PLAZA DE ARMAS
Being There
Nutcracking 101
By JADE ESTEBAN ESTRADA
November 25, 2011
I didn't know how or when it would happen, but in the reaches of my soul I've always felt that I would inevitably cross paths with a production of The Nutcracker. But as the years passed I began to wonder if that premonition was just a product of my whimsical imagination; I hadn't even made an effort to see the ballet much less take part in the popular holiday tradition. So joining this year's Ballet San Antonio production of The Nutcracker to explore not only this magical story, but to pull back the curtain and step (toe, ball, heel) into the world of ballet culture – a world most of us never get to see firsthand – felt like a dream come true.
My first turn in this Yuletide journey takes me to Stone Oak, where the company is reverently practicing under the watchful eye of ballet master Gabriel Zertuche. My blissful thought that the Alamo City could hone such homegrown talent is tattered after learning that most company members come from other cities and, in some cases, other continents. Like 24-year-old soloist Jayson Pescasio, for instance, who's from Manila. Like strips of water splashing back and forth in the ocean, his movement is effortless and hypnotic.
As I serenely admire the dancers, my fly-on-the-wall position is exposed.
“Are you going to introduce our guest?” asks Danielle Campbell, a magnetic dancer who's been wondering for the past hour who the bloke in the director's chair might be.
“This is Jade Esteban Estrada," Zertuche says. "He's going to be our new party dad!”
While I wonder what Zertuche means, the company begins to clap and cheer. Artistic director Mayra Worthen adds that I'm also writing a story, but I wonder if this bit of info fell on deaf ears given how openly the cast voiced their opinions about almost everything in my note-taking presence.
Just when I think I've seen all the dancers in the cast, a row of young children enter in two lines, making a valiant effort to count the music without moving their lips. Zertuche leans over to me.
“Every time we rehearse this I ball like a baby,” he says, watching the next generation of dancers make their way through the simple choreography with a smile. The youngest dancers are so numerous, they are divided into a red cast and a green cast and perform on alternate days.
When the company moves into the Majestic Theatre just ahead of opening weekend, one of the first things we block is the party scene in Act I. That's where I come in.
“If I don't notice you, you're probably doing the right thing,” I remember Worthen saying during the last note session. My goal is not to draw any attention, especially since I've been placed in front of dancers who have a few more rehearsals under their belt. Channeling my inner Natalie Portman, I assure myself that I can do this.
“Did you go over the choreography?” Heidi Alford, my onstage wife, asks in a reprimanding tone, which reminds me that any missteps on my part would make her guilty by association.
“Of course.”
Absolutely unconvincing.
Onstage, all goes smoothly until I drop to the wrong knee, prompting Worthen to raise her voice and shout “Croisé!” – the French ballet term for "crossed." After a quick glimpse down I see my left knee happily staring back at me.
“Croisé!” Alford echos.
With lightning speed, I switch.
My legs may be forever be croisé out of sheer fear.
I'm not surprised to learn that getting to know the dancers (especially during rehearsals for such a major show) isn't an easy task if one isn't already part of the fabric of the ballet community.
Sitting to my right in the dressing room, applying makeup for his ninth go of The Nutcracker, is the exquisite and regal Ernesto Lea Place of Buenos Aires. Although he seems approachable our conversation feels forced until he asks me about my dance background in a way that suggests his opinion of me depends on some – in fact, any – connection to a ballet past. My admiration of his talent and skill is sufficient that restricting our conversation to the weather is totally cool with me.
Speaking of amazing, even before we moved to the Majestic, the glitzy Crystal Serrano pierced me with her fiery showmanship. Indeed, she's got a little showgirl in her. One could easily foresee an oncoming departure from ballet to Broadway or Las Vegas - hopefully, burlesque.
Tech week is always a grueling process. Waiting in the wings with the other dancers, I'm reminded of the show-business saying, “hurry up and wait.” Last night it was the lighting design. Tonight it's the San Antonio Symphony that needs to work out a few kinks before we can start.
"Go ahead, symphony. Start when you want and end when you want. We are here for you," says Campbell, across from me with a look heavenward.
While we wait, a few of the dancers provide me with key insights.
“The Nutcracker is a coming-of-age story,” says 20-year-old Dylan Duke, a Baltimore native who balances on that fine line between athlete and artist.
He says he admires the discipline that ballet affords and affirms the work involved is much harder than it looks. “We have a tendency to overwork ourselves because our tolerance is high.”
Onstage, the dancers' pointe shoes sound a lot like popcorn popping in the microwave.
I remember that my Act I party coat is still downstairs in wardrobe being altered and figure I have a moment to check if it's ready.
Painted homages to past shows wrap the halls of backstage with musical theater history. "Take a right at The Lion King, left at Big, pass Kiss of the Spider Woman and Miss Saigon and hang a right at Showboat" is the only way I can remember how to get to the wardrobe room, where Wardrobe Master Raul McGinnes is surrounded by dancers who are saying full dress rehearsal is tonight. According to McGinnes, however, this is not the case.
“All these last minute things! I can't get organized! I am not ready!” he says with raised eyebrows and shallow intakes of breath. “I am about ready to walk out of here and have everyone fend for themselves.”
With a knowing glance here and there, none of the dancers seem fazed by the threat, not even a little girl whose hair is pulled back so tightly she seems infinitely surprised. Her mouse head, she says, “goes up” when she jumps and when she comes down “it still stays there.”
I don't see a party coat in my immediate future.
Exiting the other side of the room I'm momentarily lost. Grease. Hmm.
I pass one of the dancers talking on her phone, weeping. Seeing her dancing onstage later, I wonder what personal sacrifices she may have made in exchange for immortalization on show night. Hours later during rehearsal, her motion is so joyous and radiant, I struggle to remember her tears.
When the music starts a few dancers comment that the tempo is too fast.
The San Antonio Symphony does sound glorious. During my next break, I take a walk to the pit and look down at the folks responsible for the earful of pleasure.
"Take extra care tuning," says Ken-David Masur, the tall, lively resident conductor. “It wasn't in tune the last time. We are almost done.”
“Oh, God, yeah!” says Craig Sorgi, an outspoken, heavy-set violinist with an infectious laugh. “Hell, yeah.” He looks to his left for an audience. “I'm counting the minutes.”
Moments later, a high-school bell sounds and every player packs up and heads for the door. Even though tempos are not confirmed for some sections of the performance, rehearsal is over – at least for the symphony. Zertuche, unfazed, plugs in the canned music and continues.
A symphony musician named Beth tells me it's a rule they cannot play for more than two and a half hours and zips out the stage door before I can ask another question. Passing Evita, she glances over her shoulder and makes eye contact with me before walking out the door.
Hands on buzzers. I'll take “immigrants who love music more than unions” for 500.
I ask Masur if conducting Tchaikovsky's gorgeous score to onstage choreography is a greater challenge.
"It's easier now 'cause we've done it before,” he says. “What works musically doesn't always work physically."
Courtney Mauro Barker, BSA's executive director interrupts us to remind Masur that a different cast of principals will be dancing following tonight's dress rehearsal.
By the involuntary "What?!" that hops out of his mouth, I sense this isn't good news.
Then, he's silent for a moment.
Thoughtfully, he rolls his eyes with a mild concern and an intriguing confidence. It's the same confidence I hear in Worthen's passionate note sessions and Zertuche's growing enthusiasm.
Later that night, when the angelic Sarah Aujon leaps across the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy my reluctant heart soars with her. I realize that opening night is an opportunity to be a part of something hundreds of children – of all ages – may remember for the rest of their lives.
For me, it starts with a simple croisé.
The rest is magic.
