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I know that old fairy tales are not popular or fashionable any more. But last Saturday, at the opening of the Royal Ballet’s new run of Frederick Ashton’s Cinderella, I was shocked to overhear two nicely behaved children ask their grandparents why the good fairy had asked Cinders to fetch a pumpkin and why there were dancers dressed as white mice pulling her coach. It’s true that, in Ashton’s superb choreographic adaptation of the old story, the transformation scene is not as graphic as it is in Walt Disney’s animated film. Yet the youngsters’ questions were symptomatic of the cultural, psychological and political trends that inform children’s upbringing today. Ignorance, however, can be bliss: not knowing the story can add greatly to the enchantment created by theatre, as was demonstrated by the ecstatic noises that the children uttered throughout the evening.
I am not ashamed to admit that I, too, enjoyed the performance and fell under its simple, captivating spell. Like those children, I laughed at the well-known antics of the two Ugly Sisters, portrayed by Luke Heydon and ballet legend Wayne Sleep with dramatic vibrancy and not a single hint of vulgarity or drag-queen campness. And like a child I found myself totally won over and enraptured by Alina Cojocaru’s interpretation of the rags-to-riches heroine. Hers is one of the most credible renditions of the role I have seen in years. Purists might object to her excessively smooth and neo-romantic approach to the jagged angularity of the choreography, which highlights Ashton’s unique response to Prokofiev’s captivating score. But I think that such unusual smoothness adds greatly to what comes across as an enthralling and dramatically powerful reading of the central role. I am sure Ashton would have loved her, for she does exactly what he wanted his Cinderella — Margot Fonteyn in the original production — to do, namely maintain a diva-like aura while interpreting a demure but dirty-faced and emotionally battered youngster.
Next to her, Rupert Pennefather was a dashing and technically impeccable Prince. His is a hell of a role to deal with, for it offers no chance of developing any kind of psychological reading. Yet I think Pennefather could have tried harder to convey his love-at-first-sight, at least to match Cojocaru’s incandescent interpretation, particularly in the second-act duet. Emotional remoteness also characterised Laura Morera’s Fairy Godmother, even though her dancing was technically and stylistically faultless — and highlighted perfectly that jagged angularity mentioned above. Among the other good fairies, only Yuhui Choe, as Fairy Summer, seemed to be totally at ease with the choreographic demands, and gave a memorable performance of the intricate solo. The rest of the company danced well, but not always in perfect unison. The famous ‘stars’ — one of Ashton’s most ingenious choreographic inventions — did not weave the choreographic magic that the number should, and the rather emotionally tense ending of the ballroom act looked slightly messy. But at least the orchestra produced wonderful sounds under Pavel Sorokin, who made the most of Prokofiev’s complex though seductive musical palette.
The production, supervised by Wendy Ellis Somes, is delicately lavish, thanks to Toer Van Schayk’s sets and Christine Haworth’s costumes, and has all the ingredients found in illustrations in old fairytale books. Unlike many British balletgoers, I never forgave Ashton for his musical cuts and the dramaturgical adaptations he made to the original Soviet work. However, this is the Cinderella I would recommend to anyone who wishes to experience once again the gentle lull and subtle magic of the ‘once upon a time…’
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