And a Bah Humbug to you, tu. 

I’m not entirely hopeless.  In fact, there’s one version I truly and unabashedly love:  the 1977 Baryshinkov version which I actually bought.  Twice. (Available here:  http://amzn.to/uhBzLY )

It is also the only childhood Christmas extravaganza my daughter, now 25, will still sit down and watch with me, rapt and ready to discuss the “psychological” implications of every battement and plié.  That may be because it was the first TV show that allowed us to discuss a topic she had been very interested in around the time I tracked it down and bought it especially to show to her:  boys.

Stupid boys, to be exact.  I think… she must’ve been in 5^th or 6^th grade, maybe, when I screened it for her approval.   Things hadn’t been going very well for her in that department.

I"m going to leave the "deep" reviewing of the dancing and such to...well...you can Google that--over the decades it has been critiqued plenty. 

For us, this version of the ballet was the perfect way to broach the "boy" thing and is the only reason I’d be discussing this ballet at Christmas or any other time for that matter.   The final shot of principal dancer Gelsey Kirkland’s beautiful doe eyes searching the snowy night skies and wondering, “What the hell just happened?” is the best teachable moment, ever. 

She’s been “punked.”  As all little girls who believe in magical Prince Charmings will be sooner or later. 

I’ve read a few psychological studies of this ballet and Clara's godfather Drosselmeyer’s role in it.  I’m not entirely sure what he’s up to myself.  But I have to say that I wish all little girls had a godfather who plays the role D. does in her very Freudian Christmas daydream. 

He rather accidentally awakens her to those early stirrings and yearnings young girls have with the gift of the nutcracker and then conveniently “rescues” her from him later for her own good--her own pre-teen ambivalence dealt with symbolically and handily.

The Baryshnikov  version  cuts right to the teen angst and the point.  It’s not a plodding, precious spectacle or treated as a “sacred” tradition and therefore recreated reverently and from the Petipa original. 

Though still lavish and dreamlike, it’s pared down for the most part to either the two principals or a few absolutely essential dancers after the first few minutes or so.  So it focuses very deftly on the young couple in the throes of “first love.”  So much so that when Drosselmeyer comes to separate them during that poignant last dance, even the most disinterested Dad might suddenly have to ask, “Wait—what’s he doin’ that for?”

(That actually happened in our house, the first time I forced my ex to watch.  And I was thrilled.)

Kirkland manages to actually look about fourteen somehow, and captures, during that last dance, both the confusion and the latent sexuality adolescent women feel and sometimes toy with early on.   As she’s passed from godfather to prince in that last dance, her personality changes accordingly and intriguingly. 

In godfather's protective grasp, she swings a coquettish leg sloooooowly back and forth, gaze averted, at once both a child and a little temptress who knows she’s his darling and how to “work” that.   Stolen away by her prince, she literally walks on air with his able assistance—all light and love, all hope and happiness.

And in the end…none of it works.   She’s left staring skyward, those big doe eyes searching for the prince who got away. 

And he's some prince, too, this one—let’s just go there, shall we?  

Misha B. is at the peak of his powers, both physical and “aesthetic” here.   When the big, ugly nutcracker face melts away and his Prince Perfect face appears…it’s okay to gasp a little.  He’s everything a perfect prince should be with a side o’ thighs to die for—the better to really mess with that poor girl’s mind.

The lack of pretense, the focus on the twosome and the “awakening” and “chastening” without the pomposity and distancing opulence of many other versions is what kept my daughter watching the first time and continues to win her over every year, still.

It tells you a simple truth as openly and simply as possible:

“One day your prince will come…and then leave…and you'll have to deal with it.”

And at the end, during that final wistful gaze…that’s when Mommy can put an arm 'round and ask, “Any questions?”

My daughter isn’t asking many anymore.  She’s lost a few princes since that first viewing so many years ago.  So our talks are a wee bit more “sophisticated” than they used to be.

But if your daughter is the right age, and you’re lucky, there will be lots.

And those conversations will become Christmas memories you—and she--will cherish forever.

A little reprise, inspired by a comment:

I had a particularly lovely Misha B story to tell my daughter along with all that "boy" stuff.  As a Sun Times reporter, I once stood backstage and watched him bewitch every woman at the rehearsal just as he did onstage every night. 

He finally turned those amazing eyes on me and smiled, knowingly, as I stood there with my reporter's notebook in hand trying to be chill.

And then he eased one of those amazing legs on top of the coat I had draped over a backstage barre as if to DARE me to come and get it.

When I did, he asked me, "You will be at gala tonight?"  (Sic--and it was a question, though worded grammatically as a command.)

I said I could not afford galas.  Reporters did not make "gala" money.

A few hours later I got tickets to "gala," with a note that I had a "friend" in the ballet.

So...I'm kinda partial to the guy for that reason, too...

 And for old times' sake--and a LOT of laughs, here's my favorite Tharp ballet, the one that hooked my high schoolers on ballet with humor.  And a lot of mugging from Misha.  Making fun of ballet dancers, including himself, for once.  I wish it were the entire ballet...but...this'll do:

Push Comes to Shove