THE OTHER CINDERELLA
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For example, though usually the Prince is a rather shadowy and remote figure whose only purpose is to charge in and deliver the waiting maiden, here he’s a 25-year-old bachelor whose best friend is–gasp!–gay. The King, worried about the image produced by such camaraderie, proposes to remedy the situation by inviting all the eligible females in the kingdom to a grand party at the palace so his son can choose a bride from the parade of womanflesh. Though the story demands this, our sentiments about it are echoed by everyone from the Queen to the Page, who flatly declares this method of courtship idiotic (“What? Can’t the Prince get no action on his own?” the Page wonders as the invitations are issued).
Cinderella lives with a stepmother who works in the post office and two spoiled stepsisters in their late 20s who have never worked a day in their lives. Continually told that she’s worthless–her stepmother claims to have taken her out of school because “you were too stupid to learn anything” and forces her to do all the housework “since you can’t do anything else anyway”–Cinderella has come to accept with dogged indifference this harsh evaluation. When she’s confronted with the opportunity to attend the royal gala she hesitates, certain that she will embarrass herself just as her family says she will. It’s up to her Fairygodmama to provide her with an engraved personal invitation, Whitney Houston-style attire, a pink Cadillac with a chauffeur, and plenty of terpsichorean skill (“Another myth shattered!” Fairygodmama snaps when Cinderella confesses that she can’t dance). Most important, Cinderella receives the gift of self-esteem, the confidence to make the move that will change her life.
Though this was my first viewing of The Other Cinderella, the often-revived show boasts audience members who have returned as many as 30 times. With its nonsectarian message of intercultural harmony, it’s easy to see why.
