THE MAKING OF ‘NUTCRACKER’ MAGIC

When the curtain rises on a performance of the world’s most beloved ballet, “The Nutcracker,” reality fades gently into the background.

In its place is a fairy tale world where sugar plums, marzipans and lollipops dance sweetly in an enchanted candyland. Where mechanical dolls come alive to entertain revelers at a Christmas party. Where a gallant nutcracker leads a platoon of tiny toy soldiers to do battle against an invasion of marauding mice. Where delicate, snowflake maidens lead a little girl into the magic kingdom of her dreams.

But behind the scenes, it’s a very different story. The backstage world is peopled by a bustling team of technicians, artists and administrators working hard to create the illusion of on-stage magic.

Friday evening, when the large cast and crew of the California Ballet Company prepared for its opening-night performance of “The Nutcracker” at the East County Performing Arts Center, the backstage activity was reaching fever pitch.

“There’s a million last-minute things to take care of,” director Maxine Mahon said as she fluttered from one minor crisis to the next. “The programs were delivered to the studio instead of here . . . so I had to get one of the mothers to run over there and pick them up.” The programs made it to the center’s lobby just in time to be distributed to the audience.

“I’m depositing (special guest) tickets at the box office, making sure the music tapes get up to the

sound booth, and whatever other little things come up. But I leave the dancers up to my volunteers. My moms run the show,” she said, before rushing off to the lobby to greet early arrivals.

The “moms” this year number about 85, and Kathryn Bane, a tower of strength and calm efficiency, is in charge of this valuable company resource.

“There are about 160 parts in ‘The Nutcracker,’ ” Bane said from her post near the stage door. “Some of them are double-cast, but there are at least 100 dancers here for every performance, so it’s a big problem of logistics. We have a complicated schedule, and each mother signs up on our work sheet for a certain time (to oversee the children in the cast). We have three floors of dressing rooms, and it gets very hectic and very busy.

“We need a lot of people to help the children get in and out of their costumes. The flowers and the Chinese dancers are back and forth (in their costumes) four different times. But the biggest thing we have to worry about is the safety of the children. And we have to keep the little ones busy and quiet when they’re not on stage.”

Just before curtain time, the third-floor dressing room that housed Mother Ginger’s bonbons and the tiny army of toy soldiers looked like a nursery school, with the little tykes busy coloring and the older ones playing cards or games. The noise level was high, but the mothers seemed to have everything under control.

“Most of the bonbons are under 7 years old,” said Mary Bixby, mother hen to the bonbons that evening. “I’m amazed how good they are. Last night, they were here till 11 p.m. (rehearsing), and they didn’t mind having to do it over and over.”

Jessica Kolins, who performed the role of the unruly bonbon in Friday night’s performance, was giggling with the other girls during the long wait for her cue. But she was ready to forgo the game at the drop of a hat for her performance.

“I have a lot of fun coloring, but I’d still rather be on stage,” she said. The others were quick to agree.

“They’ve been practicing all week, and they’re almost semiprofessionals,” Bixby said. “It’s nice that they can progress from bonbons to soldiers and lollipops” in subsequent “Nutcracker” productions.

Tara Smith, 9, waited anxiously while a volunteer pasted on her rosy-cheeked smile--a circle of red contact paper--to complete her look as a toy soldier. The props (toy rifles) would not be dispensed until the children were ready to go on stage, to prevent accidents.

“This is my fifth year,” Tara said. “I started out as a bonbon, and this is my second time as a soldier.”

Marla Navarette, 15, has made her way up the “Nutcracker” ladder from bonbon to lollipop and reindeer. Friday, she danced the coveted role of Clara, the little girl who makes the wondrous journey into the Kingdom of the Sweets with the dashing Nutcracker Prince.

Just before curtain time, Marla rushed into the wardrobe room with an emergency.

“My elastic broke,” she said, pointing to the torn strap on her pink ballet slipper.

The wardrobe crew made short work of the problem with a few well-placed stitches, although there were still more last-minute adjustments to be made. Children in alternating roles use the same costumes. But since they’re not all the same size, the outfits must be taken in and let out every day.

As wardrobe mistress, Flora Jennings (director Mahon’s mother) has to be ready for anything.

“We always have emergencies--a hook breaks at the last minute, and costumes tear or someone needs a quick pin,” she said. “But I never get flustered. If you relax, everything goes better.”

While dancers wearing warm-ups over their gossamer-thin costumes did a few quick stretches on the darkened stage, the technical crew, led by Ronald Groomes, tested the light cues and checked out the sound system. Everything was go.

When the lights began to dim in the audience, the performers earmarked for the first-act party scene began to line up in the wings, decked out in their lavish Victorian finery and toting colorful Christmas packages under their arms from the nearby prop table.

Suddenly, the thrilling overture was over, and the curtain rose to reveal Drosselmeyer’s toy shop. In a matter of minutes, the toy shop set had to be cleared away so the action could shift to the festive parlor scene without annoying delays.

Technical director Ronald Groomes, who calls all the shots from his station near the curtain, gave the party-goers the go-ahead to enter as soon as the stage was ready.

Groomes, wearing headsets and operating a complicated panel of buttons, also coordinated the special effects with Kathy Auten (who worked the fog machine for the snow scene), communicated with the lighting booth, signaled the mothers in the rafters when it was time to get their charges down to the stage, and kept the performance running on an even keel.

When there were little ones waiting for a “go,” he played psychologist, calming them down, reminding them to smile, and psyching them up for the performance.

There was a constant parade of dancers entering and exiting--from the little tots who had to be ushered in by their stage moms, to the seasoned performers with many “Nutcrackers” behind them. All waited eagerly in the wings for a turn in the limelight. After the dancers received their cue, they rushed on stage in a burst of excitement. They exited the same way, generally breathless with the euphoria of applause, or occasionally downcast because of missed opportunities on stage.

Most of the problems that can plague opening-night performances were avoided by careful planning and plenty of experience juggling 100 performers in dozens of different dances. But inevitably there are foul-ups and distractions, like the crashing sound of a rifle just before the soldiers made their charge (a nervous youngster had dropped his prop).

However, the company did come dangerously close to a disaster during the snow scene. The walnut-shell boat that should carry Clara and her Nutcracker Prince on their spectacular journey through the icy kingdom wouldn’t budge. Fortunately, Jay La Rocca (the Nutcracker) improvised a solution that saved the day.

“We’ll just have to do it the biblical way,” La Rocca joked, before going back on-stage. “We’ll walk on water.”

And so he did, making the trek across the stage on foot with Clara in tow, although the script calls for the pair to sail through in their little vessel. They strolled so rhythmically and nonchalantly that no one in the audience seemed to notice there was anything awry.

As Karen Evans, the radiant Snow Queen in that performance, said, “It’s so weird. All the things you expect to go wrong never happen. It’s always what you never anticipated in rehearsals that goes wrong during a performance.”

“This is the first time we’ve ever had a problem with the boat,” a stage hand exclaimed, shaking his head.

Things went smoother in the second act, except for a few flubs among the dancers. Kevin Engle tripped up on a difficult crouching maneuver in the Russian variation, although he has breezed through the role many times without a hitch. He recovered his bearing and made a flamboyant exit. But when he retreated behind the curtain, he couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“The Nutcracker’s” Grand Pas de Deux gave San Diegans their first look at Soviet danseur Stanislav Issaev.

Issaev, as the chivalrous Cavalier, partnered California Ballet’s home-grown prima ballerina, Denise Dabrowski. Their debut was choreographed by Mahon. But for his own variation, Issaev danced a version choreographed by Yuri Grigorovich (director of the famed Bolshoi Ballet).

The performance triggered a round of bravos and thunderous applause from both sides of the footlights.

“In 3 1/2 days (from the time Issaev arrived in San Diego to the opening night performance), a partnership was born,” said Olga Guardia de Smoak, the agent who negotiated the cultural agreement between California Ballet and the Soviet government. “It’s a minor miracle. I’ve known Maxine (Mahon) for a long time, and I am very happy I chose the correct dancer for her company.

“There is a special chemistry between them, and I know Stanislav is very pleased.”

When Issaev and Dabrowski finished taking their bows, Mahon whispered, “He’s put so much energy into this company, he’s been an inspiration. I’m very happy with the performance, but I’m sure they’re not. It takes years, not days, to develop a partnership. But they’ve done so well together in just a few days, and by the time we’re in the Civic Theatre (Friday through Dec. 24), they’ll be perfect.”

“It’s a lot of work and a lot of worry,” a weary stage mom said as a horde of happy little faces began to file out of the children’s dressing rooms, “but this makes it all worthwhile.”