THE storms and tempests that have been lashing Sydney this past week could do nothing to stem the flow of ballet fans to the Capitol Theatre to see Paris Opera Ballet's Swan Lake. The house full sign was up on Saturday night and yesterday afternoon; if there is any order in this topsy-turvy world the sign should be needed at every POB performance, where forces of nature of a different kind can be seen.
Etoiles Jose Martinez and Agnes Letestu (Saturday) and Manuel Legris and Aurelie Dupont (yesterday afternoon) were, in their different ways, mesmerising. The power of a company doesn't, however, reside only in its stars and Swan Lake also belongs to the ravishing female corps, of whom POB fields a thrilling number.
Visits from companies as great as this one are rare, which is reason enough to take a look. Even better is the fact that POB's version of Swan Lake, created for it in 1984 by Rudolf Nureyev, is tremendously satisfying.
In essentials it's a traditional production in the grand manner, retaining the shape and some of the Petipa-Ivanov choreography familiar to generations of audiences but with significant shifts in emphasis and meaning.
You are not asked to believe that a prince goes out to bag a few birds and happens to meet a woman who's been turned into a swan. The ballet opens with Siegfried in a reverie, and everything that happens is seen through the veil of his imagination.
The prince is withdrawn, disconnected and reluctant to marry, which he must. He is prey to the manipulations of his tutor, with whom there might be a homoerotic spark or two. On Saturday night, and again yesterday, premier danseur Karl Paquette simmered dangerously and moved with great authority.
Siegfried is clearly being groomed by his very sexy tutor and who knows what might be on offer after duty has been done. The casting of the Act I polonaise with male dancers instead of the usual couples adds to the intrigue. It's only an undercurrent, but is another element in Siegfried's struggle to be at peace.
After a series of graceful dance entertainments in honour of the prince's coming of age, the back wall of the monumental and austere ballroom dissolves to show a Corot-like painting of a lake. The swans, who pour in from behind the palace columns, invade Siegfried's chilly world, not the other way around. The tutor becomes Rothbart and insinuates himself in the drama to a much greater and more telling degree than usual.
At the time of its making Nureyev's version was regarded as rather experimental; certainly it was radical in slanting Swan Lake's centre of gravity towards Siegfried rather than the Swan Queen, but one of Nureyev's missions was to give the male classical dancer his rightful place in the sun.
Nureyev introduced a solo for Siegfried towards the end of Act I that establishes the prince's deep-seated introspection. It's danced to music that returns in Act IV for his pas de deux with Odette, a reminder of Siegfried's centrality.
Despite the glories of the POB principals' dancing, there is a pleasing restraint in their approach, echoed in every aspect of the production. In the long Act I ballroom scene the action moves easily from dance to dance, the patterns ever-shifting and natural. A highlight is the pas de trois, with the buoyant premier danseur Emmanuel Thibault (Saturday) a huge hit, and the women - Melanie Hurel (both performances), Nolwenn Daniel and Fanny Fiat - all light and air.
The men and women of the teeming corps are dressed by costume designer Franca Squarciapino in relatively muted colours - the men in ice blue, mustard, mauve; the women in lavender, sage, champagne. While the dances themselves are celebratory in nature the palette reflects the mood of the melancholy prince.
There's no shortage of bravura choreography within this scenario but it's the servant of the drama rather than the master. Poise and refinement rather than overtly muscular attack are key. There's no diminution of speed, clarity, precision, extension or elevation - everything is placed and shaped to within a millimetre, but it is a particular, and highly sophisticated, style.
The slender Martinez appears to hover in the air, he can stretch time along with his immaculately placed and held developpes. His featherlight entrechats are things of beauty in themselves, but also the way in which this prince shows his joy at being in love.
Letestu is a meltingly musical Odette with the most expressive arms and hands that hands make her Act II mime vibrant and immediate when it can so easily look antiquated. Her all-conquering Odile is radiant with power at every bewitching moment.
Legris is more boyish and impetuous, reeling off streams of quicksilver turns, and his partnership with Dupont is seriously sensuous. Her Odette has the warmth of flesh and blood while her bring-the-house-down Odile starts at smoulder, moves to sizzle and ends at heatwave with exultant, held-forever balances.
The hallucinatory mass of swans, 32 in all, brings Petipa's La Bayadere to mind. Here, however, the swans are much more than the shadowy figures in that earlier ballet. As they protect and defend Odette ceaselessly with no hope of success, the young POB women go about their task with grave eloquence: not a faceless crowd but united with purpose.

The Sydney Lyric Orchestra, assembled for this season and conducted by Vello Pahn, plays ballet's most loved score impressively for a pulled-together ensemble, but just as the large Capitol stage makes one weep for the restrictions of the Opera Theatre pocket handkerchief, the music in this season is an unfortunate reminder of the inadequacies of the Opera Theatre pit.