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James Kudelka’s Cinderella lacks the spun sugar, retrousse profile of Walt Disney’s animated tale, nor utilizes a stiff magnificence of tutu, heavily adorned bodice for C. Ella’s wedding day. Still enchanting, it displays Boston Ballet admirably. Artistic Director Mikko Nissenen, who studied at the Vaganova Institute after Finnish schooling, understands the durable appeal of the full length story ballet; he has dotted Boston Ballet’s seasons liberally with this theatrical convention, a reassuring practice which provides a frame to more adventurous one-act repertoire. The multi-one-act formula must have sprung, Athena-like, from the mind of one Sergei Pavlovich Diaghilev in 1909; or he seems to have standardized the practice for Western ballet goers.

This Cinderella springs from the world of the ‘Twenties where flappers expressed female emotional emancipation in a slick chic and sophistication; rhinestones flickered frequently on garments, available distractions to missing tiaras, earrings or anything else. Well-turned legs and slender ankles proved effective contestants to fans and handkerchiefs.

The kitchen which Cinderella dusts, scrubs and polishes, is arrayed with glass-door cabinets and a multi-drawer cupboard where a stash of alcohol is secreted from the unsteady jaunts of the Step Mother, sporting a Gloria Swanson lounging robe. She’s so in love with the grape or grain the daughters just have sprung rather than grown up. Her lurches, the lengthy cigarette holder, the uneven path undulations, entrance to spirit supply to exit, are minted inspiration, Jennifer Glaze adding a 100-proof daze.

The ham wraps thickly around the Stepsisters, one a stacked, frustrated amazon, the other a ditsy, myopic creature, frequently bereft of her glasses by her less than charitable sibling. Sing the dysfunctional household loud and clear, minus the father. Sacha Wakelin and Heather Myers relished spiking through with exaggerated postures and port de bras, clear contrast to small-boned Larissa Ponomarenko’s lyric barefoot Cinderella, ticking off stage business demands to the mordent edge of the Prokofiev score, feather dusters, silver polish and rags, and omnipresent broom or mop. Kudelka adroitly tuned up all the stops, making Cinderella’s kitchen sojourn a reality which could echo in audience memory, thinking, “oh goody!”

Flapper style dresses aided the music’s edge; the men appeared more elegant than Twenties’ Arrow shirt-and-tie styles; orange decor shades echoed the season. Providing early 20th century modernity was an inspired decision of Kudelka, aided totally by David Boechler’s designs, the Flatow program commentary and Colin McPhee’s conducting.

The garment entourage, arriving from stage left, was foppishly smart, perfectly equipped to provide narcissism. Raul Salamanca swirled a cape while Jaime Diaz, singularly handsome, fretted deliciously with his chore to provide foot fitness to the hyper-charged step-sisters, elegance vs the hoyden, the hired escorts graphic portraits of struggle.

The sweep of Salamanca’s cape protects the entourage as they treat Cinderella to a taste of the future, scuttled quickly at session’s end. Mama remains with her booze, the sisters romp away with escorts and Cinderella remains behind to greet an imposing older woman dressed like something from the Gibson Girl era, picture hat and flowing skirt making her the image of cultured, benevolent yesteryear. Instead of the seasons, the fairies were elements of the natural world; they and their minions danced fetchingly on pointe, but a relative inertness of torsos cutting the appealing flow of movement. The midnight warning was ingeniously created with twelve men in tails sporting pumpkin heads after Cinderella had been dressed in a soft flowing silken garment two of three stages removed from an Isadora Duncan tunic, acquiring white toe shoes, brilliants over the instep.

The ballroom scene provided full display, garments of black, white, sequins and rhinestones, a Harvest Moon descent by Cinderella and the gallant Jose Molina an aloof prince protected from bombardment by four cohorts.

The shoe search was enlivened with a shop,slaving-driving proprietor, a parade of demanding women, and desolate shoemakers. Then north, south and Western orient searching for the shoe's mate.

In the kitchen, Step Mother negotiates the alcoholic cache with the aid of drawers, minted business to musical accents; Cinderella hops with memories on one toe shoe she then covers with a grey sock. The Prince and cohorts arrive, there is the struggle to fit the toe shoe before the Prince notices Cinderella, the second toe shoe is fitted and the lighting turns gentle.

The Wedding guests arrive in pastels in a setting looking like a Rogers-Astaire rustic production. The knot is tied; at curtain The Prince nestled his head against Cinderella who strokes his hair. A perfect autumn opener, Cinderella reminded us quiet moments are frequently the best.