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The Independent says: \"[Marianela Nunez]'s [Manon] jumps out of the coach, young and fresh, with a sensuous pleasure in movement [but] despite Nunez's charisma and power as an actress, there was a spark missing. Federico Bonelli is lyrical as Manon's lover Des Grieux, but there's not much chemistry between them. The big duets, which should be the heart of the ballet, need more risk and passion.\"

Costuming has been freshened; new casts have been seen (with Marianela Nunez making her debut on Wednesday night as that adorable heroine and victim); and the score has been revised by Martin Yates, who has cleared encrustations, reverted to Massenet's orchestrations, introduced new music (notably in a prelude to the scene with the Gaoler), and conducted for Nunez's cast with a fine verve.

[Lucy Bailey]'s production is imaginatively designed by Ruth Sutcliffe, who turns the crumbling farmhouse's upper level into a mountainous assault course. Even when the piece threatens to topple into absurdity, the acting pulls it back from the brink. Fiona Glascott's [Myrtle] wonderfully mixes asthmatic vulnerability with sexual assertiveness, David Sturzaker's Chicken has the threatening virility of a rustic Stanley Kowalski, and Joseph Drake's bleached, white-suited Lot suggests Andy Warhol suddenly transplanted to the American south. I make no great claims for the play, but it gave me a thoroughly good time. Most compelling is the detail with which [Marianela Nunez] registers [Manon]'s relationship to the corrupt glamour of Parisian life. When she first steps out of her carriage, it's as though every new experience lands on her like glitter. She's dazzled, euphoric; yet through Nunez's bright, watchful eyes, we also see Manon processing every new piece of information. The giddy girl is a fast learner. And by the time she arrives at the bordello, Nunez's body language registers the exact price that has been paid for her. Everything that was formerly quick and lively has been subdued and polished. Manon understands exactly that she has become an object. Acting of this layered, nuanced quality is what MacMillan ballets inspire. And in pure dance terms, Nunez remints whole passages of the choreography. But it's disappointing that she brings less of a charge to Manon's relationship with Des Grieux. Nehemiah Kish is admittedly more Ralph Fiennes than Rufus Sewell in the role - thoughtful, worshipful but slightly middle-aged. Although he is a wonderful partner, skimming and flipping Nunez to heights of choreographed delirium, and although their final duet is harrowing, we don't witness the sexy, romantic imperative of high passion.

Still, it's a grand performance from the Argentinian. And, despite largely disappointing variations in Act 3 (those pesky but impeccably danced goats aside), she is well supported by Kenta Kura's aerial Eros and Laura Morera's imperious Diana. Her strong, steely spins and haughtily virginal balances in the first half of Act 1 give way to gorgeously hesitant bourrees (once she has been struck by Eros's arrow and spots the felled [Aminta]). In Act 2, her faux-seduction of Gary Avis's richly observed villain is a bewitching tapestry of velvety, arched turns, and she delivers the climactic pas de deux with great brio, too.

The revelation is Act 2. It isn't easy to imagine [Marianela Nunez] as a spirit-being - she's far too vivid a presence - but here she confounds expectations with a performance of haunting other-worldliness. Infinitely gentle and forgiving, rising in [Carlos Acosta]'s arms as if weightless, she takes heartrending possession of Giselle's tragedy. two: four: ten is a retrospective of the last decade's work by Russell Maliphant. A former Royal Ballet dancer who left to explore new paths, Maliphant worked with Lloyd Newson and Michael Clark before launching his own choreographic career in the early 1990s. His work integrates elements of yoga, martial arts and contact improvisation and is characterised by extreme levels of physical control and a cool, minimalistic detachment. Knot (2001) is typical, with Daniel Proietto and Ivan Putrov discovered in pools of light on a darkened stage before undertaking a liquid, equivocal duet. It's followed by Sheer (2001), danced by an expressionless, grey-clad Thomas Edur and Agnes Oaks, which, according to the programme, is \"a gorgeous meditation on the unspoken connections between lovers\", which \"gradually swoons into a rush of tenderness and intimacy\".

[Marianela Nunez] is fresh and spontaneous in the ballet's early scenes, without a hint of coyness when she flirts with Albrecht or plays \"he loves me not\" with a flower's petals. Throughout, her pleasure in movement is unmistakable. Giselle is a heroine who loves to dance, so much so that she's actually told off for it by her mother. Nunez sails through the role's technical demands, enjoying every challenge. The hops on pointe are gleefully light and buoyant. Nunez's Giselle stays happy as long as she can. When [Hilarion] accuses Albrecht, she won't believe it. She rushes over to him in complete affection and confidence; she isn't even seeking reassurance. Then, as other courtiers start to arrive, about to confirm Hilarion's accusation, she stops dead. Nunez's stillness is extraordinary. You can see the truth hitting her, freezing her where she stands.

Performances like these were a gift for [Marianela Nunez] to react to, particularly because she played Giselle with such uninhibited warmth and spontaneity - a blithe, bonny girl wrenched into tragedy only at the last moment. Her acting was inventive and responsive - the coy lovers' games between her and [Albrecht] became fizzing jousts of erotic playfulness - while her dancing was so transparent in its expression of Giselle's happiness and expectation that you didn't always register the magnitude of its technical achievement, the creamy fluency of its phrasing and singing buoyancy of line.