CINDERELLA
Theatre
Royal
Stratford East, London E15
Opened 11 December, 2007
**
The magic of theatre doesn't always work. At the children's
matinée I caught at Stratford East, Dr Theatre was only fitfully
ministering to Buttons' semi-laryngitic voice; failures of a more
mechanical nature meant that, right at the climax of Act One as we were
being assiduously psyched up for the big
pumpkin-to-coach/mice-to-footmen transformation scene, matters were
halted for 15-20 minutes until the crucial scene change was sorted out.
It certainly took the wind out of the performance's sails, especially
with an audience populous in tinies who were ready for a break by then
anyway; but Trish Cooke and Robert Hyman's updated adaptation had not
exactly been setting the place alight up until that point either.
The setting is the fictional French Caribbean island of Guadalumpa,
with Baron Hardup translated into an aristocratic beatnik painter named
Baron Sans Rien, and the Fairy Godmother working her magic through
tropical rainstorms. The under-orchestrated sparseness of Hyman's
pre-programmed-sounding score and the bright simplicity of Jenny
Tiramani's design (Cinders' sisters sport sets of locks that look as if
each has a Dayglo squid on her head) combine to create a feel that
might be called toybox RnB. Prince Leo Charming is a self-satisfied
B-boy with his homie Don Dini, while Debbie Korley's Cinders is
delightfully no-nonsense, informing Leo to his shock that he ain't all
that.
A lot of thought has gone into jazzing up the story, but not enough
into retaining core elements of the experience. The ugly sisters are
neither noticeably ugly nor played by men in frocks; in the drag role
as Cinders' stepmother Woz Mine-Izzmine, Michael Bertenshaw (looking
rather like Dee Snyder of 1980s rock band Twisted Sister) is the
baddie, which is plain heresy for a dame. The entire supporting cast
numbers two, so no big chorus choreography; nor any "slosh" routine,
and only one mild double entendre,
which
may just have been my dirty mind. It all led a little girl a few
seats along from me to pipe up plaintively, "This isn't Cinderella!" Moreover, Stratford's
traditionally exuberant audience atmosphere can combine with the
liberation of panto in unhelpful ways: the genre frees grown-ups to
behave like raucous kids, but some just turn into selfish brats. The
production, like the fraudulent Woz, writes a lot of flamboyant
theatrical cheques, but doesn't have the funds to pay out on them.
Written for the Financial
Times.
Copyright © Ian Shuttleworth; all rights
reserved.
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