You would think the formula might have worn thin by now. A bunch of hairy guys in tutus, boasting stage names such as Maya Thickenthaya, all taking merciless mick out of classical ballet. But to their grateful, giggling public, Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo continue to rank as one of the coveted experiences in dance.
As even the most loyal ballet fan would admit, this is an art form poised between the sublime and the ridiculous, and what makes the Trocks so appealing is that they tread that line with such expert knowledge. Whether they're performing Swan Lake or Don Q, it's clear that they have wept and wondered at superb dancing. And it's because of that reverence that they can make the rest of us cry with laughter.
Not that the jokes are simply for insiders. The moment in Giselle when ranks of Wilis, reduced to a rabble of grizzling hags, criss-cross the stage in formation arabesques and then get hopelessly hooked up in each other's armpits is pure slapstick bliss. And the Trocks are masters of camp: in Albrecht's near-death scene, the hero marks out his tiresome wait on the floor by swatting bugs and buffing his fingernails while poor Giselle dances her wistful regret unnoticed.
The funniest moments, however, come when they are doing their steps straight but emphasising, in comic marker pen, the tricks and quirks of professional dancers. All those doomy expressions, self-congratulatory smirks and rictus smiles with which performers try to conceal the fact that they are gagging for oxygen are wickedly observed and wickedly funny.
The Trocks are also smart producers, and new to the repertory is their one-act Don Q, as neat an abridgement as you will see. Fifi Barkova's Kitri comes deliriously close to an Ann Widdicombe lookalike in Spanish wig and tutu, and dances an impressive amount of the original choreography with flamboyant surliness. But even she is upstaged by the daft addition of her mother (Margaux Mundane), who seems to have wandered in from a flamenco show to inadvertently lampoon her daughter's starriest steps with her own Gypsy diva routine.
Also new to the repertoire is the Pina Bausch parody I Wanted to Dance With You at the Cafe of Experience. There are fewer jokes than I'd have expected here, but the cast of dysfunctional women in saggy cocktail frocks is wonderfully accurate, and a droll change of gear from haute-classicism. The accompanying notes, like the whole of the programme, are a treasure-trove of wit and nonsense. Read before you throw away.
Until October 13. Box office: 020-7863 8000.
