Not The Nutcracker
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
Back when the earth was young, like 1984, I was having a coffee with one of the powers that be of Galtaco and the subject got around to what we had done on the weekend and he told me he had been to a ballet in Toronto.
Moving on a week or so, I was talking to his wife at a Christmas party and said I didn’t realize her husband was into such lofty cultural pursuits and went to the ballet. She said, ‘He told you that? My sister and I went to the ballet; he and my brother-in-law spent the afternoon drinking beer in the Zanzibar Tavern.’
I tell you that, not to discredit him, he can do that well enough on his own, but only to tell you I am a great fan of classical ballet, modern dance, and anything else that involves young ladies prancing hither and thither, especially if the hitherers and thitherers are handsome and scantily attired.
As I was saying I am quite fond of the ballet although I have never actually been to one, but I fully intend to go this year since the Nutcracker (or as we connoisseurs of classical dance call it) Der Nussknacker und der Mousekonig is coming to the Opera House this November.
What a strange language, German, (Deutsch). No matter what a Berliner or a Dusseldorfer says it always sounds like he’s peed off over something. The English version, The Nutcracker, sounds sort of sweet and gentle really, but in German, Der Nussknacker und der Mousekonig sounds a lot like ‘Bend over, Heinrich, dis may hurt a bit’.*
I have loved that ballet for many years, not because of the story, but little Clara. Clara is the young girl in that great Christmas classic. Actually she wasn’t little in the production they used to show every year on Channel 17. She was a beautiful blonde dancer and really built for a ballerina. Usually they are skinny on top with big thick legs like a fullback for Green Bay or someone you see in the mall wearing sweatpants and a one-size-fits-no-one beer shirt.
Now, this is important — this Clara had a fairly big nose. I say ‘had’ because she’s probably had reconstructive surgery by now. Clara’s nose was the first thing I noticed after I got over the shock of seeing the huge crotch on Herr Drosselmeyer. Herr Drosselmeyer was Clara’s godfather. He was either particularly well endowed or had lifted a five-pound bag of walnuts from a Christmas display at Walmart and stuffed them down the front of his tights. Herr Drosselmeyer was the darling of the audience until Mikhail Baryshnikov showed up with a Hubbert squash tucked in his britches. Four old ladies in the front row passed out cold and had to be carried to the comfort station.
The Nutcracker story is an odd tale and doesn’t always make sense, which some scholars attribute to the fact Tchaikovsky’s mother dropped him on his head as a child. While others believe the Crown Princess Anastasia accidentally slammed the lid down on his grand piano while he was inside looking for his sheet music. But it matters little since Tchaikovsky wrote the musical score and not the story.
The Nutcracker!
It is Christmas Eve and there is big party at the Stahlbaum haus. (Did you see how easily I slipped into fluent German there?)
Herr Drosselmeyer then produces three dolls from a big bag and each do a little dance. Clara asks Herr Drosselmeyer for her gift but by this time the kindly old gentleman has run out of presents. She runs crying to her mother, who has been into the chocolate martinis for several hours and says, “Oh for God’s sake Clara, get over it.”
Herr Drosselmeyer is embarrassed for forgetting Clara’s gift and immediately whips up a nutcracker in the shape of a toy soldier. Fritz, being a typical little brother, is resentful of her gift (even though he just got an anatomically-correct Barbi doll) flies into a snit and breaks the Nutcracker.
Drosselmeyer then kicks his ungrateful little bum all the way to Heidelberg and duct tapes the toy soldier back together.
By this time everyone is thoroughly juiced and one by one they head off to bed – some with their own wives.
Clara has fallen in love with her new toy and sneaks down stairs to fall asleep with the Nutcracker in her arms and under her big nose.
When the clock strikes midnight Clara hears the sound of mice running across the floor. I saw it on TV and they weren’t mice, they were big flipping rats.
She tries to run away but the mice surround her and threaten to do her serious harm. I think they wanted to spread Cheez Whiz on her.
The Nutcracker comes to life and with the aid of his army of toy soldiers kills the mouse king by running him through the giblets with a sword.
The mice carry him off to God knows where, leaving all the children in the audience traumatized by the violence and the CSI team wandering around wondering where the body is. Everybody dances about on their toes for no particular reason.
The first act ends and the cast takes a break while the stage crew gets out the Swiffers and mops the blood and mouse poos off the floor.
By that time I was into the single malt and missed the second act.
(My apologies to Clara about the big nose business. I’m no prize myself.)
* the original line was ‘Fire up the Fockerwolfes, Heinrich, vee are going to attack Poland.“
(Image Supplied)
