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Very tardily, I share memories from five Nutcracker performances of San Francisco Ballet. I had hoped to see all of the company’s new principals. Pascal got sidelined; I await the opportunity to see her and Helimets at Wednesday's Gala. With its distinct San Francisco reference I can imagine several things which Drosselmeyer and Dr. Stahlbaum might have enjoyed together, particularly summers at The Bohemian Grove's all male entrenchment, where artistic practitioners are called upon for special effects in the annual outdoor performances.

Moises Martin’s comraderie with Brandenhoff’s precise, focused Drosselmeyer seemed utterly logical, more than a casual seasonal relationship. It was surprising to see Brandenhoff obscured under a white wig; the one eye free of a patch clued me with its intent gaze, along with simple, authoritative gestures, courtliness towards Clara, and the telltale rhythmic movement of his foot to the Act II music. His panache is one of master craftsman in contrast to the flamboyant gestures of Jorge Esquivel who verges on the bombastic.

I noticed the Snow King’s tunic enjoyed mint green embroidered snow flakes, his role assuming more substance than Lew Christensen’s, thanks to excellent male dancers. When Mother Le Cirque wafts on stage with her tent-like paniers the scrim sports balloons; in the finale it displays a rising sun with the regulation flaring fire forms one sees in Italian garden pottery.

The day after Christmas I had an initial glimpse of Davit Karapatyan with Katita Waldo, who flowered under his secure, courteous partnering. His elegance and deportment bore an uncanny resemblance to Igor Youskevitch’s memorable unforced panache.

Muriel Maffre and Pierre Francois Vilanoba provided a regal pas de deux in one of the five performances; their refinement reminded me there are still pockets of the world where civilized behavior is a manifest norm.

Frances Chung and Nutnaree Pipit-Suksun danced two particularly charming, different Sugar Plum Fairies, the former a fragrant nosegay in the Waltz of the Flowers. Pipit-Suksun, with her radiant line, gracious to Clara, to subjects and visitors, filled the music completely, reminding me of Beryl Gray and Svetlana Beriosova in early Royal Ballet tours.
 

Jonathan Mangosing danced with elan in the Russian, Spanish and Oriental variations, pleasure and ease evident; Joseph Phillips inhabited his bearskin twice and distinguished himself in Chinese Tea.

Jaime Garcia Castilla and Clara Blanco debuted with ease in the Snow Scene, their assurance and rapport of two friends from Spain. Blanco’s unforced line, alert, easy confidence with dead accurate port de bras, embellished with charm, was enough to crack any icicle in its path. The debut came late in the season but demonstrated Blanco dances a major role with distinct aplomb. Castilla has been targeting such opportunities regularly. I venture when Tina LeBlanc removes her ribbons, the company has a beguiling replacement.

Another late debut was the pairing of Elizabeth Miner and Nicolas Blanc in the grand pas de deux. An excellent dancer when there is plot or a strong theme, Miner seems to be working through the shadings of presence for traditional pas de deux where graciousness and simplicity overlay technical virtuosity. When she has arrived at that combination, her dancing will doubt less reach beyond her small body, but for the moment her interpretation is shy of that.

Blanc was simply phenomenal, exchanging a spontaneous smile with Pipit-Suksun, framing and supporting Miner with unforced exactitude. As with Vilanoba, Blanc’s Nutcracker mime of the fight left no doubt about the story line. Like the Danes, French schooling does not short change traditional mime. Blanc also gave the audience five pirouettes in place ending on a dime, one leg paused in passe, with the ease of one thoroughly at home. That cracked several dozen - hazel, brazil, walnut or pecan - shells for me.