"The Hard Nut"
Mark Morris Dance Group
Brooklyn Academy of Music
December 16, 2015
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| Kraig Patterson, Mark Morris, John Heginbotham |
Americans take their “Nutcrackers” way too seriously, Mark
Morris seems to tell us in his campy Christmas spectacular, “The Hard Nut.” Played straight, the story is dark sexual
symbolism in a world of repression and romance. Played for laughs, it’s a
casual coming-of-age, in a world where sex is just part of growing up. That
world is American suburbia in the 70’s, and for all its vulgarity, it’s much
more familiar and friendly than the gentrified, stiff-necked Germany where the
original is set.
The 70’s were a lost decade, when the hippie movement died
but hair continued to sprout from the heads, faces, armpits and open shirt-fronts
of America. It’s all on display in the Act
One party scene: afro wigs and pompadours, mustaches and sideburns, set off
with too-tight pants and glittery jackets, short skirts and polka-dot pants
suits. The host is Mark Morris himself,
as a fussy Dr. Stahlbaum in a hideous party jacket. But the focus is on the children, who start
out staring at the TV. Father comes along and switches the channel to the Yule
Log special, and the party is underway – an American Christmas with too many
gifts, too much booze, and guests on their worst behavior. Much of the dancing
consists of humping and grinding, at first surreptitious, but as the alcohol
takes effect, front and center.
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| Aaron Loux and Lauren Grant |
It’s up to Marie to redeem this mess, and she does it
beautifully, with the aid of a nearly mechanical Nutcracker. Aaron Loux comes
to life as Drosselmeier’s nephew like a toy out of the box – coaxed into
manhood in a strong, flowing pas de deux with his uncle. He’s a boy toy, and
his function is to plant a first kiss on the lips of Marie, which he does
repeatedly and rapturously in the climactic pas de deux of Act Two. Lauren
Grant as Marie responds with her own rapture – not mechanical at all, but
entirely human, a frizzy-haired adolescent becoming a teenager in love, a
passage out of life itself.
