history today

"Classic ballet performed the way it was intended," is the rather pompous slogan plastered all over St Petersburg Ballet Theatre's literature. And you get the feeling they live and die by it. Granted, we look to Russian ballet for technical brilliance rather than innovation. But when Tchaikovsky, Marius Petipa et al created the arch-classic Sleeping Beauty, the ultimate expression of Russian Imperial ballet ideals, did they really intend their work to be frozen in time for future generations? Did they imagine that, well over a century later, this company would be tirelessly touring the UK with a repertoire of four preserved-in-amber classics? I rather doubt it.

Certain things endure, just as the language does in Shakespeare: the divine symbiosis between Tchaikovsky's score (played with a few too many hammers and tongs by this small orchestra) and Petipa's elaborate choreography; the masterful span of academic and social dance styles, peppered with expertly placed references to ballet's roots in the court of Louis XIV; and the sheer scope and scale of a production that was the Hollywood blockbuster of its time.

But what seems covered in layers of ancient dust is a museum-like adherence to the sets - ropey hand-painted backdrops with some deeply disorienting bad perspectives - and the costumes: an odd collection of milkmaid dresses, frock-coats and floppy wigs which must have seemed a fine tribute to Louis XIV's Versailles at the time. These and a slavish attention to mime techniques that simply look laughable now: hand on head, mouth wide open and - bingo! - a look of horror.

Add to this a company of exceptionally young dancers - all recent graduates of St Peterbsburg's famous Vaganova Academy, who look comical striking elderly regal poses in floppy wigs - and you have an odd historical curiosity of limited artistic merit. There are exceptions: the glittery, starched-stiff tutus of Princess Aurora (Irina Kolesnikova) and the jewel-coloured fairies create an image iconic enough to endure centuries of change. And the humbug-striped costumes and sneaking, slithering actions of evil fairy Carabosse and her cronies have an everlasting grotesque appeal.

What you are left with then is the dancing itself. In ballet, any number of floppy wigs can be forgiven if the dancing is sublime. But while there is promise here, there is also an alarming wobble factor. Having looked secure and pleasingly well-schooled dancing Swan Lake at the same venue a year ago, Sleeping Beauty's enthusiastic young cast now seem beset by invisible goblins pushing them off balance and backing them into parts of the set.

Either techniques have faltered (perhaps their heroic touring schedule really is too punishing?) or someone at the Festival Theatre has been over-enthusiastic with the Mr Sheen. Whatever the reason, statuesque star ballerina Irina Kolesnikova has at least four falls too many and her wobbles in Act Two's famously tricky Rose Adagio suggest she has been pushed too far too fast. Amazingly, she picks herself up each time to dance with a bang-on musicality and sunny, open-faced magnetism, offering a tantalising glimpse of the ballerina she may yet become.

Wobbles aside, the company dances prettily enough to make this a passable evening for ballet-lovers. But without even a hint of fresh interpretation or creative vigour it's hard to see how this travelling museum of Russian ballet can keep its artefacts from crumbling.

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