Day 72: Leap of Faith

I have never been to a ballet.  That changes today, as I take myself to Sadler's Wells for Matthew Bourne's 'Nutcracker!'.  I'm hopeful that the inclusion of the exclamation mark will mean something exciting!  Or interesting!  See the difference an exclamation mark makes.   Swan Lake!   Sleeping Beauty!   Giselle!  (Ballet knowledge exhausted.)  Sadler's Wells is baldly ugly, but fit for purpose, with a good rake.  I am in the circle, next to an American family.  Dad is big and loud and knows EVERYTHING.  He starts with a breakdown of the English class system.  Then onto science and litigation - and how the M&M thrown by his young son could have hit a violinist, with grave consequences.  Wreaking havoc on instrument, body and psyche, and leading to financial ruin for the thrower through court-sought damages.  All because of the power of gravity. 

Curtain up.  Humorous, satisfyingly staged, good to look at.  People so lithe and bendy and strong.  My world, like most, is very verbal.  It's fascinating to see the focus shift entirely onto the physical - whether it's athletics, or dance or clowning.  I wonder what it feels like to inhabit a body that's such a powerfully expressive instrument.  Of course, all bodies are expressive - even in rigidity - but to be able to communicate so fluently just through movement must feel truly amazing.

The first half goes very quickly - always a good sign.  Dad does not agree, as he postulates that the humour and imaginative design are there to make up for the inadequacy of the dancers.  'Nothing will hide the fact that they can't leap' he adds gravely, spooning ice-cream into his megaphone.  I catch his eye.


Start of the second half, and I silently will the dancers to leap.  But I'm not confident, as it doesn't feel like that sort of choreography.  It's witty and snappy, and leaps would be out of place - rather too Nureyev for 'Nutcracker!'  Just as I've pretty much given up hope, ALL the male dancers, bare-chested and in white trousers, LEAP one by one through a massive floral heart.  Like weightless gazelles.  It is a glorious camp celebration of leaping.  Ironic, sarcastic, British leaping.  I catch Dad's eye - he looks away immediately.  WIN.

I am delighted to see that some people have dressed up.  I spot a floor length velvet coat AND a spangled bolero.  That's going some for a matinee.  I imagine there are few occasions that could not be improved by a spangled bolero.

I must face the truth.   Nothing will hide the fact that I can't leap.  But in my head  I am soaring through a floral heart.  In a spangled bolero.  (Ironically, of course.)