Twists, at every turn

The shock of Oleg Vinogradov’s “Romeo and Juliet” begins before the curtain rises when music you don’t expect to hear (a sweet guitar ballad arranged by Tarrega) evokes a very different reality from the culture of violence that soon asserts itself via Sergei Prokofiev’s familiar score.

Originally created for another company in 1965 and subsequently revised, the Vinogradov version continually defies expectations musically, dramatically and stylistically. At the Kodak Theatre on Saturday, it simultaneously challenged the Universal Ballet of Korea to a level of fervor not previously seen in the company’s local visits -- and challenged the audience to look and listen freshly, forgetting all the other star cross’d treatments we normally see.

For starters, Vinogradov refuses to make his “Romeo and Juliet” into a fake antique. Instead of adopting an ersatz 19th century style, he fills the work with startling angularities, gymnastic partnering ploys and dynamic corps actions that are still strikingly original after nearly 40 years. Moreover, he avoids delivering the standard, bravura set-pieces we’re used to finding at key points in the narrative, and instead makes virtuosity erupt unpredictably in moments of high emotion.

At the end of Act 2, for instance, nearly every other “Romeo and Juliet” ballet shows Lady Capulet mourning the death of Tybalt in florid mime, and you have to brush up on your Shakespeare to figure out why. Vinogradov gives the scene to Juliet -- normally in her dressing room by now -- deepening the role both emotionally (high fury mixed with anguish) and technically (explosive sky-sweeping reaches and kicks on pointe).

He has dropped a number of subsidiary characters (the Nurse, Benvolio, Rosaline), developed Paris as a sympathetic victim and added a death-figure to Tybalt’s entourage (perhaps the only innovation of his that has gone stale).

In addition, some of the music has been cut, re-sequenced, duped -- and if you object that it isn’t what Prokofiev wanted, do remember that Prokofiev didn’t want the numbingly linear three-act structure imposed on him by Soviet authorities. (He originally intended a one-act treatment, like his “Prodigal Son” for Balanchine.)

The result anticipates the interpretive iconoclasm of French choreographers Maguy Marin and Angelin Preljocaj by nearly a generation but also sets an imposing standard of traditional ballet-opulence. The palatial sets by Simon Pastukh include an impossibly high moonlit balcony for Juliet and a lovingly detailed, immense Rose Window for Friar Laurence. The richly ornamented costumes by Galina Solovieva initially clothe the warring families in silver and gold but arguably reach the summit of splendor with the crimson, feathered carnival wear of Act 2.

And how beautifully the Koreans move in them. But there’s not much time to focus on their finesse on this tour because Vinogradov wants emotional urgency and forceful attacks -- and gets them from the corps, from such character specialists as Igor Soloviev (Friar Laurence), Nikolai Levitski and Ioana Vasilescu (Lord and Lady Capulet), and from his principal dancers.

As Juliet, tiny Yena Kang has all the lyrical suavity and dramatic fire she needs up to the big bedroom jumping-solo in Act 3, which simply looks overwrought and insufficient compared to iconic other stagings: Ulanova heroically running with a cape, or Fonteyn sitting on the bed and letting the music wash over her, for instance.

Her Romeo, Jae-Won Hwang, grows over-cautious in some of the no-arm, one-legged lifts that become a motif in the duets, and also makes his big solo in the tomb scene a scattered collection of steps rather than a coherent statement. But he too has been trained and coached to an enviable plateau of strength, flexibility and elegance.

Semyon Chudin doesn’t yet have his long, long legs under perfect control, but his performance as Mercutio exudes unforced classical power and charisma galore. Moreover, he dominates the corps in his death scene in a way that the diligent Rabul Seo as Tybalt can’t. Part of the fault, however, is Vinogradov’s: Tybalt is (or should be) a screwed-up alpha male, not a one-dimensional embodiment of destiny.

Jae-Yong Ohm sleekly exploits Paris’ extended opportunities, and the carnival scene features vivacious contributions by Sung-Ah Lee, Boyun Kim, Sahra Maira and others.

Pavel Bubelnikov conducts authoritatively, but the locally recruited instrumentalists don’t always rise to the occasion.