The Royal Ballet’s The Nutcracker

Royal Ballet & Opera, London
November 22, 2025

Every Christmas season, The Nutcracker returns to British theatres like a familiar doorway into winter. The ballet began quietly in 1892 and only later grew into a seasonal tradition. In the United Kingdom, that tradition settles most firmly around Sir Peter Wright’s 1984 production. When the company that later became Birmingham Royal Ballet moved to the Midlands in 1990, a much-revised version took root there and has developed its own annual life. Meanwhile, the Covent Garden production remains part of London’s winter landscape. At the Royal Ballet & Opera, that history feels present rather than historical.

The stage opens into a meticulously built world. Julia Trevelyan Oman’s designs form elegant rooms filled with detail and warmth. Viola Pantuso as Clara moves with the air of a young teenager. She carries herself as someone trying to appear poised while still flickering with curiosity and excitement. Her performance exudes a recognisable sincerity that feels adolescent rather than childlike. Thomas Whitehead as Drosselmeyer shapes the figure with calm control and a measured sense of mystery, guiding the story forward.

The transformation of the Christmas tree fills the space with glittering scale. The battle between soldiers and mice erupts, led by Leo Dixon as Hans-Peter and Francisco Serrano as the Mouse King. The scene has lively momentum and a welcome sense of play.

The Snowflakes follow with precise spacing and clean geometry. The sleigh rolls onto the stage but is a little disappointing. I do wish it could actually fly. The night continues smoothly without a dramatic lift.

The second half unfolds as a gallery of variations. The Arabian dance stands out the most, slow and sinuous in a way that always draws one in. I seem to like every version of this variation, and Melissa Hamilton and Nicol Edmonds have a lovely soft magnetism. Each section looks polished and charming, the atmosphere light and pleasant, like sweets arranged in beautiful paper that share a similar flavour.

The exception is the grand pas de deux for the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince, Fumi Kaneko and William Bracewell, which feels fully shaped and confidently restored. Here the ballet finds its weight and its clarity. A shift takes place when Kaneko steps onstage. The theatre focuses instinctively toward her. Her dancing carries calm confidence, elegant line and steady control.

Previously, in the Waltz of the Flowers, Sae Maeda as the Rose Fairy brings vibrant energy that expands the space, creating a sense of bloom and lift. The women command the emotional focus of the evening while the male dancers deliver precise technique throughout.

At the curtain call, the audience greets Sir Peter Wright, with his ninety-ninth birthday just days away. He sits in a wheelchair and suddenly begins to gesture with animated delight, his hands moving as if he is dancing through the air. The moment recalls the elderly man in a wheelchair during the party scene earlier in the evening. The staging and the auditorium briefly echo one another. Onstage, an old man watches the younger world come alive. In the theatre, the man who shapes this production responds with the same delight. Fiction and reality touch lightly. The ballet’s tradition no longer feels distant. It lives in bodies that change, in movement that becomes memory and in the act of returning to the same story year after year.

For adults, The Nutcracker sits comfortably within the festive rhythm and can feel familiar. For children encountering it for the first time, the stage still opens like a possibility. And earlier in the evening, the youngest performers threw themselves into their tiny battlefield with such unfiltered conviction that the fantasy briefly felt real. Their wide attention completes the spell. The production is visually rich, carefully structured and clear in narrative intention. Its strongest spark rests with those who still expect wonder when the curtain rises. The magic continues to wait for new believers and tonight the theatre holds space for both memory and first discovery.