The National Theatre’s big family Christmas show is a sumptuous adaptation of Noel Streatfeild’s classic 1936 children’s novel Ballet Shoes. It’s slick, classy and meticulously directed by Katy Rudd. But ultimately it lacks dramatic punch.
The story follows the eccentric household initially headed by Justin Salinger’s Great Uncle Matthew (aka GUM), a paleontologist in the old-school explorer vein. A confirmed bachelor, he is initially aghast when he is abruptly made legal guardian of his 11-year-old niece Sylvia (Pearl Mackie). But he soon changes his tune when freak circumstances lead to him taking in three baby girls: Petrova (Yanexi Enriquez), Pauline (Grace Self) and Posy (Daisy Sequerra), each of whom he found orphaned while out on an expedition.
But then he disappears on one of his trips; the meat of the story is about his three daughters growing up in the unconventional, almost entirely female household headed by Sylvia and their redoubtable housekeeper Miss Guthridge (Jenny Galloway). Each girl’s life is defined by seemingly having a calling that they are simply born with: Pauline to be an actor, Petrova to be a mechanic, and Posy to be a dancer, spurred on by the titular ballet shoes left to her by her mother.
To be honest… that’s sort of the whole plot. On a beautiful, fossil-filled set from Frankie Bradshaw, Rudd directs gracefully, pepping things up with various plays within the play, most notably an amusingly weird retro sci-fi version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The three women’s journey to self realisation is enjoyable to watch, but sort of in the same way as a good cup of tea is nice to drink - there isn’t really a huge amount of drama there.
Partially I think this is because the adaptation from rising star Australian playwright Kendall Feaver is a bit of a missed opportunity. She doesn’t interrogate the somewhat dated, British Empire-era original text, but rather blurs it into a soft focus that’s more PC, but not in a particularly pointed way. It’s littered with minor anachronisms that seem designed to make it less obvious that it’s set in the 1930s, but it also ends up saying that’s when it’s set anyway. If you’re going to change stuff, maybe do it with a bit more purpose.
It’s a classy night at the theatre that purrs smoothly but rarely thrills, hung up on ideas of nurture versus nature that are less interesting to our society than Streatfeild’s. You’d have to be a stone not to feel something as each girl receives her final vindication, but while they’re memorable characters, their arcs feel pre-programmed and predictable. The story is beloved, but this production never makes the case for it as an all time classic.
