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From the moment the curtain rises on Peter Wright’s production it is all those tried and trusted Victorian values every step of the way.

You can smell the pine needles and pudding behind the oak doors of Julia Trevelyan Oman’s 19C drawing room at the Stahlbaum’s Christmas party, which last Tuesday lacked a certain festive lustre, in spite of Gary Avis’s Drosselmayer’s box of tricks. The dancing dolls he revealed like Martin Harvey’s Soldier and Lauren Cuthbertson’s Vivandiere, were surprisingly wobbly, as was a rather wan Iohna Loots as Clara who falls for the Nutcracker doll. Luckily for us he turned out to be Ricardo Cervera, who is currently maturing splendidly from bright young thing to artist, as human youth Hans-Peter.

After Wright’s sensational transformation scene with an Everest of a tree, Cervera led the assault on the marauding mice, was snatched from destruction by Clara and joined in with the waltzing Snowflakes with a cheerful conviction and a scalpel sharp technique.

Oman’s dusky pearl and misty blue set for the Kingdom of the Sweets, where Clara and her new friend are rewarded for defeating the troublesome rodents, is a triumph of understatement. Even the discreet pink flashes on the costumes of the Sugar Plum Fairy (Miyako Yoshida) and her Prince (Federico Bonelli) are startling. As is the couple’s impressive physical presence. They are a perfect match, she small and delicate while his is a strong and masculine look. They clearly share a love for dancing and convey it with natural warmth. Technically, though, Yoshida was off form last week and took too many liberties with her timing, while he danced with copy book precision and a quiet relish quite delightful to watch.

Traditional classicism delivers all the old messages like good versus evil and love conquers all, unfashionable notions, perhaps, even at this time of year. But if tradition could ever melt a radical heart, the Royal Ballet’s Nutcracker can probably do it.