The St Petersburg Ballet Theatre may lack the cachet of the Kirov or the Bolshoi, but it leads the pack of second-tier Russian classical companies that regularly hit our shores.


Founded in 1994 by the young impresario Konstantin Tachkin, the SPBT has just launched a British tour that will last until mid-February. The repertory includes The Nutcracker, The Sleeping Beauty and La Bayadère, but pride of place goes to Swan Lake.


The opening night got off on slightly the wrong foot with a first act that appeared drably designed and hesitantly danced on a seemingly shrunken stage in the vast Albert Hall. Dmitri Shevtsov’s dynamic jester, however, was a consistent bright spot. There was also a pleasing pas de trois from Sabina Yapparova, Olga Ovchinnikova and Andrei Yakhnyuk, the latter offering luscious jumps in his solo variations.


Expectations were raised higher, and fulfilled, by a second act set against an illustration of a windswept lakeside. Here the female corps seemed to move with the same breath, while the company orchestra responded sensitively to Aleksandr Kantorov’s baton.


All of this was in support of the SPBT’s star attraction, Irina Kolesnikova. Trained at the Vaganova Academy, the 25-year-old is a real artist whose gifts include expressive arms, a pliant torso and a meltingly slow, expansive yet detailed style that draws us, and Dmitri Akulinin’s Siegfried, right to her. Recently nominated for a National Dance Award as best female dancer by the UK critics, Kolesnikova is a dream of an Odette.


Adagio dancing suits her temperament, but she was no slouch in a fast and fancily gilded third act. Wearing a broad smile, and with two horn-like feathers in her hair, she whipped through Odile’s famous 32 fouettés at full throttle.
Akulinin, an attentive partner, lacks Kolesnikova’s magnetism. His prince was a bit of a cardboard mama’s boy. Although his landings were notably light, he was not always as sure-footed as could be wished. Dimchik Saikeev’s Rothbart, meanwhile, was a tiny menace.


In the fourth act Kolesnikova, wrapped in tragic melancholia, surrendered to the faintly ridiculous happy ending left over from the Soviet era. Despite the wet finish, the evening was a triumph for her.