DANCE REVIEWS : NORTHWEST BALLET IN LOCAL DEBUT

Any good eclectic worth his motley hues knows that it’s easier to engage audiences through variety than specialization.

And that seems to be the message delivered by Kent Stowell and Francia Russell, whose Pacific Northwest Ballet made its local debut Friday and Saturday at Royce Hall, UCLA.

Never mind that the company’s co-directors are New York City Ballet alumnae. You’ll find no programs of single-color Balanchiniana. Instead, a grand effort is made to unfurl the whole spectrum: everything from strict neo-classicism to soul-wrenching Romantic drama to quaint period vignettes, to mod minimalism.

It works. Not least of all for the dancers, who seem to thrive on the diverse stylistic challenges--even if sometimes the effort shows.

Two agendas both proved a model of balanced eclecticism. But Lucinda Childs’ “Cascade” certainly did little to win confidence for the dancers. Disregarding the glittery, buoyant music and its enchantingly delicate timbres (Steve Reich’s Octet), the choreographer devised a stolid, earthbound format for full ensemble.

No one on stage looked too happy with the assignment, which made struggle visible.

Like other minimalist dance-makers entering a foreign realm, Childs tackled the toe-shoe game self-consciously. Thus, she straitjacketed the women in classical positions; luckily, the men’s combinations finally sloughed off a sense of grim, mindless exercise and found the vitality of the score’s syncopated pulse.

Matters improved greatly with Stowell’s “La Bergere Celimene,” which--set to some of Mozart’s variations on a French folk song--exuded subtle charm. A balletic comedy of 18th-Century manners that gives way to tender intimacies and ironies, its chief virtue is fidelity to Mozartean sensibilities. At least, the two couples--high quality dancers--aptly conveyed this.

But Deborah Hadley, who stretched to the tether and slithered and coiled bonelessly through the Arpino-esque “Lento, A Tempo E Apassionato” (Vicente Nebrada), provided terrific contrast to the preceding gentility. Partnered by Wade Walthall, she epitomized Scriabin’s emotional lurchings.

The two Balanchine entries--”La Valse,” from the glamorous black-tulle-and-rhinestones wing, and “The Four Temperaments,” a stencil-rendering of portentous neo-classicism--found similarity only in their brilliance. The company, which now includes Magali Messac and Colleen Neary (late of ABT and NYCB, respectively), danced both with polished vigor.

Even Limon’s “The Moor’s Pavane” made sense, notwithstanding PNB’s lack of an Othello who understands that the character’s stoic anguish must resonate from the shoulders, neck and head. Except for a few weak corps dancers, revealed in the poorly made opening ballets, this is a company worthy of its existence. No easy achievement.