Rodgers Hammerstein’s ”Cinderella” at the Hope Mill Theatre – review

Being such a classic and cleanly simple story, the temptation is always to add and augment. Douglas Carter Beane’s book draws it out with two palace events to find Prince Topher’s match, both curtailed by Cinderella’s rushing home. Mirroring their relationship, we also see stepdaughter Gabrielle grow an improbable, illicit romance with a lowly pauper. But the patchy political consciousness, manifesting in sudden bursts, is the most incongruous. As she flees the palace, Cinderella leaves Topher with a blurted plea to help the poor, rather than a passionate goodbye, and at the show’s end he spontaneously decides to birth democracy with new elections for a prime minister.

The show is much stronger at capturing the significance of transformation. Elly Wdowski’s set is formed of plain 2D flats and stencils alchemised by George Reeve’s projections into opalescent skies or woodland with trickling rivers and flecks of light hovering in the mist. Soldiers’ shields become assembled into a horse’s body. It all anticipates the magic of the fairy godmother preparing Cinderella for the ball. A horse and carriage glides through the air as paper lanterns, its drivers gambol onto the stage out of a puff of smoke, and Mouat reemerges in a sky blue gown.

Her winsome smile and glowing face reflect the warmth and brightness of her voice. In “Ten Minutes Ago”, her high, floaty notes sail on the flute to make her sound like she “may never come down to earth again”. Jacob Fowler’s singing voice as Topher seems to go higher as their relationship deepens and lifts him. He moves with the stiffness and tightness of a callow young man straitjacketed by royal duty. Whimpering and ineffectual, he’s more comical than chivalrous, demanding to be called Topher rather than Christopher to normalise himself. When they sing about being out of place, “In My Own Little Corner”, a subtle transition parallels the equal solitude of Cinderella’s kitchen chair and Topher’s throne.

A central stage revolve spins like a carriage wheel or clock, often slowly pivoting the two of them stood together like figurines on a music box. However, they lack full romantic chemistry, largely since Fowler doesn’t manoeuvre from drippy ineptitude to charming heartthrob. Their connection seems to recognise that their mutual unhappy circumstances make them kindred spirits, rather than investing heady infatuation at first sight.