Paris by Way of Brooklyn: Inside Nutcracker Rouge
For anyone who has ever seen a Toulouse-Lautrec painting and felt an acute desire to step into a Belle Époque cabaret for just one night, Company XIV’s Nutcracker Rouge is as close as you’ll ever get. It’s in the warm glow of the gas-lamp-type lighting; in the rouge on the cheeks of the mischievous performers whose gazes linger on each other and on you; in the dramatic curtain drops; the tempo of the music; the decadence of every sparkling costume. It’s in the ethereal haze that settles with subtlety in the air of the theater.
Company XIV feels European not only in its Tchaikovsky and Parisian inspiration, but in its commitment to quality. Nothing is done for shock value or cheap thrills. Nudity is tasteful, but still very sexy and fun. You leave the performance with a new understanding of beauty, suddenly aware that Michelangelo is less a marble guy with his balls out begging for a photo-op of you fondling him and more a work of art you’ve simply never looked at properly before.
Without giving too much away, the production stays loyal to the spirit of The Nutcracker while taking a decidedly adults-only detour. It’s so deliciously naughty and so outrageously fun you can’t help but grin. At several points I glanced around the theater and found the entire audience lit up with pure, giddy delight. It felt like Christmas morning for grown-ups, except the “packages” were breasts glittering in jeweled pasties and cocks shimmering in sequined cups.
Courtesy: Company XIV Media
In The Nutcracker, Clara enters the Land of Sweets and is dazzled by its living confections. The audience of Nutcracker Rouge embarks on a similar journey, but far more wicked. No two numbers resemble each other; each arrives with its own shock of delight. There are aerial sequences so charged with human grit and grace that they made me well with tears. There’s a riotous banana-split routine performed by twins whose mischievous glances and reddened cheeks are straight out of a Belle Époque cabaret comedy. The gingerbread dance is a delight of tinsel wigs, jiggling bare asses, and calibrated chaos.
And yes, there’s ballet, technical, exquisite ballet. But, come on. It’s so much more delicious when the dancers are nearly naked and swathed in confetti and glitter. As one of my friends noted, “It’s all things.” Uplifting. Joyful. Unhinged.
What lingers longest is the joy radiating off the performers. This goes beyond commitment. They seem transported, as if they’ve stepped into the version of their lives they always hoped to inhabit. The entire room gets to marvel at a group of people who love what they’re doing. That kind of joy is so very needed nowadays.
If, towards the end, you find yourself saying, God, this is sexy, but I’m really horny. If only there were a well-choreographed orgy scene complete with a giant swinging penis and plenty of simulated oral sex set to can-can music, well, you’re in luck.
Courtesy: Company XIV
A writer at Forbes compared Nutcracker Rouge to being transported to Versailles. If the Royal Court of Versailles had entertainment on par with Nutcracker Rouge, you kind of get why they said to the common people, fuck your need for sustenance, we’d rather fund this glittering spectacle.
What struck our party, ironically, given the ticket price, is that this might be the only performance in New York that truly understands what “bang for your buck” means. That’s not a sex joke, but it can be if you want. It isn’t engineered for the influencer gaze. It’s created for people who appreciate craftsmanship, who can feel in their bones when their hard-earned money has been put to good use. Yes, the costumes glitter and every inch of the theater is curated down to the smallest tassel, but what anchors the entire experience is the people. The kindness. The calm. That was the number-one thing our group kept remarking on.
Normally, the sight of a line outside a theater sends me into a frustrated panic. You brace for the line-cutters, the staff barking at you to keep your bag open, the general TSA-adjacent chaos. Half the time I’m waiting for a bomb-sniffing dog to appear or for the man next to me to be ordered to drop and give thirty.
Contrast that with our check-in experience. The person greeting us spoke softly, made eye contact, asked how we were doing. They checked if we were comfortable with incense, haze, and strobe lights, then told us exactly where to go once inside. It was efficient without being robotic. It was genuinely human without holding up the line. Even the bouncer checking IDs chimed in on a joke our group made at the door.
Courtesy: Company XIV
Inside, the performers double as bartenders. Still catching their breath after a physically punishing number, they pour cocktails with care and answer questions about their performance. The attention they give you feels personal, almost intimate, like an extension of the performance itself.
And perhaps the most refreshing part: there’s zero pressure to dress or behave a certain way. This doesn’t diminish the opulence. In fact, it heightens it. The lack of pretense is its own luxury. Company XIV doesn’t need to manufacture glamour; they are the real deal, and they treat their guests accordingly. That, ultimately, is the truest indulgence of the night.
There’s a pang in knowing that theater is such an ephemeral experience—perhaps never more so for me than in watching Nutcracker Rouge. After all, how often do you get to visit turn-of-the-century Paris?
I didn’t want to leave.
I don’t think anybody did.
Many patrons sat in their chairs still staring wondrously at the stage.
“I’ve been dying to go, but the price tag is steep.” That’s what most of my friends have told me when I detail our experience at Company XIV’s Nutcracker Rouge this past weekend. There’s almost always—scratch that—always the inevitable follow-up question: “Is it worth the price tag?”
If you have to save for a year in advance, do it.
If you have to forgo buying items online from children in sweatshops for a while, do it.
Do whatever you need to in order to see Nutcracker Rouge.
