By Lauren Smart
By Jane R. LeBlanc
By Lauren Smart
By Elaine Liner
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
Now, puppeteers were always rumored to be about as couth as carny workers, so no doubt their own drunken misadventures were being sent like electrical currents through the strings and rods, but the potential for anarchy seems imminent to me in any puppet display. Natural laws are already being broken when inanimate objects are given voice and motion and attitude, so who's to say where the madness will stop?
This is in no way an attempt to scare parents away from The Nutcracker, a production by Kathy Burks Theatre of Puppetry as hosted by Dallas Children's Theater that has, for the past three years, been developing quite a reputation as a holiday alternative for adults and children who have been Scrooged till they're sore. I don't think you have to worry about fielding questions from 6-year-olds after Clara is mounted by the Mouse King; there's nary an invasion of nasty reality in this lovely production that's as simple in narrative as it is ornate (and, occasionally, even hallucinatory) in delivery. It was just the easily spooked 30-year-old in me, gripping the arm rests in sweaty apprehension of being charged by mouse soldiers.
Saturdays and Sundays:
1:30 and 4:30 p.m.
Kathy Burks Theatre of Puppetry is the oldest continuously producing entity of its kind in the Southwest: It was formed in 1973 as a marionette revue, but metamorphosed when Burks' collection of 1,000 or so antique string puppets from the '20s proved too fragile for regular performance. So it's interesting to note that only since 1996, when Dallas Children's Theater stepped in to co-produce The Nutcracker, has it had a Yuletide cash cow suckled by wide word-of-mouth. You may think you just can't have your nuts cracked one more time come the month of December, and you're not alone: The nastiest rumor involving Dallas Theater Center's venerable A Christmas Carol is that it plays constantly to half-empty houses, thus necessitating a "rescue" grant from The Meadows Foundation to rethink and amp up the appeal of a rickety little warhorse that DTC can no longer rely on in a competitive season.
I say this has less to do with cynical, attention-deficit contemporary ticketbuyers than with a legitimate desire for freshly minted classics. I'll take Joe Mantello's stage adaptation of David Sedaris' writings, The Santaland Diaries -- currently playing at Fort Worth Theatre and about to open in Dallas at Theatre For a New Day -- any day. And screw It's a Wonderful Life: The Nightmare Before Christmas and A Christmas Story are the video rentals that keep the cockles of my heart all toasty.
For The Nutcracker, Kathy Burks and her fellow puppeteers and voice artists (including Douglass Burks, B. Wolf, Sarah Jayne Fiorello, and Trish Long) haven't done anything outlandishly new, nor have they done it in a new way. Black theater rod puppetry -- in which the humans wear all pitch and project the puppets forward into a thin sheet of light while concealing themselves behind it -- is centuries old. But they bring a smashing degree of professionalism to E.T.A. Hoffman's 1813 tale -- which was, in its original form, written as a sinister Grimm-style fantasia with intimations of rape that would raise the haunches of all manner of parents' groups these days. Of course, the modern-day version bears little resemblance to its origins, having been re-envisioned by Alexander Dumas and then immortalized by Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker Ballet (one musn't forget George Balanchine's definitive choreography).
The Nutcracker has been peered at through myriad lenses over the decades, and adapter B. Wolf had quite a job on her hands, sifting through the layers of influence that have coated this story like a sedimentary rock. Wolf and Burks decided that the show could not be delivered without Tchaikovksy's score, so this becomes the engine that drives the adventures of young Clara, and the conductor becomes Tchaikovsky himself.
The show opens with the diminutive Russian composer traveling on a train through the French countryside, struggling to express a melody that is itself straining to move outside of his white-haired head. The notes pop out and dance a jig with the composer and his sheet music, and a masterpiece is almost born. Until that can happen, Tchaikovsky insists he must be the first to use a celesta, a small keyboard that produces the shimmery starburst notes everyone associates with "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies." Although Tchaikovsky's composition will be omnipresent throughout this production, the man himself will not be: In a bit of very '90s self-referentialism, a puppet puppeteer steps out, pulls off the black cowl, and impatiently announces that the other puppeteers are getting hot back there and can we please get on with the show? My irony-scrambled brain would love to see an entire puppet show performed by puppet puppeteers, commenting on the job of puppeteering the whole time.