Nikiya, the heroine of Petipa's La Bayadere, is one of those split-down-the-middle roles so beloved of the 19th century, in which the ballerina gets to dance two apparently different ballets in one evening. The Nikiya of act one is an Indian temple dancer of rare beauty and rectitude, whose lover Solor is appropriated by rich bitch Princess Gamzatti. Nikiya acts out her drama of doomed passion and unrewarded virtue in an exotic wardrobe of scanty outfits, her limbs coiling extravagantly around Petipa's fake oriental moves. But by act two, when she appears before Solor as a reproachful ghost, Nikiya is not only dressed in a standard tutu but is executing chastely classical steps.
Not all dancers shine equally as faux Indian beauty and 19th-century Russian ballerina, and Tamara Rojo certainly chimed best with the first act on Monday night. She found an intemperate passion beneath her character's outward submissiveness, which she signalled by pushing each move to a slightly voluptuous excess. The fluidity of her line and the recklessness of her dancing were rich and beguiling, but as her Nikiya danced towards death, Rojo disappointingly failed to find an intensity that would propel her into the transfiguration of the Kingdom of the Shades in act two. Here the powered precision of her technique cut an authoritative path through the steps, but Rojo's dancing lacked the eerie purity necessary to the act.
The issue with Nikiya's lover, Solor, is how he opts to play his betrayal scenes. Will he appear dazzled by Gamzatti's ruthless glitter or seem cruelly outmanoeuvred - is he a shallow monster or a sorry sap? Carlos Acosta is by inclination a performer of flash rather than conscience. He possesses that glorious virtuoso's trick of decelerating a string of pirouettes from fifth down to first gear, and the trajectory of his jumps has a joyous, audacious clarity.
On Monday he devoted much of his energy to performing variations of breathtaking bravura egotism. But Acosta has been maturing as an actor recently and his Solor had a surprising texture. As confident warrior his bearing was graced by regal, musical mime, while as victim his progression from troubled confusion to anguish was touching and credible. Marianela Nunez was also a dangerously credible Gamzatti. In addition to dancing one of the most elegantly finessed solos of her career, her acting proved a pleasingly obnoxious mix of pretty, blonde petulance and a ruthless avidity worthy of Imelda Marcos.
In rep until March 15. Box office: 020-7304 4000. A version of this review appeared in later editions of yesterday's paper.
