Mark Morris Dance Group.

The seeds were planted in 1992 when McMaster invited Mark Morris Dance Group to make its British debut in the Scottish capital. To the inestimable delight of Edinburgh audiences--and the vast majority of British dance critics--Morris has returned to every Festival since. This year, his troupe effectively bracketed the Festival--and the performances by Miami City Ballet, Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Co., and Pina Bausch Tanztheater Wuppertal, among others--with two wildly contrasting programs: an evening of chamber works in the intimate Victorian surroundings of the King's Theatre and The Hard Nut, his big, splashy Tchaikovsky spectacular at Edinburgh's grand new Festival Theatre.

Between these two events Morris put on quite a show, what with the cheerleaders of Lucky Charms in their Hellzapoppin spangles, his foot-stomping, thigh-slapping Polka, the six strangers of The Office united by dance, and the choreographer himself sinking his teeth into One Charming Night, a deliciously vampiric duet. Then, of course, there was the glorious sixties kitsch of The Hard Nut, which provoked spontaneous applause in the middle of the snowflake scene (this, one should remember, from a largely Scottish audience).

Running through all of Morris's work in Edinburgh has been a fundamental understanding of basic human needs and desires. Nowhere is this more tellingly realized than in Somebody's Coming to See Me Tonight, his setting of nine exquisite songs by Stephen Foster, composer of such popular classics as "Beautiful Dreamer" and "Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming." Morris captures perfectly the tenor of these lovely, bittersweet ballads (beautifully sung in proper parlor fashion by Jayne West and Stephen Salters) in dances which celebrate the simple virtues and pleasures of home and hearth and heart.

He dresses the cast in workaday clothes--Susan Ruddie's long, paneled dresses in muted tones for the women, shirts and tight pants for the men--and sets them swinging across the stage in line, polka, and square dances. The movements flow, then abruptly take off in unexpected directions as if the dancers have suddenly remembered something they had to do elsewhere. And there are moments of gentle yearning, little echoes of half-forgotten dreams which surface to disturb the bearable toil of their lives. It is a romantic, sentimental piece, but it is never mawkish; and the final tableau, with the dancers standing in the diagonal formation of a house, is deeply touching.

But hopes, fears, desires, grief--the sum, in fact, of human experience--appeared to be on show throughout this year's festival. And some pointed questions were raised. Pina Bausch asked how we can find love in the world we live in, while Bill T. Jones wondered how we can live when we know we are dying. In both Nelken ("Carnations"), Bausch's typically surreal revue set on a stage planted with more than 3,000 blooms, and the controversial multimedia extravaganza that is Jones's Still/Here, audiences could at least draw comfort from optimistic conclusions.

With such strong meat on the table, many felt that Miami City Ballet's eagerly anticipated return to Edinburgh (with Balanchine's The Nutcracker in its first performances outside the U.S.), following its hugely successful 1994 debut, lacked a certain substance. Not that Edward Villella's attractive ensemble from South Beach does Balanchine a disservice; on the contrary, it could be argued that they dance and stage the production with more integrity than Balanchine ever showed to Tchaikovsky's glorious score. But did Edinburgh really need two out-of-season holiday treats?

Lightweight dance diversions are usually found on the Fringe, that vast cultural jamboree which surrounds the official Festival events. Ploughing through the 1,300 acts listed in the Fringe program is a demanding task for festivalgoers, but well worth it for those who picked up on Tap Dogs, a group of six sweaty Australian blokes who beat out industrial-strength tattoos on a construction-yard set with taps screwed to the soles of their Blundstone workboots. Choreographed by Dein Perry, who previously picked up an Olivier award for his work on Hot Shoe Shuffle in London's West End, Tap Dogs is one of those shows--like Stomp--which seems destined to tour the international circuit. It deserves to: it's funny, it's sexy, and these guys can really dance.

Which is rather more than can be said for most of the dance companies on view at the Fringe, although for wit and quiet integrity--not to mention technique--Mark Baldwin's group stood apart from the tedious Eurocrash clones in their kneepads and little boots.

It was dispiriting to see quantity, rather than quality, dominate dance on the Fringe, especially when dance in the International Festival has been so consistently good of late. This was confirmed when the Mark Morris troupe was announced as the first dance recipient of The Scotsman Festival Prize--an annual award "for artistic excellence" sponsored by Japanese philanthropist Zenya Hamada and coordinated by Scotland's national daily newspaper. (Full disclosure department: I served on the award jury.) Valued at 50,000[pounds] (approximately $75,000) Morris gets to keep 10,000[pounds] ($15,000) while the remainder funds a future artistic enterprise to be agreed upon between Morris and the Festival. So whatever plans are in the pipeline for Edinburgh, at least we know that Morris will be back. It's nice to have something to look forward to.

RELATED ARTICLE: ROYAL NEW ZEALAND BALLET has come a long way since its first brave showing some forty years ago, when noisy, blocked pointe shoes pattered across a wooden stage, and decor and costumes gave the impression of having been thrown together by willing amateurs. A new production of Romeo and Juliet (Regent Theatre, Dunedin, August 15, 1995) by artistic director Ashley Killar assured a delighted audience that this small company can now be regarded as one of the best.

There were lavish Renaissance designs for costumes and sets, the latter well-lit and changed seamlessly. Killar choreographed some exciting duels. It was, however, the beguiling balcony scene, where Juliet (Anne Anderson) and Romeo (Eric Languet) gave a moving and poignant rendering of their love, that was most impressive. Theirs was the epitome of youthful passion. Humor had its place, too, in the delightful commedia dell'arte interpretation of Mercutio by Kim Broad. All the dancers' sensitive musicality enhanced Prokofiev's well-known score.