Where are my books on chaos theory when I need them? It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m in Studio 5 at the Boston Ballet building, watching one of the key scenes of the company’s Nutcracker take shape. No, not the pas de deux for Sugar Plum and her Cavalier, or Dew Drop in the Waltz of the Flowers, or Snow Queen and Snow King. The Nutcracker is for children (of all ages, granted), so I’m where the action is. Clara and Fritz may be the limelight children’s roles, but every kid who’s ever seen the Boston Ballet production remembers Mother Ginger and her eight Polichinelles, and in particular their "bump and run" choreography.

The "bump and run" is history, alas — but even The Nutcracker has to evolve. So I’m here to see what it’s evolving into this year. But will these jaded veterans — there are four casts, so that’s 32 Polichinelles in all — talk to the media? "I love publicity," is the first thing I hear. They’re asked who wants to be interviewed; hands go up everywhere. Getting people to talk is clearly not going to be a problem. First question: what is a Polichinelle?" I’m told it’s a French clown, fair enough, though the name must go back to the Neapolitan commedia dell’arte figure Pulcinella. I’m about to ask how you get to be a Polichinelle when I notice that I have an all-girl audience. Where are the little boys? Giggles. "We play the little boys!" Somehow, in 15 years of Nutcracker reviewing, this reporter never noticed that they are indeed all girls; the taller ones play the boys.

So how do you get to be a Polichinelle? It turns out you have to be selected. Some 600 children try out for The Nutcracker each year. What do they do at the audition? "Chassé, balancé." But that’s just the first day. Then there are the callbacks. "That’s when we do the Mice step." The Mice step? Seven Polichinelles cross hands and demonstrate: it’s the Mouse parody of the Dance of the Cygnets from Swan Lake, one of this production’s niftier touches. Once the lucky children — about 400 — are picked, the company determines who’s going to play what.

So is it prestigious to be chosen as a Polichinelle? I get a chorus of "Yes!" That makes sense: there are 100 or so children in each Nutcracker cast but only eight Polichinelles, and it’s one of the most visible roles. The range of ages is about 9 to 12, though I’m told that being too old is less of a problem than being too big for the costume. The Polichinelles rehearse twice a week, but some of them are also Mice, so that’s four rehearsals a week for their devoted parents. Final question: do they like to have the choreography change every year, or would they rather do the same familiar thing? They decide that new choreography is more fun.

Time to go into the studio, where some of the performers are already turning cartwheels. Boston Ballet corps member Gianni Di Marco is in charge, and on one point, at least, he has these children well trained. "If it’s not great, whose fault is it?" "Yours!" comes the unanimous reply. And it’s not great, not at first, but over 90 minutes it starts to come together. Spacing is a continuing problem, and it’s yet to be determined whether cartwheels will find their way into the chassé-chassé-soutenu sequence. Breaking from the circle they’ve formed around Mother Ginger (who today is David Alexander, trying out his stilts for the first time) to take their bows proves unexpectedly difficult. Finally Gianni shows them how it’s done; this draws whistles and shouts of "Encore!" (Memo to company management: is Gianni really too old to be a Polichinelle?) But when it comes to the bows themselves, the kids are troupers (and hams), and it’s encouraging to see how they work together and support one another. Every Mother Ginger should have such children.

Boston Ballet presents The Nutcracker at the Wang Theatre November 29 through December 30. Tickets are $15 to $70; call (800) 447-7400, or visit the Ballet’s Web site at www.bostonballet.org, or go to the Wang Theatre box office.