Cindermouse

Any show that has its audience shrieking with glee within the first five minutes is probably onto a good thing. In the case of Cindermouse, the cause of this mirth is a boisterous hunt for the Little Angel’s ginger cat, whose wanderings pose a mortal threat to the whiskered participants of the scheduled drama. The tale that follows unfolds along broadly familiar lines, with the down-to-earth daughter of a struggling clockmaker, much put-upon by her raucous, preening neighbours, infiltrating a prince’s birthday ball with the aid of a twinkly fairy mouse-mother.

The narrative moves briskly, Juliet Larkin’s text and Ronnie Le Drew’s production relying upon our familiarity with the fable to keep exposition to a minimum. If I felt slightly deprived of a full mouse and broom pas de deux (a la Frederick Ashton’s Cinderella), this was more than made up for by a delicate divertissement of twirling cavaliers and their ladies, rodent clowns, tumblers and even (brilliantly) a troupe of mouse puppeteers.

This downplaying of Cinderella’s sentimental baggage is probably a smart option given the show’s target audience (ages 3+), who’re much more interested in knockabout comedy, and are mightily pleased by each opportunity to shout out, join in and try tiny footwear for size. They’re also enraptured by Lyndie Wright’s appealing sturdy puppet creations, while older spectators are more likely to be tickled by the sleight-of-hand necessary to allow a usually legless glove-puppet to try on that miniscule magic slipper.

Grown-ups are also more likely to appreciate the rather marvellous conceit of making Cinders (a clockmaker’s daughter, remember) responsible for deciding whether the palace clock ever will sound the fateful note of midnight. The lonely moment between the strokes of eleven and twelve, when our heroine has to decide between her father’s interests and her own, is a neat and very smart addition to the story. As is the smashing of that crucial shiny shoe, a development that requires Cinders’ prince to recognise his beloved solely on the evidence of his beady black eyes.

These subtleties are largely ignored by Cindermouse’s youthful target-audience who are, however, properly and vocally impressed by the friendly showmanship of puppeteers Roger Lade and Andrea Sadler. It’s hard not to be impressed by a show that handles a demanding crowd so deftly, charming kids and adults alike, without ever seeming to try too hard.