Bad Cinderella
Linedy Genao and cast of Bad Cinderella.
Photo by Matthew Murphy.
I have long thought that Andrew Lloyd Webber hates women. I have and continue to hope to be proven wrong, but after seeing the Broadway opening of Bad Cinderella, my opinion remains unchanged.
Webber’s 13th new musical was announced as a contemporary take on Grimm’s fairy tale, with Cinderella written to be a “modern, feisty girl.” Dare I hope the latest approach to the age-old story might even be a little feminist? Apparently not. Instead, we get a title character with approximately two defining characteristics and a complete lack of personal agency and a by-the-numbers romantic comedy with some truly disturbing subplots.
Directed by Laurence Connor, with music by Webber and lyrics by David Zippel, this Cinderella takes place in Belleville, a town known for its good looks. The opening song, which begins with a baker inviting people to purchase his “hot buns,” declares, “Beauty is our duty.” The town’s elder Prince and heir to the throne, Prince Charming, has been missing for a year and its Queen (Grace McLean) has declared the best way to distract her subjects from the town’s financial difficulties (she has shut down the hospital and orphanage so she can continue to wash her hair in champagne) is to distract them with a royal wedding. So her younger son, Sebastian, (Jordan Dobson, although I saw understudy Josh Drake) is informed he will choose a bride when the clock strikes midnight at the upcoming royal ball.
It’s very convenient that Sebastian has secretly been best friends with Cinderella since childhood, and the two share an unspoken attraction and longing for each other. A standard “will they or won’t they” story ensues, and with so little at stake, it’s astounding that the show managed to clock in a running time of two and a half hours.
Maybe that can be explained by the lengthy number in which the Queen and her Hunks (as they are credited in the Playbill) espouse the virtues of Prince Charming’s dazzling masculinity while performing choreography with kettlebells, twerking on command and singing about tipping cows.
But I digress. With a paper-thin plot, a show needs the audience to feel invested in the characters. Sadly, the book (originally by Emerald Fennell, and adapted for Broadway by Alexis Scheer), does not deliver. Cinderella lacks any internal development or much personality at all. Aside from singing about how she defies the town’s beauty standards (one glance reveals that she doesn’t), we know little about her wishes and desires, other than she longs to live in a place where she belongs. Linedy Genao inspires as much sympathy as she can for the character, but even with insults hurled at her by her stepmother and stepsisters (Morgan Higgins and Sami Gayle), she has so little to work with.
It doesn’t help that the title character blatantly contradicts the source material. We are supposed to believe that Cinderella is defiant of the town’s beauty standards, but Geneo, who is tall, slender and has long hair, fits the ideal of Western beauty and wears makeup – her lipstick and eyeliner are visible from mid-orchestra – despite the townspeople singing angrily that she refuses to wear mascara or blow-dry her hair. She belts about her personal style, declaring, “I will not change it for you,” but Act One ends with her questioning why she resisted changing her appearance for so long. And for someone who is supposed to be independent, she is easily swayed by the people she purports to loathe. All it takes for her to doubt the sincerity of Sebastian’s invitation to the ball is for her Stepmother to say he doesn’t want her there. And she instantly realizes she is in love with Sebastian after one of her stepsisters informs her she is. What is so “bad” about this seemingly docile young woman?
This disconnect in the source material is further seen in Sebastian, who is described by his mother as a “charisma vacuum” but, as played by understudy Drake, is quite charismatic. Despite his charm, it is obvious he can’t compare with his brother, demonstrated in the Oedipal undertones of “A Man’s Man,” and just about everything else the Queen says or sings about her son.
But the incestual undertones aren’t even the most uncomfortable moments of the show. That honor goes to its dangerous messages about body image. On the surface, the show may appear to communicate a message about individuality and being true to oneself. It’s unclear to this critic exactly where in the show that takes place. It certainly isn’t when Cinderella sings to the Fairy Godmother (who is a plastic surgeon, by the way), “I want to be hot… I want to set men on fire and make them wild with desire… I want to disappear me…” and the Godmother (Christina Acosta Robinson) sings about “breaking a rib or two.”
Following her (anticlimactic, disappointing) transformation for the ball, Cinderella asks, “Why did I spend so long resisting this? I look so much better.” We are supposed to believe Cinderella seeks these changes for herself, not for Sebastian or society in general, but that is never communicated.
It doesn’t help that the entire cast, principals and ensemble members, possess similar physical attributes. Their height, weight and general appearance are similar, if not identical. While the Broadway industry has a long way to go in terms of diversity and body positivity, it has made some progress. This show feels like a step backwards.
That’s not to say Bad Cinderella is completely without pleasures. The sets and costumes by Gabriela Tylesova are attractive and eye-catching, and JoAnn M. Hunter’s choreography varies amusingly between twerking and classic ballroom routines. Cinderella’s Act Two lament, “Far Too Late,” is a lovely melancholy melody. The best moments, however, can be credited to Grace McLean, who plays the Queen, and Carolee Carmello, Cinderella’s wicked Stepmother. The two stage veterans bring both depth and bite to their one-note characters and when they come together onstage to perform the acid-dripped duet, “I Know You,” during which they threaten each other with knowledge of supposedly scandalous secret past.
While delightful to witness, that scene represents two more disappointments of the show: the hints of slut-shaming (a group of men sing, “She’s quite a girl/We all got there first” about one of Cinderella’s stepsisters) and its complete lack of supportive female relationships. Despite a large cast, in which all but one principal is female, there is not one supportive relationship between two female characters in the show. All are adversaries, resorting to backstabbing and manipulation while competing with each other, in pursuit of marriage.
And if that weren’t enough to declare Lloyd Webber’s latest a disappointment, lyrics in the title song rhyme “Cinderella” with “salmonella.”
Enough said.