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So, shoe me! Seriously, there have been countless iterations of the ballet “Cinderella,” all pivoting around footwear, whether pointe, glass or golden slippers. Indeed, this particular terpsichorean fairytale can be traced back to the early nineteenth century, but it wasn’t until Prokofiev finished his brooding Romantic score in 1944 that choreographers, including Frederick Ashton, Rudolf Nureyev and Alexei Ratmansky, began telling the tale of fairy godmothers, crystal coaches and a rags-to-riches heroine.

Performance

Los Angeles Ballet: “Cinderella” by Edwaard Liang

Place

Dolby Theatre, Los Angeles, California, June 12-15, 2025

Words

Victoria Looseleaf

Los Angeles Ballet in “Cinderella” by Edwaard Liang. Photograph by Cheryl Mann Photography

Enter then, choreographer Edwaard Liang and Los Angeles Ballet, whose foray into the three-act dance began Thursday at the Dolby Theatre in a run of five performances. A story of hope fulfilled, squabbling stepsisters and transformation, this rendition, first made by Liang for Ohio’s Ballet Met in 2015, aimed to please, but ultimately fell short of enchantment, although the large orchestra, led by Gavriel Heine, sounded terrific in the gaudy, but cold confines of the 3,400-seat theater built to host the Academy Awards ceremony.

Under LAB’s artistic director, Melissa Barak, the performance seemed scattershot and overly busy, with James Kronzer’s unattractive and highly-forested, multi-clock set not helping. And while the saga has a built-in kiddie element—the large number of Bees, Butterflies, Sprites, etal, were perfunctorily cute—their continued presence proved more a distraction and less a delight—which didn’t deter the youngsters in the audience from squealing their approval.

That said, Liang, who was recently appointed artistic director of DC’s Washington Ballet, had his Cinderella, unevenly danced on Thursday by Kate Inoue, meet her young self (Carissa Yang), in the prologue. As she watches her mother (Lilly Leech) and father (Jake Ray) dance, Prokofiev’s harmonic shifts and minor chords signal Cinderella’s personal revolution ahead.

Ergo, let the tormenting begin: Act I finds our heroine toiling away while her stepmother (a skilled Sareen Tchekmedyian) and Step-sisters (Paige Wilkey and Natalia Burns, both providing comic relief through bravura mugging and skittering, their bourrées simultaneously clumsy and adept), behave badly. As they ready for the ball, the age-old question of what to wear is posed, with dressers Marco Biella and Kross Michaels coming to the rescue. (Chloée O’Hayon-Crosby designed the costumes, ranging from standard-issue tutus and soirée fare—sequins and brocade—to the children’s badly-winged fairies and hodgepodge-y apian wear.)

Natalia Burns and Paige Wilkey in “Cinderella” by Edwaard Liang. Photograph by Cheryl Mann Photography

Enter then, the crone, the hag, who reveals herself to be not the OG, original gangsta, but the FG, Fairy Godmother, a floaty, sexy Julianne Kinasiewicz, who was ebullient in her leaps and good at her job, i.e., adroitly waving a wand to ensure that her charge, Cinderella will get her just desserts. The tableau, however, replete with fairies of all stripes and the aforementioned insects, was more havoc than haven, the orchestra’s splendid playing, thankfully offsetting the chaotic goings-on.

Then, the all-important clock made an appearance before the curtain came down on this first muddled act, with Prokofiev’s famed “Midnight Waltz”—an amalgam of caprice and compression—giving a melodic boost to the proceedings before the lights, designed by Nathan Scheuer, dimmed.

What followed, of course, was the Act II grand ball, but with all manner of goings-on, the stage looked like the baggage claim area of LAX. Still, Cesar Ramirez-Castellano’s spunky, high-flying and acrobatically-inclined Jester didn’t miss a beat; five Court Gentlemen (Bryce Broedell, Jonas Tutaj, John Dekle, Biella and Ray), managed to look regal while dancing in unison; and Shintaro Akana nearly stole the show as the MC with scrupulous turns and jumps, appearing a tad more princely than, well, Marcos Ramirez’ prince, who, nevertheless, proved a decent partner to Inoue.

Entering the shindig was the tiara-and-tutu clad Cinderella, whose airy jetés were commendable, though at times, her arabesques seemed strained and her epaulement less than expressive. Still, her pas de deux with Ramirez featured supple lifts and an ardent posturing, the soaring score—decidedly one of the best in the ballet repertory—upping the rapturous quotient.

Also on stage, a brigade of court ladies (Cassidy Cocke, Brigitte Edwards, Abigail Gross, Anna Jacobs, Cleo Taneja and Fife), those pesky Sprites, and an assortment of Castle Maids. In addition, Kinasiewicz’ FG wove in and out of the proceedings, and, as expected the daffy Step-sisters provided more comedic grist for this balletic mill.

Marcos Ramirez in “Cinderella” by Edwaard Liang. Photograph by Cheryl Mann Photography

As the witching hour neared, and the return of the Waltz portended near-doom, not one, not two—not even a dozen!—but 16 clocks made sure that midnight was nigh, with dry ice and the programmatic tick-tocking of the percussion section bringing this act to a close, and with it, our now near-shoeless lass on the cusp of returning to indentured servitude.

The final act of foot fetishism sees the ratcheting up of humor, with the Step-sisters struggling to fit their feet into the twinkle-toed slip-on, while the Jester also ramped up his high-jinx, and the FG would soon return to hagdom. Meanwhile, the Prince continued his quest, and, to the sounds of harp arpeggios, the kiddie battalion returned.

With so much activity, there was barely enough room for Cinderella to regain slipper ownership. But, of course, she did, and to the ever-swelling sounds of the impressive orchestra, took another whirl around the floor with her Prince, ultimately sealing their marriage vows with a kiss, before the customary confetti fell.

Call this critic a curmudgeon, but one had to wonder, where was the subtlety, the poetry, the majesty of the dance? Yes, there can be beauty in chaos—to wit, Prokofiev’s brilliant music—but this production, though intended to be family-oriented and a possible enticement for children to take up the magnificent art of ballet, is, unfortunately, a misstep.

Victoria Looseleaf

Victoria Looseleaf is an award-winning, Los Angeles-based international arts journalist who covers music and dance festivals around the world. Among the many publications she has contributed to are the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Dance Magazine and KCET’s Artbound. In addition, she taught dance history at USC and Santa Monica College. Looseleaf’s novella-in-verse, Isn't It Rich? is available from Amazon, and and her latest book, Russ & Iggy’s Art Alphabet with illustrations by JT Steiny, was recently published by Red Sky Presents. Looseleaf can be reached through X, Facebook, Instagram and Linked In, as well as at her online arts magazine ArtNowLA.

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