The Rockettes are kicking their way through the Christmas Spectacular, the Rockefeller Center Tree is lit and Bryant Park’s Winter Village is shoulder-to-shoulder packed, which means it’s time for another New York City holiday tradition: Peter & the Wolf, presented by Works & Process at the Guggenheim. Since 2007, families have gathered in the Peter B. Lewis Theater at the Upper East Side museum to experience Sergei Prokofiev’s 1936 musical fable for children, narrated by the inimitable Isaac Mizrahi. For several years, different artists were invited to join the show, and the results were exciting but varied. In 2013, Mizrahi (a performer and producer as well as fashion designer) stepped in as director and designer and brought in former Mark Morris dancer John Heginbotham to choreograph. In their new dance-theater production, each character not only has its own assigned instrument but its own dance vocabulary as well. The bird, for instance, is balletic and moves to the flute, while the cat is jazzy and moves to the clarinet.
That version was such a success that Peter & the Wolf at the Guggenheim hasn’t changed much since. The 2025 performances will be accompanied by Carnegie Hall’s Ensemble Connect and conducted by Michael P. Atkinson. Observer spoke to Mizrahi about this production that has become his “yearly dream moment,” the importance of live theater and the enthusiasm young audience members bring to the show.
How did you first get involved with Peter & The Wolf?
The producer Charles Fabius left a message on my voicemail saying, “We’re hoping to get you to read Peter & the Wolf. It’s the Juilliard band, and George Manahan is conducting, and Andrew Scott Ross is doing an installation on stage.” Who could say no to that? In that beautiful room at the hub, you know? What Ross did was so smart. It was this miniature black-and-white sculpture, almost like a three-dimensional storyboard, with tiny little figures. And everybody in the audience got binoculars, and they looked at the sculpture. It was so beautiful. And then we had the Campana Brothers join one year and some other artists, and then it occurred to me that I should try it.
At the time, I was working for Opera Theatre of St Louis and had just finished directing A Little Night Music for them. They wanted to do something else with me, and I proposed doing The Magic Flute, which they accepted. I was thinking about different choreographers to hire, and I thought of my dear friend John Heginbotham, who is so incredibly talented. And then I thought how amazing it would be to work with him on this too, to create a kind of dance story of Peter & the Wolf–dance and narration and that incredibly beautiful and, I think, extremely danceable score. So I approached John, and we agreed it would be a good idea to work together on a short show like this first, to get used to each other, and then work together in St Louis.
What’s funny is, we worked so hard the following full year on that damn production of The Magic Flute. It had its shows, and it was well received, and that was that. We never heard from it again. And then Peter & the Wolf has had this incredible life. Every single season, it comes back to roost.
Over the years, has your design changed at all?
The costume design has not changed much, no. It has been only slightly altered here and there to suit different bodies in different casts. I will tell you one thing that has changed, though. Originally, I conceived of the bird as male and en pointe, and for a few years it was. It was this incredible dancer, Maxfield [Haynes], who was perfect en pointe, because he was in [Les Ballets] Trocadero [de Monte Carlo]. And the thing is, it made the hugest noise. When you see something in a big theater like the Met Opera or Covent Garden, and there’s a lot of music going on, you don’t really notice the sound of pointe shoes. But for some reason in that room, it’s cacophonous, and it takes you out of the story. We tried a woman en pointe, too, but the effort and the noise were still too much, so we dropped it and just made it a demi-pointe. Albeit a very severe, as-high-as-you-can-get-up relevé, a full-on, giant, sort of Joan Crawford version of relevé.
What were your initial inspirations for the costume designs?
I think I have always been inspired by “poor theatre” where you just find things. I love that so much more, and I love the idea of presenting that now, because I feel everything is so synthetic and overproduced and overcostumed and over-everything. So when I first conceived this, I thought, “You know what? The duck is going to be in a little tutu, and she’s going to have a little sweater that she found that she wears. She will have a PBS tote bag, because that’s who she is. She’s that woman you see on the Upper West Side with a PBS tote bag, right? And her duck bill is going to basically be a pair of cheaters with a duck bill attached, and she’s going to be this kind of studious little woman. A ballet teacher. The joke is that the duck is trying to be the ballerina, right? And it’s very funny, especially since Marjorie Folkman is beyond. She brings it. When Misha [Baryshnikov] came to see it, he was like, ‘Darling, you were born to play this part!’ Marjorie was born to be the duck. Because inside every modern dancer, there is a ballerina waiting to emerge. Anyway, it’s a joke we have. And all year long, she and I send each other videos of ducks trying to do things.”
When I look back on it, the “poor theatre” quality extends beyond the costumes. Even the action that takes place around the capturing of the wolf–the little noose that goes around his tail and the way we executed it—feels “poor” and it’s great because these kids will understand simple mechanics, as opposed to computer graphics or something. Nobody needs another lesson in the capabilities of A.I. I feel like what you need to know as a person on earth right now is just mechanics. Like, there’s a hook on his tail. And you obviously see it, and it’s hilarious. For me, that’s what theater is about. That’s what live theater is about. What ends up coming across is this kind of weird, Saul Steinbergian, New Yorker-like humorous piece. A real funny bone. It’s a real funny bone show.
What have been some of your favorite reactions from both children and adults?
We love reactions from children. I mean, children just say things. In the times when you can actually hear a pin drop, some kid will scream out, “No, don’t do it!” It’s the greatest thing in the world. Like, “He’s behind the newspaper!” or “He’s right behind you!” We love that. We’re all gratified by that. And I’ve had adults come up and tell me they saw Peter when they were young, and I’m like, “Oh, Jesus, I’m so old!” But some people come to see the show year after year after year, and they say it is the highlight of the season for them, because it is so intimate and real. And I feel like those are the memories of theater that I hold dearest, when a show is real and intimate and meaningful.
I remember the first time I saw Merce [Cunningham], it was in a small theater, and I was so mesmerized. It felt so real and so little. I was 10 or 12 years old, and I could not understand a minute of it, but I was so captivated by it because of the bodies and the beauty on the stage. It was different from all other shows because it was so straightforward. It was so much about the mechanism, the body. It hooked me in, that incredible intimacy. I kept looking at it, and looking at it, and finally, as one does with Merce, you have to create an interpretation of your own. There is no way to say what that work is about.
It’s funny because I’m not a dancer, but I swear to you, when people would ask me what the greatest inspiration was to me, when I was designing clothes, I used to say [George] Balanchine, because his work was pure design. If you watch the floor patterns of those dances, you kill yourself, right? It’s so beautiful. Also, Mark [Morris]. He used to inspire me a lot because his work was so beautifully designed.
How did the collaboration go with John?
He let me do my thing, and I let him do his, and we accomplished something incredible together. He would give me notes, and I gave him notes, and everybody worked really well together. I love his choreography. John and I see exactly eye to eye in that kind of “poor” way. It’s a challenge. It’s found objects, styled and modeled together until it becomes this incredible thing that flies on its own because of all of the consideration, all of the parts that get put together. I think that makes us part of a generation. Not postmodernist, but maybe post-postmodernist or something. If you watch John’s work, it’s about these gorgeous pieces that get wrought together, like an Alexander Calder sculpture or something. Just a piece of metal and a wire, but then it has this incredible animation because of the balance of it, the poetry of it.
What do you love about narrating it?
Well, it’s terrible, but I have to say it—I really love keeping these kids in my thrall. I love capturing their attention. I love being like a sort of uncle. Joan Acocella called me “avuncular” in her original review for the New Yorker, and I love that adjective. I love captivating them in that “crazy uncle” way. I love thrilling them and maybe scaring them just a little bit, because I think it’s so fun to be scared. I think as a youth, it can be a thrill to be just a little terrified.
I grew up listening to the Leonard Bernstein version of Peter, but my favorite of all time is the one by David Bowie. He has that great accent. The most insane one I’ve ever seen was with a chamber orchestra in Bridgehampton with the fabulous Elaine Stritch. Darling, you have not lived until you’ve seen that!
And what are you looking forward to about this upcoming season of Peter & the Wolf?
I’m excited for the few new cast members—they’re great. And I’m excited that it’s a tradition that will continue and live on.
Works & Process at Guggenheim New York’s Peter & the Wolf opens today, December 5, and runs through December 14 in the Peter B. Lewis Theater at the Guggenheim.
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