Winter wonderland | 13 December 2018

Not another Nutcracker, I thought on the way to the Opera House. Haven’t we had our fill of Sugar Plums? I took my seat, the Grinch of Covent Garden, wondering if we couldn’t have The Winter’s Tale for a change. The lights went down, the orchestra assembled and within six bars of Tchaikovsky’s irresistibly sparkling score I was sinking into my seat as into a bath of hot Glühwein and contentedly sighing: bring on the dancing snowflakes…

Peter Wright’s production, with sets and costumes by Julia Trevelyan Oman, remains a midwinter night’s dream of Lebkuchen cosiness: snow-capped gables, Biedermeier comfort, goffered mob caps and Fezziwig frock coats, as pretty as an album of découpage. Anna Rose O’Sullivan is Clara. She is a little chilly when we first meet her in the Stahlbaums’ drawing room, lost in the crowd of children from the Royal Ballet School, a delicate dancer, but drifting and passive. Shy is one thing, but we need to feel something of a girl’s glee at a party and her first dance with a young partner (Luca Acri). Francesca Hayward has set the bar for this part adorably high.

O’Sullivan warms, though, in the Land of the Snow and in the arms of Marcelino Sambé as Hans-Peter who is magically transformed into the Nutcracker. Acri is gallant enough, but Sambé in his red jacket is so handsome, so honourable, so heroic as he rises from his battle with the Mouse King (a menacing Nicol Edmonds, in tights and tail) that Clara would have to be made of ice not to swoon. Sambé dances here with winning charisma, all smiles, power and command. His elaborate mime routine — telling his adventures, playing the parts of soldiers and mice — is a miniature masterclass.