Derek Deane's spectacular production of Swan Lake, created in the round for the Albert Hall, has found its way back to conventional theatres where its staging not only looks less overblown but also more genuinely poetic.
A few remnants of the old circus act persist - in the dumb-show prologue that shows Odette being magicked into a swan princess, in the swampy quantities of dry ice that billow over the lake scenes, and in the preponderance of circular figures and turns within Deane's choreography (necessary in the Albert Hall, to give audiences seated at the back an occasional view of the dancers' faces).
Otherwise, though, the production has reverted to a pleasantly fresh and efficient version of the old ballet. Peter Farmer's designs now supply a traditionally Gothic castle and blasted lakeside. An extra choreographic treat for Ashton fans is the restoration of the latter's wittily nuanced pas de quatre in Act 1. It's a relief to watch the dancers doing what they've been trained to do, which is articulate their steps from within the logical frame of the proscenium arch.
This was particularly crucial on the first night as English National Ballet's most precious asset, the husband and wife partnership of Thomas Edur and Agnes Oaks, were dancing the principal roles. Individually, both dancers are perfectly suited to Swan Lake. Edur as the prince is one of those rare men who can pull out all the technical stops without looking as if he's trying to gatecrash his ballerina's party. In Act 1 his dancing is all fine detail and musical rectitude, a dreamy monologue that charts the prince's growing awareness of his romantic desires.
In the bravura variations of Act 3, Edur allows his jump to fly vauntingly free and his pirouettes to whistle at high speed, but there's a joyous lift to his bearing which never shouts "Look at me" but rather proclaims his character's thrill at having fallen in love. Oaks's fragile build and legato phrasing are made to measure for Odette, lending a feathery delicacy to her feet and arms and a deep vibrato melancholy to her line.
As Odette's evil double Odile, she flips into a wickedly alternative mode, slapping off the prince's hopeful attentions and flaunting her powers. Even with a persistent ankle injury, Oaks dominates the stage. But it's in their pas de deux that this couple are truly astonishing. Dancing together constantly for 10 years, they have become uncannily tuned to each other's minds and bodies. They hear the music identically, their limbs fall naturally into the same line, and Edur seems not to physically lift Oaks but simply hold her up with his breath. In some respects this eerie accord lacks the edge and chemistry that can spark between less familiar partners, but it also gives us a sense of listening to a story that's been told so many times it's settled into a perfect ritual.
In rep until January 20. Box office: 020-7632 8300.
