16.

The National Ballet of Canada is among the very best of the international dance companies, superbly schooled and tending toward the European rather than the American manner. There appears still to be an affinity with the style (and even repertoire) of the Royal Ballet on which the company was modelled when it was founded in 1951 by the former British dancer, Celia Franca. Today's artistic director, Canadian Reid Anderson, also embraces the legacy of John Cranko's Stuttgart Ballet with whom he worked for many years.

We, as usual, were sent the smaller `Concert Group' of Canada's National, but, even so, this contained several of the company's leading dancers. Commendably enough, these touring ensembles try to bring the be st of all ballet worlds to communities too small to support the real thing.

This programme follows that recipe, with a couple of short modernist works, two ever-popular classical pas de deux and, rather more unusually, a contemporary ballet which, in fact, became an instant `classic' of its kind almost from its first performance.

This varied programme opened in muted mood with a work for four dancers choreographed especially for this group by an up-and-coming Canadian John Alleyne, and entitled `Split House Geometrics'. Set to music for violin and piano by Alvo Part, the first couple dance in a trance of detached reflection, which in no way detracts from the clipped, and presumably `geometric' motions of the title. As the next couple join in, the mood softens. Described in the programme as "a meditative study of the juxtaposition of opposites'', it is a plotless ballet, neoclassic in style and danced with understated technical brilliance.

Even so, there is little that is new in terms of dance invention to distinguish it from similar works in this ill-defined `other-worldly' abstract vein so beloved by many contemporary choreographers. The same comment might be equally applied to `Frames of Mind', choreographed by Jean Grand-Maitre and featured as the fourth item of the evening.

Set to truly painful music, the lesson here is to demonstrate that modern and classical ballet are rooted in the same technique. To make this crystal clear, a black and white archival film appears at the back of the stage featuring scenes from a classical ballet. In front of this, the dancers enter, casting shadowplays against the screen. So far, so good, though this is hardly a novel idea. Then a feeling of angst and strife pervades as girls are flung on the ground where they writhe like broken butterflies, or totter on crooked points.

Superbly danced, but to what end? Again, there is a feeling that this rather pretentious work is more uplifting for the dancers than the puzzled audience.

Gloomy lighting did not help.

What a relief it is to be reassured that beauty has not altogether been banished from contemporary ballet: the late John Cranko's deservedly renowned version of Romeo and Juliet -- even a brief extract therefrom -- provides an eloquent lesson in what separates a true choreographer from the numerous also-rans.

Intensely musical, as all the best choreographers are, Cranko creates achingly descriptive movements that are at one with the sublime Prokoviev score. The balcony scene is the emotive high point of the ballet where Cranko uses to such effect, the simplest of poses and gestures to tremulously unite these young lovers on their dance to doom. Cranko's choreography notwithstanding, it is no small feat to take an audience so transiently into this labyrinth of charged emotions, but Jennifer Fournier and Serge Lavoie succeed in doing so.

As Romeo, Lavoie, a danseur noble if ever there was one, literally jumps for joy as he catches sight of her and there proceeds a meltingly lyrical pas de deux in which they declare their love.

Fournier, one of the first soloists of the company, and surely a talent to watch, is a dancer in the classical mould whose fluent purity of line is matched by a radiant stage personality: the way she runs backwards after their first kiss as if in a swoon, the tentative poise of her head as she lays it on Romeo's shoulder hint at what must be a highly moving interpretation in the full-length work.

The `White Swan' pas de deux from Tchaikovsky's `Swan Lake' is one of the most famous pieces from the traditional ballet repertoire. This version is by the late, great Danish dancer, Erik Bruhn, whose close association with the company culminated with the post of artistic director and only ended with his death in 1986. Closely based on the orginal version of Petipa/Ivanov, this celebrated scene takes place at the moonlit lakeside where the Prince declares his love for Odette, turned into a swan by a magician and assuming human form for only a few hours each night. Even so, her movements are still swan-like as she flutters and beats against her cruel fate.

Gizella Witkowsky, a principal of the company, is a fine classical ballerina, with steel-like points, dramatic, if slightly flamboyant arabesques, and an impeccable sense of balance. She is gallantly partnered by company principal Robert Tewsley, but as this is an adagio rather than a set pas de deux there is, irritatingly, little opportunity for him to shine in the strictly supporting role of this segment.

The last half of the programme is devoted to a single work, `Elite Syncopations'. Originally created by Kenneth MacMillan for the Royal Ballet, it soon passed into the permanent repertoire of the Canadian Ballet. They have made it very much their own. MacMillian, better known for the genius of his psychological dance dramas, is in playful mood as he sets a suite of irresistably witty dances to the rag-time music of Scott Joplin.

Clad in brilliantly patterned body tights, the company engage in a boisterous romp of terpsichorean high spirits: the setting is a dance hall and they dance to a costumed band onstage (reduced to a single pianist on this occasion, the excellent Janis Neilson).

The Slow Drag, the Hot-House and Calliope Rag, the ironically measured steps of a Concert Waltz are all a joy to behold, stylishly and impeccably danced by this fine company. While it seems almost sacriledge to single out individuals, who can forget the hilarious Alaskan Rag? Gizella Witkowsky reveals a wonderful gift for comedy in her high-handed treatment of the bemused Philipe Dubuc in this delicious send-up of balletic partnering.

A wonderfully exhilarating climax to an evening of superior dance.

PATRICIA CALNAN