Can those hops on and off point ever have been saucier? Or Basilio’s barrel turns more brimming with machismo? Even when Acosta made a bad error in the descent from a climactic jump, he managed to make it look like a spunky innovation. They bring the house down every time, those two.The programme needed Ashton’s Monotones, set to mesmeric Erik Satie, if only to prevent the audience from mass cardiac arrest. And it got a commendable showing from Alastair Marriott, Zenaida Yanowsky and Maurice Vodegel-Matzen – all three looking more than presentable in the unforgiving white skin suits topped by little white skull caps, reminiscent of Woody Allen’s sperm get-up. And the stainless steel precision of their movements just stopped me from nodding off.That little collection would have sent even the pickiest customer home happy But there was more – and then some. Ashton’s A Month in the Country, created in 1975 using themes from Turgenev’s play, falls into the category of Ashton narrative ballets that seem as if the music was written to fit the drama, not the other way around.

The score is a patchwork of Chopin piano pieces, including the great Andante spianato, gloriously played on this occasion by Philip Gammon. The story turns on that familiar Russian scenario, that of the well-heeled, apparently well-ordered family, rocked by unfulfillable longings.Ashton’s achievement is such that any reasonably accomplished cast can make a good job of relaying the story. But put Sylvie Guillem at the hub of it and the drama shifts into a higher gear. You can’t take your eyes off her Natalia, the middle-aged wife who falls egregiously in love with her ward Vera’s tutor. Guillem is mistress of suspended animation, those moments of distilled emotion when the world momentarily omits to turn.

Girlish excitement, lust, guilt, despair, all flicker through her frame in a miraculous merger of dance movement and dramatic transparency. And she gets first-class support from her colleagues: Alina Cojocaru’s petulant Vera, David Drew’s blameless and bumbling husband, and a star turn from guest Massimo Murru, as the loose-loined, devastating tutor.j.gilbert independent.co.uk. Love is in peril twice over on the London stage this week. You can see it restored to its pedestal, or trampled into the gutter. For the believers, One Touch of Venus is a joyous celebration of passion and domesticity. Written in 1944, it is Kurt Weill’s only musical comedy, and features the fruity rhymes of Ogden Nash and the wit of SJ Perelman.

The Royal Opera House dusted it off for its Lost Musicals series, and now the King’s Head’s artistic director, Dan Crawford, has taken the hint and given us a new production that positively aches to break out of its cabaret setting. Love is in peril twice over on the London stage this week. You can see it restored to its pedestal, or trampled into the gutter. For the believers, One Touch of Venus is a joyous celebration of passion and domesticity. Written in 1944, it is Kurt Weill’s only musical comedy, and features the fruity rhymes of Ogden Nash and the wit of SJ Perelman. The Royal Opera House dusted it off for its Lost Musicals series, and now the King’s Head’s artistic director, Dan Crawford, has taken the hint and given us a new production that positively aches to break out of its cabaret setting.
The plot turns on a statue of Venus, acquired by lovelorn millionaire Whitelaw Savory. The goddess comes to life when lowly barber Rodney Hatch tries out his recently purchased wedding ring on a divine finger.

Venus, like Titania, falls for the first thing she sees, which makes life tricky for Rodney, especially as his fianc?is expecting the ring any day now. The resulting songs, as you might expect, are a hoot (“As a dachshund abhors/Revolving doors/ That’s how much I love you” gives a flavour) But it’s not just comedy showstoppers. Weill and Nash also treat us to pair of superb love songs: “Speak Low” and “I’m a Stranger Here Myself”.Kim Medcalf is a little reserved as Venus (a part written for Marlene Dietrich), and although she does eventually work up the necessary sass, this deity would have been eaten alive by her rival. Gina Murray as the future Mrs Hatch steals every scene she’s in. Peter Land is a genial Savory, Michael Gyngell a suitably bewildered Hatch, and Mark White provides a couple of hilarious cameos. Timothy Childs’ production is at times strident, and a little rudimentary, but really, in a venue of this size, it is everything you could possibly ask for – for now. Our next demand should be a full-scale revival on a bigger stage.For the cynics, and the recently dumped, Maggie Nevill’s mildly lewd comedy The Shagaround might raise a bitter smile.