Once Christmas is over — when the snowflakes settle, and Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s music finally falls silent — it becomes possible to speak more frankly about The Nutcracker. And here is a provocation, openly opinionated: some versions are choreographically ugly, even when they are technically extraordinary. Difficult, yes. Beautiful, not necessarily.

Let me be direct (and accept the accusation of sexism as a critical lens, not an insult): in classical ballet, men still dominate the history of major creations. And it is no coincidence that the Nutcrackers that have endured with the greatest elegance are those conceived for the female body, as Petipa and Balanchine understood so well, where difficulty exists to serve music, line, and illusion.

A touch of modernity is welcome. But there are Nutcrackers by Rudolf Nureyev, Alexei Ratmansky, and Roland Petit that shift the center of gravity toward male virtuosity. And there, with all due respect to admirers of these geniuses, it does not work for women. The clearest example? Each of their Nutcrackers.

Rudolf Nureyev (1973): excess as an aesthetic

Created in 1973 for the Paris Opera Ballet, Rudolf Nureyev’s Nutcracker remains in the repertoire to this day — proof of its historical weight. Nureyev conceived the ballet for himself, radically expanding male protagonism: Drosselmeyer merges with the Prince, psychology takes center stage, and childhood becomes memory rather than fantasy.

Reception has always been divided. Intellectually stimulating, choreographically oppressive. The vocabulary is over-elaborate: intricate arms, excessive jumps, dangerous lifts, passages demanding near-athletic strength and control — yet movements that do not resolve into beauty. Only true virtuosos can dance it. The audience feels the effort. And ballet, however technical it may be, is not (only) exhibitionism. Less would have been more.

ABT: When changing everything erases what worked

At the American Ballet Theatre, the path before the rupture matters. From 1976 to 1993, the “official” version was that of Mikhail Baryshnikov — filmed in 1977 and, to me, one of the most romantic and nearly perfect.

Here, Clara is an adolescent and falls in love with the Prince. I dislike that she remains in her nightgown throughout, and that the grand pas de deux effectively becomes a pas de trois (Clara dancing with both the Nutcracker and Drosselmeyer). Even so, the prologue and the battle are, without exaggeration, the finest of all: clear, theatrical, exquisitely musical — fantasy without excess, danger without noise.

Between 1993 and 2010, ABT danced the version by Kevin McKenzie, revised in 2003. It was a conscious step back toward Petipa: more order, more classicism, less psychologizing. Not brilliant, but it worked. The music was respected. The phrasing breathed. The female line remained central.

When Alexei Ratmansky premiered his version in 2010, the decision was to change everything radically. The concept — historically informed, intellectually coherent — reorganizes the plot, clearly separates child-Clara from woman-Clara, and turns the Prince into a symbolic projection. On paper, it is brilliant. On stage, it is dreadful.

The pas de deux feels rushed and nervous, with no suspension. The choreography skims over one of Tchaikovsky’s most beautiful melodies as if eager to prove a thesis. The result is cold, illustrative, academic — and utterly devoid of enchantment.

Roland Petit: daring that never becomes poetry

Here, I soften the tone out of genuine affection. I am a devoted admirer of Roland Petit. Everything he created was modern, challenging, and irreverent. But The Nutcracker does not reflect the best of his genius.

The production is too far outside the box, to the point of feeling like another ballet altogether. There are echoes of Coppélia in the first act, especially in the use of dolls, which displaces the work’s symbolic core. The pas de deux is terrifyingly difficult: acrobatic, fractured, unstable — and once again, not beautiful. The difficulty exists, but it never turns into poetry.

In the end…

There are Nutcrackers that impress us with what they demand from the body. And some endure because they ennoble the female movement, respect the music, and understand that technique only matters when it dissolves into illusion.

After Christmas, without guilt or ribbons, it can be said plainly: difficulty is not enough. Ballet is line, time, breath — and, above all, beauty in motion.