American Ballet Theatre "Cinderella"

A Spunky Cinderella

"Cinderella"
American Ballet Theatre
Metropolitan Opera House
New York, NY
June 3, 2006 (matinee)

By Susan Reiter
copyright ©2006, Susan Reiter

There were little girls aplenty at the Met on Saturday afternoon, some seemingly dressed as Cinderella at the ball, and many of them must have gone home with visions of David Hallberg’s suavely elegant prince dancing in their heads. His dashing, warmly human Jay Gatsby of a Prince Charming enlivened ABT’s pleasantly innocuous new “Cinderella.” Gillian Murphy as a strong, spunky and totally winning heroine was his perfect match. Together they captured this version’s contrast between fantasy and reality, allowing the former to work its full magic.

Kudelka has heard, and emphasized, the dual nature of Prokofiev’s superb 1945 score. The propulsive, nervous, even edgy sections are filled with the business of everyday life. But when the tempo relaxes and the music expands into a dreamier mood, we are led into the inner world of the title character — and, once he arrives in Act Two, the Prince.

Our introduction to Cinderella, during the mournful opening measures of the score, shows her momentarily slacking off from her unending kitchen chores to envision an odd wedding procession of what at first look like Munchkins, in which she becomes the bride before the entire fantasy vanishes into the hearth. This is there, one imagines, to establish symmetry with the wedding in the ballet’s closing moments, in which Cinderella again dons a bridal veil, this time for real. But the calmly luminous duet that seals the couple’s relationship has already said it all, and the perfunctory assemblage of “wedding guests,” who are there mainly to toss petals at the couple, feels like an afterthought.

There is no radical re-thinking at work in Kudelka’s production, which was previously performed by the National Ballet of Canada in 2004 and Boston Ballet last year, beyond removing the sense of “once upon a time” and placing the story in the more recent past. The costumes and hairstyles evoke the 1920s, although the Fairy Godmother, a mime role, looks more like an Edwardian lady. The program notes stress that Cinderella’s home is in “a suburb” of the “capital city” where the palace lies, and the unpleasant, self-deluded stepsisters are portrayed as wannabes who awkwardly aspire to the refinement and glamour of that capital.

The first scene, in a kitchen filled with pale wood cabinets and numerous props for Cinderella to seize and wipe or brandish at appointed moments, sets up the characters and, as in most productions, gets one longing for some real dancing to start. In this version, the mother is not part of the sisters’ acquisitive desire for the latest fashions and eagerness to attend the ball; she’s a tottering lush who passes through only to procure another swig from the various bottles she has stashed around the kitchen. Adrienne Schulte displayed excellent timing in making these brief appearances vivid and creating a character who’s retreated into her own world so as not to cope with the fractious household around her.

Kristi Boone, as the more confident (and hence blithely oblivious) sister was engagingly gawky, while Marian Butler made the bespectacled, feisty one an endearing klutz. Some of their funny business felt forced, but both made the sisters’ misbegotten attempts to fit in with the swells at least modestly amusing. Carlos Lopez created a vivid character as the more put-upon of the two “Hired Escorts” — well-tailored gigolos who clearly earn their fee when they have to partner the two sisters at the ball.

Murphy, clad in a shapeless beige housedress and barefoot, managed to make her many assigned tasks (she was constantly picking up another prop, clambering on and even into the cabinets) during the kitchen scene feel relatively spontaneous. This Cinderella has to toil with both a mop and a broom. Her mopping solo allowed her the first chance to break free, with bold jumps (one leg up, the other stretched forward) that express her independent spirit.

The obligatory scene with the dressmaker and dancing instructor (joined in this version by a makeup artist and jeweler) felt particularly unfocused and tedious (with the dressmaker distractingly swirling a cape repeatedly). Once this was over, Cinderella was able to leave her mundane world, moving into the realm of fantasy and imagination. She danced with gleaming abandon alongside an imaginary partner to the initial strains of the insinuating waltz that promises both romance and danger, then played (rather inexplicably) a game of hopscotch.

Soon the sets slid away to reveal a rather dark, leafy garden with a pumpkin patch at the rear. Nature spirits appeared to lead her towards her transformation. Eight “Garden creatures” provided the framework, with four female soloists representing not the seasons but Blossom, Petal, Moss and Twig. All wore costumes with raggedly fringed skirts in a variety of earth tones. Yuriko Kajiya displayed a delicate, light jump and eloquent feet as Blossom. Renata Pavan, delivering the all-important shiny toe shoes that stood in for the glass slippers, was serenely lovely in her adagio solo. Melissa Thomas, as Moss, darted about expansively, with a touch of wildness, and Zhong-Jing Fang, as Twig, was the perfect embodiment of gracious refinement. Presumably, they were (Sleeping Beauty-style) endowing Cinderella with specific traits as well as delivering little bits and pieces (such as a flower hairpiece) that would become her ball attire. At times, the whole scene looked a bit like a poor man’s version of Ashton’s truly magical woodland in “The Dream,” but once Murphy, having put on the toe shoes, joined in, her glowing exuberance and the textured clarity of her dancing elevated the proceedings.

Warned about her midnight deadline by a dozen pumpkin-headed guys who formed a simulated clock around her, this Cinderella never actually left for the ball. No coach appeared; the act ended rather flatly, with her surrounded by the ensemble waving colored streamers.

The setting for the second act felt more like the open deck of a ship than a ballroom. Glamourous, self-important couples — the stiff men in tails, the women vamps in differentiated chic black gowns — met and posed for a roving photographer. This was, we were being shown, the world of the Prince — artfully superficial, concerned with appearances. Once Hallberg appeared, from the opposite direction in which everyone is eagerly looking, this Prince was clearly too good for his surroundings. Poised, patient, perfectly composed, he clearly saw through the emptiness of the festivities. His darting leaps and swift, precise steps were executed with divine musicality and inherent nobility.

The shenanigans with the sisters, wrapping themselves around their poor escorts, and general party dancing for the ensemble was mainly filler, until the music finally cued the Prince’s entry into his own fantasies, which were launched by the arrival of Cinderella in a slowly descending giant pumpkin, led onstage by the garden spirits pulling long streamers. This entrance evoked the image of Glinda in “The Wizard of Oz.” Murphy reclined like a movie star in a glamorous coat with a white fur collar, but once she shed it, her dress was a relatively simple beige chiffon number with a few floral decorations – as though she represented the reality and honesty of the earth amid all the gleaming empty black surrounding her.

From the moment she arrived, Cinderella and the Prince seemed to exist inside their own bubble. It was as though the others at the ball weren’t even aware of her — or rather, that the duo was so caught up with one another that everything else faded away. Dancing together, they had a calm luminosity, and every movement felt spontaneous — and inevitable. Kudelka has crafted a duet that develops very organically, from their early swaying near each other but not touching, building to swooping lifts.

The arrival of midnight and her Cinderella’s fleeing the ball are rather strangely depicted. Again, the dramatic specifics — such as arriving or leaving — don’t seem important to Kudelka; it’s more about what’s happening to her, her state of mind. The pumpkinheads surround her, the ensemble hides her, and suddenly she’s in a pale slip, with only one toe shoe — and standing on a chair as though mortified by her deshabille. Again, not the most convincing end to the act.

The Prince’s extensive search, accompanied by his four trusty aides (who lacked something in crisp, precise synchronization at this performance) includes cute — but again dramatically unconvincing — “stops” in icy climes where women in showshoes and skis trudge by, as well as the obligatory dalliance with a sultry senorita in flaming red, and a very abbreviated Arabian-flavored solo. We’re too busy watching Hallberg, resplendent in his stylish vanilla suit, as he soars effortlessly across the stage, his perfectly pointed feet punctuating each traversal. His reactions to those he encounters on these “travels” were charmingly witty at times.

Meanwhile, Cinderella danced dreamily around the kitchen, one foot bare but still wearing the magical toe shoe (slipper) on the other. Murphy managed a mighty impressive diagonal of fouettes on that clad foot (it only takes one, after all) amid her exertions. In the end, the Prince of course found his way to Cinderella’s home, and after much pushy insistence from the sisters, was reunited with her permanently. Their final duet radiated true harmony, and left the audience, young and old, with the complete fairy-tale sense of a happy conclusion. It was a nice touch that this spunky and not-so-demure Cinderella did not take pity on her obnoxious family when they came begging as she began her happy new life.

Gillian Murphy in James Kudelka's "Cinderella". Photo: Marty Sohl.

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A Spunky Cinderella