LETTER FROM BUENOS AIRES.

Dance in Buenos Aires is a complex mosaic. Tango is, of course, everywhere, revitalized by the spectaculars which have swept the world like a pampero, the tempestuous wind from the pampas. The city also has a lively Spanish dance presence and enthusiastic displays along modern dance lines. Of the concert disciplines, though, classical ballet prevails, as might be suspected given the stunning likes of Julio Bocca, Maximiliano Guerra, Luis Ortigoza, Paloma Herrera, and Inaki Urlezaga, all proud alumni of the municipality's professional school, the Instituto Superior de Arte del Teatro Colon.

The young stars return often, sometimes to headline productions in Luna Park, a sports arena that accommodates their cheering fans at affordable prices. In 1996, Guerra staged Yuri Grigorovich's Spartacus there with principals from the Bolshoi and a huge, Siberian supporting cast. Last September, Herrera appeared with thirty dancers from New York City Ballet in their local debut, a project that was her idea. Announcements for Ballet Argentino's November Luna Park run began as soon as the company returned from New York City, coinciding with Julio Bocca's appearance on the Buenos Aires talk show, improbably called Between the Bible and the Hot Water Heater, and his cameo in Carlos Saura's film Tango. Mainly, though, these luminaries are showcased at Buenos Aires's premier cultural venue, the Teatro Colon. In September and October, Herrera, Guerra, and Urlezaga were back home to alternate in Don Quixote with Silvina Perillo, Karina Olmedo, and Alejandro Parente of the Colon's Ballet Estable, directed by Colombian-born Ricardo Bustamante. [See Reviews, International.]

When he assumed his Colon position last January, Bustamante, 35, a former American Ballet Theatre principal, knew he was taking the helm of the oldest ballet tradition in South America. "I flipped," he said of the offer conveyed by Guerra, an advisor to the Colon's then--general director Kive Staiff. At the time, Bustamante, who had left the stage prematurely because of a hip problem, was assisting Helgi Tomasson at San Francisco Ballet, and just days before Guerra's call, he had committed to the Bay Area by purchasing a home. But any doubts were resolved in favor of the move when, at Staiff's invitation, Bustamante stood in the splendor of the Colon's great hall, surrounded by a wealth of technical and artistic resources. "Then," he said, "1 began to learn the problematics of the company."

The Ballet Estable del Teatro Colon traces its origins to the ensemble founded in 1925 by Adolf Bolm of Diaghilev's Ballets Russes. During the boom years, when legions of European immigrants lured by Argentina's robust economy and fertile pampas made their fortunes, Bolm's "ballet group" escalated into a company on the brink of greatness. Its glory was triggered by the fortuitous timing of two events: World War II, which, in addition to filling Argentina's coffers, forced Colonel de Basil's Original Ballet Russe to extend its Colon engagement for more than a year, during which the European dancers combined with the resident company for the most glittering season anywhere; and the graduation, in 1947, of the Instituto's first class of dancers, all impeccably trained by Esme Bulnes, one of Anna Pavlova's English ballerinas, who eventually moved to Milan to revive La Scala's ballet and to mentor Carla Fracci.

World-class performances attracted a popular following back then. But the company gradually sank into a mire of politics, bureaucracy, and overprotective labor practices that worked to exclude some of the best Instituto talent, beginning with Jorge Donn. So the mass audiences drifted away, and today it takes a star or a blockbuster to fill the 2,500-seat house.

Of the Argentineans the Colon now features as guests (whom, according to Napoleon Cabrera of the prestigious daily La Nacion, the theater must pay several times the going international rate), only Guerra and Bocca were accepted into the company. Although they were dancing principal ropes, they could not be promoted out of the corps de ballet until recently, when they were given emeritus status. Because older soloists can't be fired and often don't want to retire, there have been few vacancies at the top. In 1990, this pushed Bocca to give his Instituto generation a chance by founding his own company. Ortigoza, currently first dancer with the Ballet de Santiago, didn't even make the Colon corps, and Urlezaga, now at Britain's Royal Ballet, was hired only as a contractor. Officials deflect questions by suggesting that these prodigies were too big in the first place for even the Colon to contain and the dancers are better off where they are. But ask the young men or Herrera if they regret having had to find their opportunities abroad and there's a wistfulness to their "No."

Privatization has been floated as a solution to the Colon's problems (including its cost to the municipality: $45 million offset by $8 million in box-office receipts), but subscribers vocally oppose the idea and, for the moment at least, management has backed off. Bustamante, a veteran of the international stage, perhaps represented a much less drastic alternative. Trained under Mikhail Baryshnikov, whose demanding regime at ABT he calls "magic," Bustamante met the requisite standards and had no local baggage. "Previous directors had been principals with the company, and it was hard for them to be impartial with their former colleagues and peers about who should dance and who should not," he explained. "So Guerra and Mr. Staiff thought of trying a foreign director." Most Argentineans were dismayed to see this plum go to a Colombian-American--and one so young at that.

More seriously for Bustamante, Guerra, who is a permanent guest with La Scala, lives in Milan, and Staiff soon departed for the San Martin Municipal Cultural Center (where he replaced Oscar Araiz with Mauricio Wainrot as head of the resident contemporary ballet). This left the brand-new director to wrestle with his daunting responsibilities alone.

Toughest of these responsibilities was confronting the the all-powerful union that restricts the work day to four hours, allows only a 40-minute rehearsal on a performance day, controls casting, and has raised the retirement age from 40 to 63, severely limiting any infusion of new talent, the lifeblood of ballet, via the nationwide auditions scheduled for next year. "It has not been easy," Bustamante says of his tenure.

But it has not been without its rewards. There is genuine talent in the company and Bustamante has nothing but praise for dancers such as Olmedo and Parente, whom he considers the best Kitri and Basilio in his multicast Quixote. Bustamante won critical applause for slipping Paul Taylor's Airs and George Balanchine's Apollo into the season he inherited. A practical director concerned for the dancers' safety, he has persuaded management to replace the marley on the stage and American Express to donate a better floor for the dance studio. At press time, labor negotiations were coming up and Bustamante indicated he understands that the quid pro quo for any increase in hours is more pay and performance opportunities. He said he hoped that management would address these issues--as well as retire dead wood and consent to more equitable terms for dancers contracted from outside for the most demanding roles.

No one is more aware of the situation than Maximiliano Guerra. "The Colon is a little like a horse with no reins," he says. "1 knew it would be hard for Ricardo to comprehend its idiosyncracies, but he is learning, he is adapting, and I think he's doing very well." His compliment might come as a surprise to Bustamante, who doesn't seem to require appreciation. "As a Latin American, I won't feel my work is finished until I've made a difference," he insists.