The heroine in the Kneehigh Theatre's The Red Shoes, opening tonight at St. Ann's Warehouse, has more in common with Patti Smith, rock goddess and now National Book Award winner, than the balletic beauty of Moira Shearer (below) in the idolized movie of that title. Smith opens her iconoclastic Gloria with "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine" as a rejection of the organized religion and societal hobbles of her teenage years. The principal role in The Red Shoes, simply called The Girl, likewise isn't apologizing for her temptations, her compulsions. They define her, and besides, she just wants to dance.
In a very "meta" rendition of a well-loved story, The Red Shoes is a satiric smack-down of the black and white movie that centered around a ballet based upon a Hans Christian Andersen short story. Got that? The Red Shoes is absurdly silly theatre at times, but always, every moment of its 90 minutes with no intermission, entertaining.
The Red Shoes, re-conceived and directed by the unmistakenly imaginative Emma Rice, travels far back to the core of the original story: a lovely young woman who is first blessed, then cursed with a pair of beloved red shoes that make her dance beyond her control. As with most Andersen tales, and despite all the protestations of Walt Disney, things don't end well for our protagonist, but they do end differently here than in the original 1845 story.
Ms. Rice, in her program, notes with disappointment that all prior versions of The Red Shoes feature a heroine punished for her love of dancing in particular, art in general. This adaptation offers more options for the end of the cautionary tale, one that is hilariously reminiscent of Jacob's wrestling with the angel, with decidedly different results. Might I be detecting a little feminist agenda – in clogs? Take that, Mr. Andersen.
Yes, clogs. Subverting the sophistication of ballet, The Red Shoes is antithetical to accepted facets of dance's "high culture." Instead of the sylphlike Shearer, the Girl (Patrycia Kujawska) is broad-shouldered and athletic. No one is en pointe, the shoes here are clogs, completely appropriate for the originating Danish author. The heroine wears the same shorn haircut as the performers around her, to androgynous effect. When he show started before the curtain, the actors milling about the audience on queue, my companion thought that Ms. Kujawska was a man. Few ballerinas can walk genderless through a crowd.
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