"Peter and the Wolf". Peter B. Lewis Theatre, Guggenheim Museum

Prokofiev's original version of Peter and the Wolf is a charming paean to Soviet values, as brave little Peter skips dauntlessly through life and the forest, subjugating Nature as he goes. He’s the ultimate boy scout, the Young Pioneer, all resourcefulness and optimism, flouting his old Granddad's outdated pre-Bolshevik ways. (Don't you just want to slap him, in the same way he slaps his thighs?)

Isaac Mizrahi's rendering of the story uses the same music, the same plot, and the same characters. But rather than making it a masculine mission statement for Stalinist supremacy, this production is a vibrant illustration of inclusivity in action. If Prokofiev's agenda was making little commie supermen, Mizrahi's is to help make the under-10s of New York appreciate the diversity of modern society. It might be anathema to Moms For Liberty, but on the Upper East Side it's very much at home.

The key to Mizrahi's interpretation is one deceptively simple idea: he has made Peter and the Wolf a dance piece. So as well as hearing those magical, musical evocations of cats, ducks and hunters, we see them too. As Peter, Kara Chan’s jaunty kicks and let’s-get-ready elbows were both fun and gently mocking of the character’s ebullience. Zach Gonder’s cat brought a balletic contortionism to an animal already adept at licking the far side of its own buttocks. And, playing the bird, Maxfield Haynes’ feet never touched the ground. But, as important as the roles they played, these performers also seemed to celebrate their own identities. Haynes for example is the first non-binary Prima Ballerina to perform the White Bird in The Magic Flute at the Metropolitan Opera. Chan is clearly a female Peter. And in the up-close space of the Guggenheim Theatre, the sheer physical elegance of these performers was awesome to behold. Their precision, balance and musculature were proudly on display, like Assyrian relief carvings, but alive.

Even the musicians had discarded the traditional black suits of orchestral performers, and played in their own everyday clothes, including scarves and beanies. The message is clear: you don’t need to dress up and pretend to be someone you’re not. Be yourself.

At the heart of the action, Isaac Mizrahi himself brought a laid-back and irresistible petulance to the normally unflappable role of the narrator. Whether complaining about the Grandfather coming on stage too early, or wincing in fear at the timpani’s rendition of the hunter’s gunshots, he conveyed not so much a master of ceremonies, and more someone whose ceremonies have got slightly out of control. And what could be more appealing than that? He looks like a schlubby Jeff Daniels without socks; but around his carefully-crafted awkwardness, the music and movement soar into life.

This is a show aimed at little kids, and the audience was packed with enthralled first-graders and their grandparents on the perfect mid-Hannukah treat. The spiral architecture of the Guggenheim suggests orbital movement, wholeness and universality. Perhaps it’s no surprise that this production of Peter and the Wolf feels very much at home there.