The Royal's Alina Cojocaru.

Instead of getting the dog she dreamed of for Christmas, Alina Cojocaru received a bonsai tree from her boyfriend and partner, Johan Kobborg. Like the bonsai, Cojocaru is petite, but her unique talents have led her to grow in artistic stature to great heights. Her rise to fame is the stuff that dreams are made of. As a corps member, she stepped in with five days' notice to learn the role created by Margot Fonteyn in Symphonic Variations. The buzz at the premiere meant that she wouldn't be hidden in the corps for long. Again she came to the rescue in the role of Juliet for another injured ballerina. Three months later, as a soloist, her Giselle left the audience dabbing their eyes and the artistic director speedily promoting her to principal. That was in 2001.

Since then, the young Romanian, trained in the Ukraine and now the pride of the British public who claim her as their own, has continued to amaze and delight with a variety of roles (see cover story, March 2002). As the Sylph in Kobborg's new staging of La Syltohide, Cojocaru was as delicate as a meringue, yet mischievous with a child-like innocence. She's also been an ideal Sugar Plum Fairy, Ondine, Aurora, Odette, Nikiya, and Titania. She has proved her intensity and strength as Manon, as Tatiana in Onegin, as the Pupil in Flindt's creepy The Lesson, and in Forsythe's steely choreography. She enjoys working with new choreographers who in return, appreciate her willingness to try different things.

Framed by curly tendrils, Cojocaru's small, expressive face with its luminous dark eyes crowns her perfectly proportioned slim body. Every component of her instrument works together as a whole: a strong back that arches like a willow in the wind, eloquent port de bras, slim but powerful legs that lift effortlessly into high arcs.

The attentiveness she brings to her interpretations make her performances both exciting and touching. Her Manon is a wide-eyed innocent who turns amoral with the temptation of riches and sexual power. In the final scene, she sears the heart with desperate passion and pathos. By contrast, her Aurora--the role she dances on the U.S. tour--is truly regal. She is a well-mannered and joyous teenager, and a gracious and charming bride. In Giselle she contrasts the young peasant's sunny and love-smitten character with the spectral creature. When Cojocaru's broken-hearted Giselle finally rashes to Albrecht's arms, she slips through his grasp to the floor like a crumpled length of silk. As a Will, she demonstrates her otherworldliness in smooth unfoldings to arabesque, effortless lifts, and runs and jumps that seemed to hold her by an invisible thread just above the stage.

With performances like these, it is no wonder that she and Kobborg are invited to perform worldwide. So perhaps it is for the best that she didn't get the dog!