Cinderella: A Fairytale, at the Royal Lyceum, is a visual knockout. From the opening moments of flutter in the puppet bird’s tail, the sumptuous staging whisks you into a world of starry nights, shadows, and crooked little houses deep in the forest. The tableau shares its universe with the aesthetics of the Lemony Snicket tales, but with an overtly Scottish setting overlaid on Teutonic spookiness. In moments of action and transformation, the effects are dazzlingly cinematic.
The stunning set and costume design by Francis O’Connor works together beautifully with the deft and charming puppetry led by Matthew Forbes, and leaves no detail neglected. The more you look, the more you are drawn into a carefully conceived world of wonder. Moody instrumental Christmas carols – an excellent choice by musical director Jon Beales – and poignant, melodic strains complete the consistently evocative atmosphere. Amid a seasonal tide of the fairy tale’s retelling, the Lyceum’s version is an absolute standout for its sensory richness.
The adaptation, written by Sally Cookson, Adam Peck and the Original Company, and directed by Jemima Levick, offers something for everyone: there are jokes (some very good), sturdy musical numbers, effective physical comedy, superbly choreographed dances, some light audience-interaction, and a small but pivotal bit of gross-out humour. However, the story’s attempt to bridge two incompatible elements – aspects of traditional panto along with the impulse to tell a more elevated tale – ultimately keeps it from reaching its full potential.
In the fixed world of fairy tale canon, of course, many perplexing plot points are simply off-limits to question. And yet, the sheer number of versions of the Cinderella story actually allow much writerly and directorial freedom. Some of the choices here are brilliant: there’s no hair-down-and-glasses-off moment of physical transformation, and the prince (portrayed with a gentle, endearing awkwardness) and heroine bond over shared interests, not appearances. However, these sensitivities make it all the more uncomfortable when the evil stepbrother (another welcome update) engages in exaggerated, outdated behaviour that feels like a stereotype. Another bit of mean pettiness at the end sharply undercuts the final message about love.
In an adaptation ostensibly about transformation, few of the characters in fact evolve. The biggest change is in the minor figure of the stepbrother, with the others remaining closer to their one-dimensional stock panto roots. Themes, such as the class differences behind the sibling conflict, are presented fitfully, as if there’s a yearning to provide the kind of layered narrative the gorgeous world-building deserves, but the show never fully commits to these faltering starts.
The hope for these kinds of productions is that they will enchant the little ones while also working on another level for the parents. On the first goal: complete success, don’t hesitate, your child (and inner child) will love it. The narrow miss on the second goal is unfortunate, because this is a very, very good and entertaining show that could be entirely superb if only it had more confidence in its ambition.
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