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Julio Bocca, known to the ballet world for his American Ballet Theater affiliation and a prize winner at the 1985 Moscow International Ballet Competition, started Ballet Argentino in 1990. This year’s troupe seemed a little smaller than one seen some years ago, but it is singularly effective, particularly with its orchestra, led by Julian Vat, and Ana Maria Stekelman’s choreography. If an early pas de deux or the bowler hat variation, danced with such precision and panache by Lucas Segovia, were utilized by canny competitors at an international competition, either would garner points for the dancers and earn Stekelman a choreographic citation.

Vat’s orchestra remained in the background augmenting the singer, with skilled soloists emerging to display their skill and spiel the dancers.

I would fault two or three programmatic lapses: no translations for the songs skillfully rendered by Noelia Moncada and Esteban Riera; the need for hand-held mikes when a garment clip could have allowed both hands to assume their native eloquence; no dancers’ identification for each swiftly moving number; a costume check on the skirted flow of Moncada’s dresses. Moncada’s a gorgeous dish; but at least one skirt nearly hobbled her. For the rest, black shirts and trousers were the male uniform. Exaggerated fringe, scarlet or black, strapped high heeled shoes, plunging decollete, black lingerie and nudity to the waist by the two women conveyed fire cracker emotion matched only by the elan of the dancers. For a low-heeled soul, shoes, garments and movement were eloquently explained why women continue high heeled distortions for male bait. With passion at a high, who ponders tomorrow, let alone foot problems at seventy!

The program started before the stage with Esteban Riera, a squarely built brunette, in tuxedo, a portrait of glamour in Hollywood’s heyday. It moved quickly to Bocca with another man partnering him, both wearing tails, allowing Bocca supported grand jetes and splits, movements Bocca has provided the likes of Alessandra Ferri many times, along with intricate sur la place pivoting movements.

Noella Moncada appeared to sing, followed by the catchy pas de deux previously mentioned to the appealing sounds of Astor Piazzolla’s music.

Bocca provided the first of two major solos dancing with, around, over, under, against and with a black table, as if improvising; yet every gesture, lunge, dip and bend was clearly molded, flawlessly executed.

Julian Vat provided another filler before the stage with a mellow saxophone before four men and Bocca tore up the stage, followed by a pas deux and then a pas de cinq for the men and a chair.

Somewhere along here Riera appeared again, minus coat and tie and Moncada appeared in a different gown, both enjoying separate and then merging spots.

Another pas de cinq closed the first half of the program.

Vocals commenced the second half of the program, followed by two pas de deux to Piazzolla’s tangos where Cecilia Figaredo stripped quickly from her white dress into black lingerie, stockings, shoes; in the second, with Bocca, she was nude to the waist with Bocca in shorts. Both were amazing, leaving little left to describe in their exposition of physical passion.

The bowler hat solo of Lucas Segovia, dancing to Francisco Canaro’s version of the tango, provided a incredibly well timed, breathtaking diversion before the songsters came together again.

Another song, then a cheerful pas de trois with one female in red fringe, another in black fringe and a man and a vocal duet before Bocca’s second solo with a ladder. Bocca, stripped to the waist in trousers, reprised the magic in his prior solo, here dangling, weaving, heisting himself through and around ladder rungs and the supporting posts: pandemonium response. Bocca may have stopped dancing Romeo, but his form shows no diminishing; the skill is so deceptive; utterly certain, each phrase is finished with momentary stillness, building unforgettable impressions.

Everyone was on stage and the musical ensemble of six musicians was exposed to view for the final, energetic number.

Across the aisle a young Asian mother sat with a baby, drowsy or asleep through most of the performance. Once only did it emit a crow, otherwise was a model of angelic decorum. It reminded me of audiences in India, capping the evening with particular warmth.