Christmas Ritual

As sure as street-corner Santas or mobile displays in the frosted windows of department stores, The Nutcracker ballet has become an accepted ritual of a big-city Christmas. This year, Nutcracker is being presented in 100 cities from coast to coast--almost everywhere, in fact, that there is a dance troupe with the will and skill to try it.

Of all the versions of the ballet, none captures its wand-waving magic better than George Balanchine's resetting of the original Petipa-Ivanov choreography. First mounted in 1954 by the New York City Ballet at what was then a budget-straining $80,000, The Nutcracker not only paid itself off but also became the struggling company's annual financial breadwinner. By the end of this season's run, the New York City Ballet will have done its Christmastide perennial 519 times--roughly five times as often as the runner-up favorite in the repertory, Midsummer Night's Dream.

The charm of the piece is transparent. It is a child's fantasy of the enchanted world of the imagination, perfectly in tune with Tchaikovsky's lush score. Virtually devoid of formal dances, Act I celebrates an old-fashioned Christmas party. There is a Christmas tree loaded with glittering baubles, and around the foot of it are stacks of presents, wrapped and beribboned. Onto the stage carom a troupe of children who do not precisely dance but who do entrance. Pantomime preempts dance with considerable amusement, especially when the boys, decked out as cadets, do valorous battle with an invading army of supermice.

As Act I ends, the Christmas tree begins to grow miraculously from the stage floor, increasing in size from 12 feet to a spectacular 40. Suddenly, everyone appears to be transported to the North Pole as a blizzard of white confetti makes the stage seem like the palace of a snow king. The second act decor--by Rouben Ter-Artunian--becomes a confectioner's delight, filigreed with sugarplums, icings and sweets. Through this magic world of props whirl the adult dancers in a series of numbers that are as vivid and varied as circus turns. Corps de ballet numbers like the Snowflake Waltz find the dancers shimmering as elusively as moonlight on water; the acrobatic elan of a hoop dance would put show-off sidewalk urchins to shame.

To dance purists, the ballet is familiarly known as "Nuts," and some have even suggested that it be dropped permanently from the repertory. That would be like abolishing the night before Christmas. If there is any risk a parent runs in taking his child to see The Nutcracker, it is that Christmas itself may seem a trifle anticlimactic.

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