When the clock strikes midnight in the Boston Conservatory’s “Cinderella,” nothing shatters—not glass, not illusion, not even expectation. Instead, what shifts the tone between fantasy and feeling as a familiar tale trades glitter for grace and spectacle for sincerity.
Bringing a thoughtful and human touch to an old classic, Boston Conservatory’s 2025 production of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s “Cinderella,” directed by Laura Marie Duncan with musical direction by David Pepin, could easily lean on pure spectacle and familiarity. Instead, it emphasizes character, wit, and physical storytelling.
What results is a “Cinderella” that may not glisten with opulent gowns or grandiose sets, but instead shines through the strength of its performances and the heart behind them.
From the very first scene, Duncan roots the show in an intimate sense of community. Rather than presenting a fairy-tale world divorced from reality, the production grounds itself in the kingdom’s social fabric, with peasants, nobles, and royalty all woven together onstage, creating a living backdrop against which Ella’s story unfolds. Ensemble members are not static decorations; they move with purpose, often reacting in ways that flesh out the stakes of Jean-Michel’s revolutionary cries, or the Prince’s naïve attempts to lead. The audience is invited not just into Ella’s transformation, but into a kingdom trying to find its moral compass.
The standout of the night is Rachel Thompson as Marie, the Fairy Godmother. She delivered an electrifying performance, commanding the stage with confidence and precision from the moment she entered through the audience. Thompson opened the show as an eccentric townswoman, hobbling around the stage and speaking with sharp comedic timing before revealing the commanding energy that defined her performance. Her voice was ethereal, a rich soprano that filled the theater with warmth and clarity, shimmering at the top of her range while maintaining an earthy, grounded tone. In her first transformation number, she held the audience’s attention with a balance of humor, power, and grace, giving the production its most captivating and magical moments.
Other standouts include Maxwell Tate as Jean-Michel, the bumbling yet determined revolutionary whose cause is to restore justice to the peasants for their land that has been stripped away. Tate’s performance walks a fine line between earnest and awkward, creating a character who is laughable in his nervous fumbling, yet deeply sympathetic in his convictions. His comedic timing gives his scenes a spark, but it is his sincerity that lingers. Jean-Michel, in Tate’s hands, becomes the unlikely anchor of the kingdom, a reminder that the story’s stakes extend beyond a single girl’s dream of love.
The titular Ella (Payton Hines) is portrayed with quiet strength, laying a foundation of vulnerability rather than grandeur. Her chemistry with Topher (Evan Owen) is tender and understated, allowing their duets to resonate more as moments of discovery than sweeping declarations. Instead of painting her as a perfect ingénue, this Ella feels like a young woman trying to reconcile resilience with hope. That choice, paired with the costuming, makes her relatable, but also slightly undercuts the traditional fairy-tale sparkle.
Costume design is where the production falters—albeit intentionally. Ella spends much of the show in a pair of overalls, a choice that emphasizes her practicality and outsider status. Yet the decision carries through to the banquet, where instead of arriving in a stunning gown, she appears in a skirt layered over those same overalls. While the intention is clear, to underscore that Ella’s value is not in external transformation but in her spirit, the visual effect is somewhat underwhelming. In a story so tied to the magic of a “before and after,” the moment risks deflating what should feel like a sweeping reveal. Some audience members may admire the bold choice, but others left likely wishing for a touch more spectacle in her magical reveal.
However, Duncan ensures the production never lacks movement or momentum. She smartly foregrounds the Conservatory’s intensive dance training, and the choreography bursts with energy and technical precision. Ensemble members execute challenging sequences with stamina, turning transitions into moments of artistry and injecting life into the ballroom scenes. The ball, in particular, demonstrates how choreography can sustain grandeur even when costumes or sets are scaled back. Crisp formations, sweeping spins, and athletic lifts are displays of the top-tier dancers who attend the school.
Technically, the production benefits from Pepin’s steady musical direction, with the orchestra providing lush accompaniment that supports without overshadowing. The lighting design effectively amplifies the mood, particularly in the transformation sequences. While some scene changes stretched longer than ideal, the pacing overall struck an effective rhythm between warmth and heartache.
The stepfamily (Liana Bartolome, Jersie Joniak, Brenna Sincaglia) deserves note as well. Rather than playing them as one-dimensional villains, the cast leans into quirks and eccentricities, offering comedic beats that feel rooted in character, rather than caricature. Their antics add comedy without pulling focus from Ella’s story, making the show’s humor more organic.
What lingers most from this “Cinderella” is not the glitter of a glass slipper, but the pulse of something real beneath it. In peeling back the spectacle, the production finds what makes the story timeless: the courage to believe in change, the grace to see others clearly, and the quiet magic of being truly seen in return.
