That George Balanchine was a genius of the dance none can deny; but it takes a performance of this caliber to show just how great that genius was. “Serenade” is a work made early in his American years, a brilliant application of the classical vocabulary to an abstract evolution of those already characteristic moving tableaux, those distinctively Balanchine shapes and patterns, which seem to tell stories and express emotions without a libretto. Danced by the superb artists of the Mariinsky it is the sheerest, purest delight. What makes the Mariinsky dancers superb is the perfection of their lines coupled with a delicately intense artistry that is the very marrow of their technique. In this they are, as a corps, incomparable; and their principals and soloists take the breath away.
      “Serenade” was danced in this performance as Balanchine surely saw it in his mind’s eye and wished it could be realised; it was beautiful, and expressively deep. We overuse hyperbole in reviewing when we seek to praise; suffice it to say that the hardened critics sitting in that section of the stalls gasped with admiration, and at the interval turned to each other to discuss it with delight. It is invidious to single out an artist in a performance of such quality, but Viktoria Tereshkina must be mentioned, for she distilled the faultlessness of it all.
      “Rubies” – the jazzy, energetic, exuberant midsection of Balanchine’s “Jewels” – is a crowd-pleaser, and great fun. It is also genuinely wonderful dance in its own right, and to see so classical and strictly bred a corps and its leading dancers releasing themselves into its sexy rhythms explains why. If there is a heaven, and if it has a version of Radio City Music Hall, then these are its Rockettes. The lead dancing is done by a solo ballerina, Ekaterina Kondaurova, and a couple, Irina Golub and Vladimir Shklyarov. Kondaurova and Golub were wonderful; Shklyarov, although a fine dancer who is nimble, compact and neat, was not quite the right artist for the role, which needs someone witty and characterful. His youthful good cheer was too bland for the part.
      In this very well constructed triple-bill – whose premise obviously is the theatrical pleasures it would give – nothing better could be chosen as a closing piece than Balanchine’s “Synphony in C”. It brings the entire corps on stage, all of them present, in precise array, at the final flourish. It is a constant mesmerizing whirl, a flow of lines and configurations, a consummate marshalling of forces which doubtless causes other choreographers to wonder how so much intricacy of design could be held in a single vision. But that is Balanchine: and as executed by the Mariinsky it is the very summit of balletic art. It was a privilege to be there and to see it, and to carry away a new standard for everything else that aspires to the condition of dance.
AC Grayling