A muted Romeo and a joyous Juliet
Dennis Chang on Romeo and Juliet and Dances at a Gathering
20 June 2008

Even more so than in concerts and operas, the excitement of first nights and debut performances in the balletic world is often dampened by the jitters and scrappiness that inevitably accompany every dancer's experience of doing something for the first time. On a particularly wet and dreary afternoon, Latin couple Thiago Soares and Marianela Nuñez made their first attempt to join the Royal Ballet's pantheon of Romeos and Juliets since Kenneth Macmillan's ballet first opened with Lynne Seymour and Christopher Gable back in 1957. Unlike the sensual and seamy Seymour, who knew her fate even before her passion was kindled, Nuñez's Juliet was very much an innocent victim of circumstances, not dissimilar to how Margot Fonteyn would have approached the role.

We expected Nuñez to out-dance everyone else on stage, and she did. The steel that makes her virtuosic dancing so thrilling took on a mellower sheen, and she glowed like a diamond in 16th-century Verona. Rarely has Juliet's ebullient debutant dance in the Capulet ballroom looked more feathery and joyous. Here at last is a Juliet who throws caution to the wind, finding new, unexpected moments in the choreography on which to linger expressively. Her on-and-off-stage partner Thiago Soares, on the other hand, appeared so daunted by the occasion that he started as the most muted Romeo I had ever seen. Wrapped up in his own world, he conveyed neither the crush on Rosalind nor the laddish camaraderie with Mercutio and Benvolio. Even his reliable technique deserted him in the tricky three boys' dance before the Capulet party. He managed, albeit precariously, the barnstorming solo before the balcony pas de deux, and in the latter he only competently partnered Nuñez, who was left to exude the rapture alone. Soares did liven up as the tragedy unfolded and earned our sympathy in the crypt scene, when he died tenderly next to her. They do look good together, and with Johan Kobborg and Carlos Acosta's retirement looming on the horizon, Soares and Nuñez could well be the Royal's new golden couple.

A month prior to the current run of Romeo and Juliet at Covent Garden the Stuttgart Ballet brought to the London Coliseum John Cranko's take on the star-crossed lovers, which predated Macmillan's by three years. For many of us unfamiliar with Cranko's version (the company was last seen in London 26 years ago), it was an astonishing revelation, especially the amount of "borrowing" Macmillan had taken from his South African colleague. Broadly speaking, Macmillan extracted the most memorable of Cranko's choreographic inventions and brought the narrative to a sharper focus by making Juliet's rite of passage the overarching thread throughout. Compared to Macmillan's hothouse atmosphere, Cranko's epic unfurled more leisurely in an outdoors Verona where the courting, the sword fights and the emotional hysteria were alternately sun-bathed and moon-lit. On this occasion, the German troupe laid on two top-class Romeos: Friedemann Vogel, a native Stuttgarter, and the Dutch Marijn Rademaker. With long tapered legs and an aristocratic technique, Vogel is the archetypal ballet prince from neck down, but he looked barely 16 with his foppish hair and puppyish grin. Like Vogel, Rademaker dances with the sort of fluidity and easy virtuosity that we rarely see from the Royal men. He detonated the balcony pas de deux with a perfectly executed aerial double-turn and had us hanging on to his coat tails - or Byronic cape - as he seemed to be forever dashing towards and away from Juliet.

Love and sorrow of a very different assortment was found in Jerome Robbins's Dances at a Gathering, which the Royal Ballet was reprising for the first time in 30 years. Under the watchful eyes of the Robbins estate, 10 of the company's top dancers were put through their paces - the shoes of Nureyev, Dowell, Sibley, Seymour etc are still daunting to step into. Comprised of 18 short dances set to various mazurkas, waltzes, etudes and nocturnes by Chopin, Dances is a series of abstract solos, duets, and ensemble numbers. As tempting as it is to compare the melancholic trio for three girls to Chekhov's Three Sisters, Robbins would have none of it. For him the dancers, identified by the colour of their knee-length dress or plain shirt and tights, are themselves and no more. As the leader of the pack, Johan Kobborg may not have Nureyev's superstar magnetism (who does?), but he radiated gravitas and an affecting Weltschmerz that was to hold together all the disparate dances. Tamara Rojo was the sensual and mysterious girl in mauve opposite Alina Cojocaru's radiant and intense girl in pink. Yet, as well danced as each individual performance was, 70 minutes of triple-time Chopin on the solo piano can sound samey. All credit to the Royal Ballet pianist Philip Gammon for continuing to be the dancers' Rolls Royce and meeting Chopin's considerable technical challenges.