My Mum realised that the last time she saw The Nutcracker performed (save Graeme Murphy’s beautiful Nutcracker – The Story of Clara) was in the early 80s when she and my Dad took me as a child to the Palais Theatre. I am guessing I sat on their coats folded, to better see the stage. Looking in our family photo album meet scrapbook of memories collected, the blue and white tickets tell me we sat in row R in the stalls. Me, in seat 7, flanked either side by my parents. The year is 1982, a Friday night in October month. The programme tells me we saw a Leonid Kozlov and Valentina Kozlova production, and it comes with a fold-out middle spread illustrating the colourful costumes worn, a large yellow sun at its heart and a small white cat in boots near to a fold.
Looking at this, and at my own drawings drawn sometime afterward, I doubt not that I was enchanted for I was enchanted by last night’s 47th performance of Peter Wright’s The Nutcracker too, as was my Mum, and this was something magical to share. The Arabian dance, the Waltz of the Flowers, the Snow Fairy and her attendants, the four Winds and those Snowflakes, and a snow goose in flight all performed their spell perfect, and reeled us in closer to stage, lifting our feet from their moorings before casting us into the dark quiet night. Nevertheless and best of all, my heart belongs still to the rats who do battle with the soldiers in red coats. What a treat! What a giddy treat from start to finish.
{An early book of mine, held together by a staple now rusted and sticky tape now yellowed. It is twelve double-sided pages in length.}
Looking at this, and at my own drawings drawn sometime afterward, I doubt not that I was enchanted for I was enchanted by last night’s 47th performance of Peter Wright’s The Nutcracker too, as was my Mum, and this was something magical to share. The Arabian dance, the Waltz of the Flowers, the Snow Fairy and her attendants, the four Winds and those Snowflakes, and a snow goose in flight all performed their spell perfect, and reeled us in closer to stage, lifting our feet from their moorings before casting us into the dark quiet night. Nevertheless and best of all, my heart belongs still to the rats who do battle with the soldiers in red coats. What a treat! What a giddy treat from start to finish.
{An early book of mine, held together by a staple now rusted and sticky tape now yellowed. It is twelve double-sided pages in length.}
+ Hila’s first post for Behind Ballet, The Australian Ballet’s British roots, is up. (Congratulations to you, Hila.)
+ Thank-you, Camilla, for the kisses.
+ Lizzy's raffle draws nearer.
