//literary and arts//
Fall 2019
Fall 2019
Birthdays at the Ballet
Reflections on The Nutcracker
Pammy Brenner
The Nutcracker is perhaps the most iconic ballet of all time. A story of a young girl’s journey to a fantastical land on Christmas Eve, The Nutcracker has become a hallmark of New York City in the wintertime since its Manhattan premiere in 1954. The ballet is synonymous with snowy streets, Christmas, and family tradition. For some, listening to “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” reminds them of Christmastime sales and television advertisements. But for many New Yorkers, myself included, the sound of Tchaikovsky’s score fills them with a warm nostalgia, reminding them of their childhood visit—or for me, visits—to The Nutcracker.
Like many toddlers, I was an avid ballerina, taking ballet classes and happily frolicking around my apartment in a tutu. To celebrate my third birthday, which falls on December 30th, my mother took me — dressed in my leotard, tutu, and ballet slippers — to The Nutcracker. Despite my age (and severe nut allergy), I sat quietly, intently watching the ballerinas for the entirety of the production. I actually blended in quite well with the other ballet-goers, as The Nutcracker attracts a younger audience than most ballets. The highlight of the evening was the intermission, during which I took a photo with a “real” ballerina. Barely reaching the ballerina’s hip, I excitedly curtsied with her, eager to show off all that I had learned in ballet class.
As the next winter approached, and along with it my fourth birthday, my mother decided to take me back to the ballet for an encore performance, beginning our annual tradition of seeing The Nutcracker together. While many young New Yorkers made a similar annual pilgrimage, my tradition was different: although by the age of six my career as a ballerina had ended, the price of admission to the New York City Ballet continued to be a leotard and tutu. For two decades, I sat in the audience of The Nutcracker with my mother, sometimes sporting binoculars, other times clutching M&Ms, but always with my pink tights peeking out from under my coat. The mother-daughter tradition of watching Marie and the Nutcracker Prince dance together on stage became just as important as the photo that I took each year at intermission.
With each passing year, the experience of sitting in those familiar, red-cushioned seats became more treasured. The many memories of holding my mother’s hand as the curtain rose layered over each other, creating a rich tapestry of nostalgia, warmth, anticipation and love. The intermission experience, by contrast, became a source of tension with my mother. While entering the New York City Ballet in ballerina attire as a toddler is considered adorable, doing so at age eighteen raises eyebrows. The percentage of teenage ballerinas is so low that by the time I reached middle school, I had to order my ballet clothes from a professional dancewear store on Long Island. Although standing in line to take a photo with the ballerina was once a source of pride, it gradually became a source of embarrassment. Fortunately, my mother agreed to a compromise; as long as I continued to dress in pink each year, I would be allowed to leave my tutu at home after my eighteenth birthday.
As I transitioned out of my leotard and pink slippers, The Nutcracker went through some transitions as well. The “Chinese Tea” segment during Act II was modified in 2017, reflecting a heightened cultural awareness of the stereotypes present in the makeup, choreography and costumes of the original performance. The Chinese dancers no longer wear rice-paddy hats and geisha wigs, and the finger-pointing that was once part of the choreography has been replaced with more subtle gestures. While The New York Times covered the changes in its Dance section of the Arts, I detected these differences in real-time. Having seen over twenty performances of The Nutcracker, I know the ballet like the back of my own hand, and immediately turned to my mother during Act II to whisper about what I perceived was a marked difference from previous years.
Although The Nutcracker underwent a number of changes since its New York City premiere 65 years ago, the essential character of the ballet has remained the same. A story of love, magic, and childhood imagination, it continues to captivate new audiences each winter. For a seasoned veteran like me, what brings me back year after year is not the novelty of the plot or the choreography, but the tradition itself of attending the ballet. As a religious Jew, I place tremendous value on the role of tradition in my life. Although most of the traditions with which I engage stem from Jewish practice, attending The Nutcracker during Christmastime is an experience that connects me with New York City and its own rich cultural heritage. While Chanukah is typically a favorite Jewish winter tradition, mine is attending this whimsical Yuletide ballet, a tradition that connects me with my mother and the city.
Like many toddlers, I was an avid ballerina, taking ballet classes and happily frolicking around my apartment in a tutu. To celebrate my third birthday, which falls on December 30th, my mother took me — dressed in my leotard, tutu, and ballet slippers — to The Nutcracker. Despite my age (and severe nut allergy), I sat quietly, intently watching the ballerinas for the entirety of the production. I actually blended in quite well with the other ballet-goers, as The Nutcracker attracts a younger audience than most ballets. The highlight of the evening was the intermission, during which I took a photo with a “real” ballerina. Barely reaching the ballerina’s hip, I excitedly curtsied with her, eager to show off all that I had learned in ballet class.
As the next winter approached, and along with it my fourth birthday, my mother decided to take me back to the ballet for an encore performance, beginning our annual tradition of seeing The Nutcracker together. While many young New Yorkers made a similar annual pilgrimage, my tradition was different: although by the age of six my career as a ballerina had ended, the price of admission to the New York City Ballet continued to be a leotard and tutu. For two decades, I sat in the audience of The Nutcracker with my mother, sometimes sporting binoculars, other times clutching M&Ms, but always with my pink tights peeking out from under my coat. The mother-daughter tradition of watching Marie and the Nutcracker Prince dance together on stage became just as important as the photo that I took each year at intermission.
With each passing year, the experience of sitting in those familiar, red-cushioned seats became more treasured. The many memories of holding my mother’s hand as the curtain rose layered over each other, creating a rich tapestry of nostalgia, warmth, anticipation and love. The intermission experience, by contrast, became a source of tension with my mother. While entering the New York City Ballet in ballerina attire as a toddler is considered adorable, doing so at age eighteen raises eyebrows. The percentage of teenage ballerinas is so low that by the time I reached middle school, I had to order my ballet clothes from a professional dancewear store on Long Island. Although standing in line to take a photo with the ballerina was once a source of pride, it gradually became a source of embarrassment. Fortunately, my mother agreed to a compromise; as long as I continued to dress in pink each year, I would be allowed to leave my tutu at home after my eighteenth birthday.
As I transitioned out of my leotard and pink slippers, The Nutcracker went through some transitions as well. The “Chinese Tea” segment during Act II was modified in 2017, reflecting a heightened cultural awareness of the stereotypes present in the makeup, choreography and costumes of the original performance. The Chinese dancers no longer wear rice-paddy hats and geisha wigs, and the finger-pointing that was once part of the choreography has been replaced with more subtle gestures. While The New York Times covered the changes in its Dance section of the Arts, I detected these differences in real-time. Having seen over twenty performances of The Nutcracker, I know the ballet like the back of my own hand, and immediately turned to my mother during Act II to whisper about what I perceived was a marked difference from previous years.
Although The Nutcracker underwent a number of changes since its New York City premiere 65 years ago, the essential character of the ballet has remained the same. A story of love, magic, and childhood imagination, it continues to captivate new audiences each winter. For a seasoned veteran like me, what brings me back year after year is not the novelty of the plot or the choreography, but the tradition itself of attending the ballet. As a religious Jew, I place tremendous value on the role of tradition in my life. Although most of the traditions with which I engage stem from Jewish practice, attending The Nutcracker during Christmastime is an experience that connects me with New York City and its own rich cultural heritage. While Chanukah is typically a favorite Jewish winter tradition, mine is attending this whimsical Yuletide ballet, a tradition that connects me with my mother and the city.
//PAMMY BRENNER is a senior at Barnard College and a Senior Editor for The Current. She can be reached at pb2550@barnard.edu.
Photo Courtesy of Pammy Brenner
Photo Courtesy of Pammy Brenner