Pacific Northwest Ballet’s The Nutcracker at McCaw Hall was a dazzling mix of artistry and sauna-level discomfort. Even from the privileged box seats, the oppressive heat spared no one. The children were remarkable, dancing with heroic energy despite conditions that would challenge an Olympic athlete. The costumes sparkled brilliantly, though I prayed they were breathable. Tchaikovsky’s score, performed flawlessly, felt like a crisp winter breeze—tragically absent from the stifling air. The snow was breathtaking, though through sweat-blurred eyes it looked cruelly real, mocking us with memories of winters gone by. Surely, turning down the heat could save money—funds that could reward the performers for their bravery. Despite the swelter, The Nutcracker was stunning, a bittersweet reminder of the inevitable warming planet. Please, McCaw Hall, let us enjoy winter magic without sweating through our holiday best, before the polar ice caps melt would be nice.