As the nights draw in, and the glitter-twinkle of frost and the bite of an icy wind threaten to drop, it can only mean one thing: the winter season is upon us again. As has become the custom, Scottish Ballet has brought one of its beloved and classic pieces back to the stage to enthral and entertain audiences young and old once more. This year marks the return of Christopher Hampson’s The Snow Queen, which has previously toured the northerly festive circuit in both 2019 and 2022.
This inventive and reimagined interpretation takes the bare bones of the classic Hans Christian Anderson story and reworks the tale into a festive delight of cheerful fun, sibling rivalry and triumphant true love. It tells the story of young lovers, Kai (Bruno Micchiardi) and Gerda (Kayla-Maree Tarantolo), whose engagement is spoiled by the jealous affections of the disguised Summer Princess (Melissa Polson) and the mischievous tricks of the Snow Queen (Jessica Fyfe).
In place of the original story’s tale of Christian values and kind innocence overcoming cruelty, Hampson’s vision switches out the evil intent of the Snow Queen for a misguided act of sisterly affection as the lonely Queen tries to coax her impetuous sister back to the confines of the winter palace by stealing the one thing she covets from under her nose. As the Princess pines after the affection she sees in a vision of her and Kai, she abandons her place, and sister, disguising herself as a pickpocket and trying to get close to Kai while living amongst the humans. So in turn, the Snow Queen chills Kai’s heart with a fragment of her ice-mirror blown into his eye, stealing him back to her icy kingdom, only to gradually become lost in the same fantasies her sister did.
By the same regard, this is also a tale of three women: the two deities and Gerda, a human caught in the wake of the petty sparring of these seasonal gods. Gerda’s normal life is upended when her sweet and kind fiancé turns into a brusque and antagonistic grump shortly before vanishing into thin air through frost-cast magicks. Through the exploration of these different women, we get a broad approach to ballet characterisation and growth, as each undergoes a different test and journey, until the ultimately satisfying conclusion.
If there is one key strength that Scottish Ballet holds above all, it’s that even in the midst of the most technical complexities of movement, there is a remarkable level of emotion that bleeds through. There’s an earnest expressivity to the company members that never fails to sell the emotional depths of their roles while still maintaining that demarcation between their facial expressions and the story being told through the physicality of their movements.
It’s also something which allows each artist to find their own footing, so to speak. There’s a surety to Fyfe’s imperious and statuesque performance as the Snow Queen, from her gentle scorn to the wide-eyed delight in her face as she grows covetous of Kai, which stands as markedly different from Polson’s turn as her sister. Polson’s Lexi flits and skips around the stage, ever present, and usually lifting something from another character’s pocket. But there’s a searching wildness to her that undercuts the practiced dismissiveness and bravado, each serving as a counterpoint to the other.
Gerda, on the other hand, is a character who more typically turns from joy to misery, and Tarantolo plays these extremes to the hilt. It’s through her eyes that the audience are pulled into the warmth of the Christmas marketplace, the fun of the circus hijinks and the short-lived joy at Kai’s proposal of marriage. It’s arguably the most difficult balance to maintain, as the latter parts of the ballet leave Gerda at the edge of frantic and near-broken with worry before she finds her steely determination and ultimately faces down the Snow Queen. It’s a role that Tarantolo steps up to, and it’s good to see her bring the same level of precise study as well as audience engaging charisma that she has previously brought to more whimsical performances such as the younger sister in Cinderella or the puckish Death-Jester in Mary Queen of Scots.
The character who receives the shortest shrift in terms of characterisation is ultimately Kai, by virtue of him spending much of the performance in a state of semi-possession. Yet despite that, Bruno Micchiardi makes a solid fist of embodying him with a kindness and charm in the first half of act 1, contrasting with his descent into the thrall of the Snow Queen. It’s also no impediment to the prowess shown onstage as the pair’s pas de deux towards the end of act 2 is arguably the high point of the ballet, and easily one of Hampson’s most delightful pieces of choreography.
It’s a novel approach to the tale, and one that leans into romance far more than the original story and many of its adaptations. But this is also a festive spectacle, with much of both acts filled to the brim with joyful japery and exciting tapestries of movement the width of the stage’s floor. Between the playful havoc of the town square during the winter-market, the whirling and wheeling throng of the Gypsy camp or the dance of the Snowflakes and the Jackfrosts, this is absolutely a riveting riot for the eyes.
The ears are equally well served as usual, as Richard Honner’s arrangement of choice selections of Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s works brings the magical, florid lightness that the season demands and the Scottish Ballet Orchestra, under the baton of Martin Yates, as ever did not fail to impress.
The Snow Queen is an absolute gem of a ballet, and on its third time treading the winter circuit, it not only can be called a welcome return but is becoming a beloved Christmas classic. So while the real ice and snow still hold off, it would do no harm to spend some time with the warmth and cheer of Scottish Ballet, which yet again shows that it is a credit to the profession and to the country it calls home.