This ‘Cinderella’ gets the boot

Sadistic stepsisters ham it up in wacky wigs, a haggy stepmother dresses in worse drag than Felicity Huffman in “Transamerica,” and a skyscraperesque Prince comports himself better as a soloist than a noble partner. Such were the goings-on Friday at Cerritos Center for the Performing Arts when Ballet Jorgen presented a sweet but ultimately unsatisfying “Cinderella.”

Bengt Jorgen, who founded the 14-member Toronto-based troupe in 1987, had little new to say choreographically in the classic fairy tale set to Prokofiev’s melodic music (heard on tape). The production, created last year, did, however, feature a lyrical and charming, albeit smile-infested, performance by Tara Butler as the titular, trod-upon damsel with a broom.

Condensed to under two hours, Jorgen’s vision adheres to the story of good conquering evil, with love prevailing by dint of footwear -- no glass slipper or Manolo Blahnik mule, but a fabulous pink toe shoe -- thanks to an old woman (Aya Belsheim, looking like a teenager), a seed and a magical menage of fairies.

Matters weren’t helped much by Glenn Davidson’s flimsy sets: a split-apart hearth whose mantle resembled a rotary-dial telephone and several illuminated twiggy trees commandeered by the above-mentioned fairies, who whooshed them across the stage as if in a high school production.

Still, the eager dancers worked hard to please and occasionally rewarded the audience with elegance and elan, if not the dreamy dazzle of, say, a Frederick Ashton “Cinderella.” As the stepsisters, Clea Iveson and Angel Wong displayed clean lines and ebullient personalities; suitors Travis Birch and Preston McBain offered fine, beating footwork; and Craig Sanok’s stepmother mugged with pitch-perfect camp.

Lead fairy Bonnie Crawford proved enchantingly supple, while her crew, clad in unitards and wings, after making merry with the trees, executed deft, if uninspired unisons. Happily, Robert Doyle’s frothy costumes enhanced the ballroom scene, with the women sporting short, Marie Antoinette-like hooped skirts, and Cinderella, a confection in diaphanous peach, executing bourrees with brio.

When Toby George’s Prince leapt across the staged, he managed decent elevation before nailing his landings. But without chemistry and capable partnering -- looking as if he were depositing a 401(k) rather than a radiant lover onto the floor -- no shoe in the world could rescue this “Cinderella” from the remainders’ bin.