The Fountain of Bakhchisarai.

The Fountain of Bakhchisarai, one of the ballets brought by the Kirov to France for its two-month saison russe, is a genuine curiosity. The four-act, son-of-Petipa ballet, based on a Pushkin poem, was choreographed by Rostislav Zahkarov to music of Boris Assafiev in 1934, inaugurating a new era of "dramatic ballet" at precisely the moment at which Stalin was cementing his political dominance. (Kirov, the party secretary for whom the company was named, was mysteriously assassinated that year.

A strange (or perhaps inevitable) time, then, for this melange of La Bayadere, Le Corsaire, and Raymonda, with its good Westerners (the Polish court), evil invaders (the Tartar hordes), all-powerful Khan, pure princess (named Maria) and fiance (Vaslav), alluring harem favorite (Zarema), and a pileup of pillage, seduction, treachery, and death.

Choreographically, Fountain is far less interesting than its illustrious predecessors: Zakharov sets an interminable series of ensemble dances for the court against solos and pas de deux for the young lovers in the first act, then an interminable series of harem-girl dances between Zarema's solos in the second act--few of which seem to emerge from any dramatic necessity.

Act Three is the most satisfying, with fine moments for both ballerinas in Maria's noble rejection of the Khan, and Zarema's jealous passion that culminates in the princess's death (a moment apparently made famous by the twenty-four-year-old Galina Ulanova, who created the role). In the final act Zarema is thrown from the ramparts and the Tartars break into virile "character" dance before the epilogue echoes the prologue in showing the Khan mourning beside the fountain erected to Maria's memory.

The Kirov, with its legendary corps de ballet of elegant women and manly men and its propensity for silent-movie dramatic effects, should carry all of this off perfectly. Unfortunately, it doesn't. Whether exposure to Western dance and choreographers, fragmentation of the company through continual touring, or lack of continuity in coaching is responsible, the dancers look as if they no longer quite believe in this stuff--and the ballet itself doesn't possess the stylistic integrity that might compensate for their lack of conviction. Most disappointing were the harem dances and the Act IV male ensembles, where the vigor and cohesive style that one might have expected were notably absent. Even Vladimir Ponomariev, in the mimed role of the Khan, looked as though he were emoting to order rather than being propelled by inner conviction about the validity of his passion. (One of the many facts offered by the excellent program is that Zakharov studied the Stanislavsky method of acting, and was convinced of its relevance to socialist-realist ballet.

That said, the work is fun to watch, colorfully designed (by Vera Khodassevitch), and provides two ballerinas with fine roles. As the soulful Maria, Yulia Makhalina had occasion to show her remarkable technical capacity, with fine lines, clean jumps, and expressive arms, but never took the character out of two dimensions. In contrast, guest artist Sylvie Guillem imbued Zarema with real passion, making her love for the Khan and unhappiness at his emotional defection the real dramatic focus of the ballet. With remarkably articulated allegro work and a fluid, musical understanding of the required style, Guillem exploited the expressive possibilities of the role while avoiding exaggeration.

The Kirov also presented director Oleg Vinogradov's version of Coppelia--a confused reworking of the story that leaves out the most interesting bits and replaces the SaintLeon/Petipa revised choreography with utterly forgettable dances that ignore the charming Delibes score.