Whilst the tale is a familiar one, its retelling in Sir David Bintley’s ballet feels as fresh as the first time it was told. It is a story of a young woman who goes from rags to riches, but also one in which good overcomes evil, and where kindness and integrity win through.

In Bintley’s version it is, in addition, a story of place or rather of settings, and of how these work with diverse dance styles to convey dreams and emotions. The opening scene is of a funeral. A gravestone is set against an austere sky, small children are in attendance, their movements slow and spare.

From this, we move to a kitchen, grey and threadbare, where, following her mother’s death, Cinderella spends her days skivvying for her unlovely step-sisters. The pas de trois tells of their bullying and of Cinderella’s suffering, but there is enough exaggeration in the dance for us to enjoy the comedy.

Then follow dances by the corps de ballet against the backdrop of the night sky. Here is a chance for Cinderella to imagine what a different future might look like. And then, the magnificent ballroom scene where passions run deep, especially those of the Prince as he first sets eyes on her. Here, the wonderful corps de ballet waltzes, formal and decorous, contrast with the romance of the couple’s first pas-de-deux.

In a brief revisit to the kitchen, as Cinderella tries on the slipper she left behind at the ball queues of women jostle and push to also try it on. Yes, there is mocking of women who aspire to wealth and status, but it is easy to read this as tongue in cheek, and the many vainglorious men, puffing themselves up at the ball, have not come out of it so well either.

Finally, we move to a place of sunlit uplands where the Prince and Cinderella dance a closing pas de deux, expressing their love for one another in the most tender of ways.

Transformations between the settings are magical. As the ugly sisters vie for the attention of the dancing master to prepare them for the ball, unseen by them Cinderella’s hopes are turned around. The fairy spirit of her mother conjures up a ball-gown and silver coach for her, along with frog coachman and lizard footmen, who captivate with their animalist leaps and hops.

As midnight approaches on the night of the ball, a huge clock chimes midnight and, before our eyes, Cinderella is transformed back into her kitchen rags. In the final scene, as the Prince displays shock at her impoverished position, her dress is once again transformed, now into a delicate dress of shimmering white. This time, the change will last.

Prokofiev’s music is remarkable in its reflection of changing scenes and shifting tones. The introduction develops a wistful melody in a minor key, with touches of dissonance giving added texture. Discordance resonates elsewhere, and the midnight climax is hugely dramatic. But, u ultimately, as Cinderella and her Prince find their happy ever after, the music turns to romance and resolution.

There is more sparkle in this show than you can have dreamed of. Tutus shimmer against a starry backdrop. Cinderella’s coach is spectacular – we can only be sorry to have seen it so briefly. Above all, the joy of dance shines through.

On press night, Cinderella was danced by Yu Kurihara and the Prince by Lachlan Monaghan. The stepsisters were danced by Eilis Small and Olivia Chang Clarke. Cinderella’s Stepmother was danced by Daria Stanciulescu and the Fairy Godmother by Tori Forsyth-Hecken.

The music for Cinderella was composed by Sergei Prokofiev. It was choreographed by David Bintley. The designer was John Macfarlane. Lighting was by Peter Teigen and original lighting by David Finn.