The Sleeping Beauty, Royal Opera House, London

Few ballet productions can have laboured under such a weight of negative expectation. At a cost of £700,000, the best part of the Royal Ballet's annual budget, its new Sleeping Beauty replaces a previous version that cost barely any less and was junked after only six years. Long-in-the-tooth critics continue to insist no British production can ever match the first in 1946 (an unlikely feat of memory), and the Kirov Ballet has just sewn up the historical angle with a much-admired reconstruction of the 1890 original. Add to this the uncontested belief that Sleeping Beauty is the greatest of all 19th-century ballets, the pinnacle of a classical style largely lost to today's dancers, and you begin to see how a producer finds herself in no-win territory.

Natalia Makarova, to her credit, has refused to be swayed by the fad for restoration. She has based her production largely on the choreography she grew up with at the Kirov in the Sixties, plus some bits of her own devising. What interests her more is the essence of the imperial style which, with its decorative rococo lines and spacious stage manners, runs counter to the cooler instincts of English ballet. In practice, this has meant teaching the Royal how to dance more like Russians, and to a remarkable degree she has succeeded.

The designs, by Luisa Spinatelli, likewise aim to infuse the production with a whiff of rarefied scent rather than impose brilliant effects. Floating printed gauzes, Watteau-esque landscapes and faded architectural etchings are pretty but don't intrude. The costumes, delicately sumptuous, suggest all the ease and refinement of Henry IV's court. I take issue, though, with the decision to do without a thorny forest (one of the few memorable design features of the Royal Ballet's previous Beauty). How are the sleeping royals to be protected during their 100-year wait? How is the Prince to prove his daring and determination? Its omission deprives the story of key symbolism.

There may well have been branches printed on one of the gauze screens, but Mark Henderson's lighting – dysfunctional on opening night and still dodgy on the second – failed to illuminate them. Similarly a tableau intended to show the forces of good combating the evil crone Carabosse failed to register more than bodies wrestling in gloom. Technical gremlins scuppered other planned effects too: curtains stuck, dry ice machines broke wind rudely – but these faults at least can be rectified.

Less easy to fix are the high points of drama that fail to register: the blessing of the baby – despite some sharply nuanced solos from the fairy godmothers – never properly happens, and the prince's kiss is mundane. Yet Makarova's stage never ceases to hum with gloriously variegated movement, well matched to Tchaikovsky's inventiveness. I loved the sheer vertiginous force of the Prologue, urged on by conductor Valery Ovsyanikov, who generally takes the score at a lick.

Of the principals, Darcey Bussell proved most heroic, going ahead with the premiere despite an injured foot. Her partner, Roberto Bolle, beautifully complemented her clean brightness with his soft-weighted plush, and barely turned a hair when she sent Marianela Nuñez on in her place for the final duet. Alina Cojocaru – tinier, more ethereal, a wisp of joy on legs – made an even more brilliant Aurora on Monday, and her first-night Bluebird pas de deux with Johan Kobborg was equally exquisite. Other plaudits go to Zenaida Yanowsky's snaky Carabosse, and Marianela Nuñez's gleamingly benign Lilac Fairy.

j.gilbert@independent.co.uk

'The Sleeping Beauty': ROH, London WC2 (020 304 4000), in repertory to 21 April