The high prices charged for Anthony Dowell's official leaving gala in May put it beyond the pockets of most of his fans, so it's good to see how much of the final programme in the Royal Ballet's season replicates that celebration. Better still were the dancers' performances: few members of the audience on Wednesday's opening night were in their party frocks, but the cast glittered through the programme's middle section of divertissements as if this were a black-tie event.
None glittered more brilliantly than Tamara Rojo in the Don Quixote pas de deux. It was predictable that this Spanish ballerina would wield her character's trademark fan with killer aplomb - she elevated flirtation to a major art form through the ruthless snap and rustle of its handling. But Rojo was also dancing on one of those serendipitous highs in which the choreography seemed to become her special plaything. Double and triple turns drove the careless speed of her fouettés as if they were standard, and as she balanced at the apex of a perfect arabesque she had all the time in the world to preen her shoulders as if she were sitting in pride of place at a bullfight.
Carlos Acosta grinned hungrily at every gauntlet that Rojo threw at his feet, and his own high-flying virtuosity was at its most outrageous when he tripped full-length out of an over-ambitious jump and landed neatly on his hands as if he were about to do a few press-ups for laughs.
This was all fabulous fun, but before and after the divertissements we were treated to fine, serious performances of the two Ashton ballets most closely associated with Dowell. In The Dream, all of Wednesday's cast found a rare balance between comedy and strange magic, while in A Month in the Country the acting took its tone from Sylvie Guillem's intense portrayal of Natalia Petrovna.
Though Guillem fudges some of the quick, bright footwork of Ashton's choreography, she delineates her character's tragedy in heart-rending detail. Her thin arms are sometimes so brittle with forced gaiety that they look as if they might shatter on a sharp word. At other times they flutter as helplessly as the wings of a wounded bird, yet when she's briefly happy in the embrace of Beliaev they seem to grow visibly round and sensuous with love.
Guest dancer Massimo Murru makes Beliaev's ardour interesting and credible, though technically he has a slightly untethered quality. Alina Cojocaru transforms the minor role of Vera into a star turn through the childish passion of her acting and the grown-up stupendousness of her dancing.
Until tomorrow. Box office: 020-7304 4000.
