The polymath then led the ensemble in the overture to her opera, “Cinderella” (2015), before the company performed Balanchine’s sublime masterpiece, “Serenade.” (His students gave the initial performance on the grounds of Felix Warburg’s White Plains, N.Y. estate in 1934, and was his first work choreographed in America). 

An ACB premiere, it was staged by répétiteur Zippora Karz, with Barbara Karinska’s bespoke costumes having been constructed in her “original style” - a solid piece of tulle sewn directly to the leotard rather than using thick elastic waistbands. Making the classic dance even more gobsmackingly gorgeous, the long, flowing skirts boosted the work’s dreamlike quality, as did Carter’s striking, ice-blue lighting. 

And from the work’s opening, with 17 ballerinas standing in rows, their arms raised skywards, their wrists flexed as if to capture the moon’s glow on a pristine night, the tableau, which has always been indelible, continues to be one of dance’s most resonant images. 

Balanchine, who also made use of moves from real life, including unanticipated rehearsal moments, set the dance to Tchaikovsky’s transcendent, “Serenade for Strings,” further cementing the fusion of sight and sound, and, in the process, generating deep wells of emotion for the viewer. It is Mr. B’s genius, then, for theatrical imagery, paired brilliantly with the music, that magic reigns.

The female corps was enthusiastic and fleet of foot, while principals, among them, Houk, Kate Huntington and Cherkasov, elevated the simple act of creating patterns that, when repeated, featured ingenious variations. And while themes of darkness, fate and death are much too pervasive today, this dance could also be seen as a work about loss, a poetic vision of yearning, but one teeming with the beauty found in bodies that, through 35-minutes of pure movement, also teemed with lunges, legs scissoring in lifts, and an impassioned waltz. 

Female-driven, and with no clear storyline—save for the one imposed on the ballet by the viewer—the addition of men, in this case, Szentes and Joshua Brown, nevertheless ups the ethereal ante; pure pleasure bordering on spirituality. 

  In the final scene, with two parallel lines of women bourréeing in place and repeating the upraised arms image, it’s no wonder that “Serenade” is Balanchine’s most performed work. And pairing it with the “The Euterpides” with Deutscher’s ravishing score (more, please!), signaled a new high for Jones and his troupe: Here was art as the highest form of hope.