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What more Dickensian than orphans, one step removed from The Poor House? What more typical than post-Empire drab dresses for the girls and suspendered grey trousers for the boys? Or the use of the word Dross to portray arch-hypocrites drilling orphans for the patrons’ benefits, Dr. Dross cracking his whip, Mrs. Dross the middle of the ensemble with white cloth strips to convey line, complexity, or just throwing in the towel. As for their insidiously calculating offspring, every flick of the eyelash by Sugar and Fritz, established their mendacity.

The orphans’ behavior was a marvel of characterization, from the curtain view where they established their humanity, to the whirlwind of activity preparing for the patrons, their capacity to be cowed or to slink out of sight while the Drosses cavort with the patrons, marvels of stereotypic English seasonal do-gooders. When Clara’s doll’s arms are torn off by Sugar, the care with which it is repaired, and the touching togetherness of the orphans, is simply a gem not only of body language, but social truth. No less is the glee, following the terror of the cracking of the walls as Clara’s doll, discarded by Mrs. Dross, returns full size and proceeds to lead the frenzied fight with the Drosses, managing to truss them up on the institutional iron beds wheeled around the set. It’s an absolutely capital depiction of what goes on in the mind of anyone wanting vengeance, or anyone mistreated, for that matter, short of mayhem. It is highly physical, deliciously so.

Through all of this, the dancers in soft shoes, frequently bare-footed, many displaying gorgeous insteps and unflaggingly beautifully pointed feet, move with ease and zest, even those nasty characters!
 

Matthew Bourne's Nutcracker!
from the 2003 London show
© John Ross

When a handsome young man emerges from the costume of Clara’s doll, Sugar arrives on the scene; with obvious wiles she walks off with Clara's live sized doll. But not before other young men in white trousers, suspenders over bare chests, display muscles and brawny, stances in absolutely the way a child-woman envisions a pack of heroes, straight from movie magazines.

That beautiful snow scene does a sly take on Ashton’s Patineurs, totally in white with ubiquitous rabbit fur trim on caps, gowns and buttons, foot arched like skaters, with equally front and center plastered smiles. Clara’s prince is overwhelmed by Sugar who becomes the Princess, and Clara sets off to Sweetie land by herself.

When Clara arrives, the two little Cupids/Angels provide her with a new dress and shoes to make her acceptable, carrying off her nightie with nose wiggling, doubtless due to the Dross’ rationing the bath water; keep them smelly and they always will be intolerable and therefore dependent.

But Sweetie land has a major domo named Knickerbocker, who looks like Tweedledum or Dee and Clara doesn’t have that pink paper invitation square. Yet she dances with the Spanish trio renamed Licorice; matches muscle and derring do with the Gobstoppers; and after being totally bemused by the four Marshmallow manages to sashshay backwards among these chorines into Sweetie land before Knickerbocker can move his bulk to prevent it.

Sweetie land turns out to be a lopsided wedding cake with all the Sweetie land characters providing decorations on its tiers. They tumble down and there is a plethora of pantomime of licking tongues up and down torsos and backs, with the leering vulgarity Olivier cogently depicted in The Entertainer. There is the usual father/mother of the bride exchanging approvals with the Prince/Groom for Sugar/ Princess - she in a mauvish-pink dress with ruching over the boobs and a free flowing skirt which has to be the epitome of prom taste at some discount house in Middle England. Clara witnesses all this as she tries to climb down the wedding cake. Later she makes it to stage level after the grand pas de deux music.

Here I’m afraid I could not erase the Sugar Plum Fairy variation, although the adagio substitute fared well. Bourne’s variation for the prince seemed deliberately legs akimbo; that I could manage, but the preening narcissism of that sparking variation made me want to stand up to affirm, “But don’t you know, you poor sap, she’s a phony?”

Clara comes on stage; a frantic pas de quatre ensues between Clara and the Princess, The Nutcracker and Fritz/Bon Bon, until Tweedledum, the bouncer arrives and banishes Clara.
 

Matthew Bourne's Nutcracker!
from the 2003 London show
© John Ross

Then it all falls apart; Clara finds herself back in her nightie at the orphanage dormitory with the limp doll who so enchanted her. Her head is swimming with memories and the disaster visited on her dreams. There is the iron cot; it’s time to go to bed. She walks over, starts to pull the bedcovers down to get into bed. Up pops Philbert! Mirabile! He loves her. He shows her the strips of cloth knotted together for escape. The bed and its post are near the window; he shoves open the window and invites her to climb out. She obliges, as two orphans arrive to witness the departure. Philbert follows her as the curtain descends. I couldn't help worrying about them, in their nights, without coats, in the December night.

Periodically throughout both acts, the audience broke into applause; not screaming hysterics, just thoughtful acknowledgment and pleasure. Bourne’s version is not the “bravo, brava, bravi” variety. Yet so many excellences abounded: Kerry Biggin’s full-bodied responses and ease; the cloying femininity of Mireille Tolmer’s Sugar/Princes: her face could have been a model for a Kmer princess; the slight demonic gaze of Lee Smikle as Fritz/Bon Bon; the glacial gaze and steely resolve of Rachel Lancaster as Mrs. Dross/Queen; Allen Galbraith’s chilling perfection in maneuvers first as Dr. Dross before his yellow-garbed showmanship as the King. Four Marshmallows displayed the best set of show girl gams I’ve seen in a long time; their knowledge of front and center delivery plastered the scene six inches thick. Shelby Williamson and Phillip Willingham as bare-footed Cupids evoked insipid period illustrations; their delicious pointed feet and sappy coyness summarized their characters succinctly.

I have several seasonal Nuts to crack, but I hope to see Mr. Bourne’s creation again. Gilbert and Sullivan must have gazed with approval as the production took shape.