Exhibitionism

THE NUTZY NUTCRACKER: SPICE OVER SUGAR

Bass Concert Hall,
December 23

Sugar shutdown. It's an underrated hazard of the holidays. Everywhere you go, there are goodies, tempting you with their sweetness. And everywhere you go, you give in to them -- a nibble of fudge here, a few lemon bars there -- and on it goes, with you stuffing the sweets in until your system just can't handle any more. Then your taste buds go numb and anything sugary tastes like ashes.

The same problem afflicts us emotionally in the season of goodwill. On our stages and our screens, we're faced with the sweetness of jolly old elves and repentant old misers, the charitable citizens of Bedford Falls and the twirling confections of the Court of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Although truth be told, most of us crave the gooey sentiment at the center of these figures, it's easy to overdo the dramas of Christmas Past, and our bodies strike back. One Nutcracker too many, and we lose our appreciation for its sweetness to a bitter aftertaste. If only there were some other flavor, we think, something tart to cut all that sugar.

At last, there is -- at least where the seasonal staple of dance is concerned. Ballet Austin has followed the lead of some of its fellow ballet companies and dedicated the final performance of its annual production of The Nutcracker to a send-up of the standard version. All the familiar characters and well-known set pieces have their pristine beauty and storybook perfection mocked via silly hats and pratfalls and salacious winks that say to the crowd, 'We know what this move would mean in the real world.' One gets the feeling that this exercise is chiefly for the dancers, who serve up so much of this sweetness that it must seem like treacle to them; the tomfoolery lets them blow off some steam. But if the spoof offered by Ballet Austin last week is any indication, this parody can work for an audience, too. It provides us with a funhouse mirror version of this world we know so well and gives our baser thoughts and jaded spirits release through mockery and laughter.

The jokes in BA's Nutzy Nutcracker for 1998 began with an insert identifying the show as The Spicecracker -- where girlpower meets men in tights. Below this was a list of scenes and performers that proved, if nothing else, that Spice Girl mania is still alive and well. The acts were set in the Silverspice home, the Land of the Spice Flurries, and Spice World, and the artists were named only by affiliation with the Spice family, from Ab Spice to Zen Spice, Spice Geographic to Long Island Spiced Tea.

As the lights dimmed, we were treated to the sight of conductor Timothy Muffitt, in a baseball cap, making his entrance to the pit from the stage via an aluminum ladder. As if we needed further proof that the orchestra was in on the fun, Muffitt and Company covered about 16 bars of Tchaikovsky before veering over the winter soundscape into the Parish-Anderson chestnut "Sleigh Ride." (However, it must be said that they gave it a damn spirited reading.)

What followed was a mix of pointed digs at this specific ballet and ballet in general, inside jokes, non-directed goofiness, and one or two genuine surprises that bounced off The Nutcracker into something new and magical.

The first act, at the Silverspice party, was the loosest of the spoofed scenes. Several guests brought live dogs onstage with them, which was amusing but was never developed to any comic end. Herr and Frau Silverspice were inexplicably dressed as Major Nelson and Jeannie from the old I Dream of Jeannie sitcom. Bratty brother Fritz, in a bit of fun considerably easier to grasp, sported a biker-ish black Van Dyke and was outfitted in a black sleeveless vest and shiny black plastic pants. His look proved him the thug we always knew he was. Most of the humor here was of the throwaway variety, bits on the fringes of the action or were tossed off without set-up: a team of burglars that stole in upstage and silently absconded with all the presents under the Silverspice Christmas tree; Herr Drosselmeyer offering to repair the broken Nutcracker, then turning his belt around to reveal a full assortment of tools at his waist, including a hammer, a hacksaw, and a hot glue gun; BA artistic director Lambros Lambrou as one of the party guests, haplessly wandering up and down stairs, from exit to exit, but never being able to find his way out of the house.

The focus of the humor tightened considerably with the battle scene. In a goofy yet still clever comment of the combat in this scene, the Rat King was done up as a masked wrestler -- menacing in appearance, but a big blowhard in reality, his battle moves literally choreographed. He was taken out here not by Clara's shoe but by two security guards who rushed onstage and billy-clubbed him into submission. From this point, the pink pajama-clad Clara was transported to the Land of Snows, where we got to see how miserable the Snowflakes get wearing nothing but that flimsy tulle and white tights: These Snowflakes ended each choral move with a shiver, hunching their shoulders and rubbing their arms in unison. This delightful bit was marvelously executed, as were the rest of this group's gags, such as dropping to their backs and making snow angels, and rushing off and rushing back on in woolen gloves, scarves, and toques. The Snow Queen were also funny, with one appearing in a white mink coat and dancing as if she was worth every penny of it. Then another -- this one a queen in more than one sense of the word -- dancing the role with such an overblown air of drama that it made Blanche Dubois appear a shrinking violet.

The second act continued in much the same vein, with a Whitman sampler's worth of tasty jokes: the Chocolates dancing the Macarena; a Russian making a late entrance undressed and frantically trying to squeeze into his tight, tight pants, a hunter stalking the Birds and actually picking one off; and Ray Anderson's Mother Ginger, shaking that bust o'plenty and magically producing a dog from behind a handkerchief.

It should be noted that not everything in the evening was played for laughs. The throughline of the story was sustained and several dancers performed their solos with as much skill and passion as if this were any other performance of The Nutcracker. This was perhaps most notable in the work of Dana Lewis as the Sugar Plum Fairy and Edward Moffat as the Cavalier; they managed an elegance and grace in these traditionally challenging roles that was all the more impressive for being accomplished in the midst of so much buffoonery.

The Nutzy Nutcracker was truly at its best, however, when it combined humor with the artistry at the heart of the form. Nowhere was this more delightfully realized than in a bit byChris Hannon as a partner for the Flowers during their famous waltz. In this sequence, he appeared at the edge of the stage wearing a business suit and thick glasses, and clutching a briefcase, as if he'd inadvertently wandered in from the wings while seeking an accountants' workshop in another part of the building. Hannon's posture -- chest sunken, limbs at all angles -- conveyed the insecurity and awkwardness of the classic nerd, and as he was drafted into dancing with Andrea Comola and Lisa Washburn's Flowers, he used it masterfully to play the fool, one ill-suited to movement whose attempts at lifts and turns are so far off as to be laughable. Yet, in the style of a classic clown, Hannon gave us a character we liked despite his foolishness; we felt for him in his terror, and when he eventually discovered joy in this movement thing, his exuberance, while still funny, charmed. It was a crisp comic interlude, one that would not have worked without the accomplished physical skills of the dancer supplementing the situation of the character.

Perhaps the only moment to better it was the unexpected appearance of Tapestry dancer and choreographer Acia Gray during the party scene. Popping out of Drosselmeyer's box in place of the Pierrot Doll, Gray launched into a solo from her world of dance -- rhythm tap. Moving her feet to that rich Tchaikovsky score, she created something fresh and new from The Nutcracker. As with Hannon, the blend of inspiration and virtuosity was astonishing and wonderful and really, really sweet. But sweet in a whole new way that I had no trouble tasting.

Bravo, Nutzy! Another helping, please. --Robert Faires