Making Our Nutcracker
Posted by Tommy Rapley on 11/26/2007I love Christmas. It’s always been my favorite holiday. Between the decorating, the food, the singing and dancing, the shopping, and still more food… what’s not to love? This year I was surprised, though, that the holiday spirit wasn’t hitting me, and I couldn’t figure out exactly why. Was it the difficulty of putting up The Nutcracker, by far the largest undertaking that The House has attempted to date? No. It’s always hard to put up new work — especially our work with all its technical spectacle and visual nuance. Was it the hidden grinch inside me, allowing the dreaded long lines at Macy’s and hours of work in the kitchen (not to mention the cleaning up after) to cloud my seasonal optimism? No, that wasn’t quite it either.
After we opened this past Saturday, it hit me. It’s because I miss my family. Not to get too personal on you, but my family has lost some pretty key players in the past year and a half, and the holidays have changed for me because of that. They still have candy, and magic, and Santa, and warm cocoa and fireplaces, and twinkling lights, but they also have loss. Deep loss. And I’m not the only one. There are a lot of families in this world who gleefully watch their children open presents as they mourn for someone whose presence is sorely missed. Making our Nutcracker helped me to identify that for myself. This play is about people who are having a hard time at Christmas. It’s not always cookies and bunnies all the time for everyone out there, and I’m proud that we acknowledge that. I’m also proud that in our story we persevere with lifted spirits by the end, as we all will and do in our personal lives.
Jake Minton (co-author of The Nutcracker, our Director of Guest Relations, and a dear, dear friend) said at a talkback after the show on Sunday that we think of the theatre as a safe place to come together — with friends and strangers alike — and exercise our emotions; to practice for the things that may, and probably will, happen to us in real life; to share with others in the triumphs and losses of fiction, so that we may endure our own facts with strength and dignity. I believe that. I believe it because after seeing the show on opening night I was ready to shop ‘til I drop, sit on Santa’s lap, drink lots of Mama Rapley’s bathtub eggnog, and call it a Merry Christmas.
Now, I haven’t been home for the Holidays since I began dancing professionally — it just figures that people want to see The Nutcracker Ballet at Christmas-time. And I have plenty of loving friends here in Chicago that function as my surrogate family. But you better believe that next year I plan on being with my mom, and my brother and his family, and my sister and her family. And we’ll remember the folks that we miss really hard. And we’ll love each other even harder.
Happy Holidays!