Determined not to let the trend bypass the West Coast, Pacific Northwest Ballet brought “Firebird” back to Seattle’s McCaw Hall in a loving, company-specific way. For its spring repertory program, PNB revived founding artistic director Kent Stowell’s 1989 production, refurbishing the costumes by Tony-winning designer Theoni V. Aldredge, who designed “Annie” and “A Chorus Line.” Of course, like every “Swan Lake,” every “Firebird” comes with its own accent, if not outright twist. DTH’s boasts a brilliant transposition of setting, from Russia to the Caribbean. Alexei Ratmansky’s version at ABT stands out for its dark psycho-sexual drama. (Be sure to read Faye Arthur’s recent review.) Stowell’s take, meanwhile, lies on the other end of the fairy tale spectrum. 

Disney-safe, PNB’s “Firebird” strikes me as an ideal first ballet for children—it would surely fascinate legions of instant seven-year-old balletomanes if presented as a school matinee. The funny thing, then, is that PNB placed it as the finale of a sophisticated, sexy, and very grown-up triple bill. But the real story of this program, viewed by this California fan thanks to PNB’s ongoing digital offerings, was a triple-treat of standout individual performances, in roles ranging from the deeply human to the otherworldly.

That “deeply human” distinction belongs to Dylan Wald. He was the highlight of the opener, Alejandro Cerrudo’s “Little Mortal Jump,” made for Hubbard Street Dance Chicago in 2012 and first danced by PNB four years later. In signature Cerrudo style, the movement is slinky, crouching, and curiously horizontal, full of turned-in lunges and stop-start partnering, the dancers’ heads reminding me of basketballs dribbled across the stage by elastic spines. “Jump” is also full of signature Cerrudo whimsy, though here it has a nostalgic 1920’s tinge, with the men’s trousers held up by suspenders and the women’s costumes, while sleekly contemporary, cast in black lace. 

A dancer runs through the theater aisles, huge black boxes spin like gates to reveal hidden worlds, and in a central duet, Yuki Takahashi and Kuu Sakuragi suddenly float on Velcro panels, unzipping from outer layers to become earthbound again. But despite all this novelty, and an eclectic soundtrack ranging from Philip Glass to Tom Waits, I find the duets in “Jump” repetitive in their relationship dynamics. That changed utterly when Wald approached Elizabeth Murphy. As he touched her hip and arm with hypnotizing softness, his intensely focused tenderness drew this viewer deep into the mystery of his concern for her.