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The Paris Opera Ballet's 1985 version of The Nutcracker must be a surprise for anyone used to the English or American versions, with their often cutesy designs and feel-good effect. Rudolf Nureyev was always interested in psychoanalysis, and his reading of the tale is linked to his vision of a child's psyche - the first act's children are truly mean little creatures, and Clara certainly doesn't dream of a sugary Fairy. What she sees when she falls asleep is deformed visions of her reality, of those who surround her - magnified into characters dances or terrifying, as she still resists the world of adults. When she imagines herself as a woman in the final Grand Pas, her prince is none other than her old, limpy godfather Drosselmeyer, who fascinates her throughout. In other words: the world of children is not pretty, and Tchaikovsky and Freud can apparently meet.

Nureyev's dream Nutcracker is certainly not all bad, and some scenes are cleverly handled in terms of the plot. The interactions between Clara, Fritz and their sister Luisa are quite realistic, going from disdain and jealousy to shared excitement, while the children's behaviour generally brings out the darker notes of the score, with a lot of bragging and pulling each other's hair going on. Even the adults of this stilted 19th century Viennese society are not the reassuring presence you would expect as they take the Nutcracker from Clara and throw it to each other, to her utter despair. It is a shame the tree delineated in the background never grows and is barely used, but the rats, played by children of the POB School, are menacingly small, scratching or feasting on the toys Clara throws at them, and more than a few little soldiers die in the battle.

This is all very well, but choreographically speaking, Nureyev soon reaches a dead end. Luisa and Fritz, Clara's siblings, are made for instance to dance the Spanish Dance, as part of the general deformation of reality - but how often do you find a dancer who can impersonate both a little girl and a fiery Latin woman? Not to mention the fact that they also dance the dolls' parts in Act I, leaving Luisa to struggle with the third variation, so clearly meant for a man. The grandparents show up in the Arabian Dance through some odd device, and the parents pop up in the Russian Dance, but Nureyev is out of characters by the time the Chinese and Pastorale dances come along, and he takes out the wigs, switching from the family's living-room to a giant, empty Viennese ballroom for the Flower Waltz and the Grand Pas. All in all, it makes very little sense, and Clara and her Prince must feel very lonely under those chandeliers.

It would help if Nureyev was a great choreographer. A good part of the ballet is a painful illustration of his motto - one note, one step, and never mind if it bears no relationship to the atmosphere or the story. Clara and her Prince have the priviledge to dance one of the most convoluted Act I pas de deux on earth after the rats' scene, all small, tricky steps and little emotion behind. The Arabian Dance has too many unrelated steps to ever feel languid, and the Chinese Dance is a minefield for three dancers dressed as Eunuques. Besides, Nureyev's choreography is hardly rewarding for the dancers, aside from the feeling of technical achievement - it provides no relief, no simple pleasure for the audience, and in the end we applaud difficulty instead of beauty.

Fielding enough excellent casts for a month-long run is a challenge nowadays. N'est pas Elisabeth Maurin et Laurent Hilaire qui veut - the creators of the main roles were a rarity, two dancers capable of being both a young girl and a ballerina, in the case of Maurin, and an old magician who can moonlight as a Prince for Hilaire. It was a true priviledge this year to see the two Russian guests brought in by the Paris Opera Ballet, Natalia Osipova and Nikolai Tsiskaridze, as the production didn't defeat them - they showed, on the contrary, how the Russian school and good old Bolshoi stagecraft can overcome hurdles that even the best French "Nureyevists" struggle with. Neither tries to nail each step technically to a T. Instead they are performing, each in their own eccentric style.

Nikolai Tsiskaridze danced first, and the fact that he was paired with Myriam Ould-Braham only seemed to add to the excitement - how would he fare with the delicate, petite, lyrical Premiere Danseuse? Well, if they looked like Beauty and the Beast on paper, on stage we saw a teddy bear very much in love with his Clara. Myriam Ould-Braham was filmed in the role two years ago - she has always been perfect as a sweet, dreamy child, but she now navigates the shenanigans of Nureyev's Grand Pas for the grown-up Clara with true authority. She is one of the only POB dancers of her generation to have mastered not only world-class footwork, but also old-fashioned harmony in the upper body. Serene through the series of releves and ronds de jambe en l'air of Nureyev's variation, Ould-Braham now has her endearing coltish quality fully under control, and she allows it to breathe life into her movements. The Paris Opera Ballet has so far denied her Etoile status and the roles that go with it (well, she hasn't passed the odd-Nureyev-management exam, her only flaw that evening), but Nikolai Tsiskaridze didn't seem to mind, and he partnered her with a delightful air of rapturous adoration. His strange wildness almost explains the child's fascination with her godfather, and watching him gloss enthusiastically over Nureyev's steps and triumph turned out to be absolutely uplifting - there wasn't a perfect fifth in sight (POB Repetiteurs must have been fainting in the wings) as he bent the choreography to his body with cheerful confidence. Even his entrance during the curtain calls, jumping on his knees centre stage to welcome Myriam Ould-Braham, was larger than life. There's nothing quite like a mad professor in a Freudian house.

Natalia Osipova and Matthias Heymann seemed like a much more natural pairing, but injury prevented Heymann from dancing their second scheduled performance, and Alessio Carbone had to step in at the eleventh hour. A solid partner and cheerful, relaxed presence, he handled the situation more than well, until, for one of Nureyev's lifts, he had to launch Osipova on his shoulder in a backwards version of the diving Bayadere pose. Unfortunately, she went over said shoulder, and straight upside down on to the floor - and if anything, the ovation at the end was even bigger for the crawling Russian star. Aside from this unfortunate moment, she raised the production to an entirely new level, from start to finish - amazingly alive and playful in Act I, her Clara was most definitely not a pretty, restrained ballerina. In true Bolshoi fashion, she walked and acted with a relaxed sense of freedom, much more preoccupied with her Nutcracker doll than with her lines. This makes her transformation in the course of the ballet believable - her fascination with the Prince when he first appears is that of a child still, curtseying shyly, restless and curious in his arms. Her ports de bras may be idiosyncratic, but she commands attention like few others, and watching her in Nureyev's Grand Pas for the grown-up Clara, in a tutu and covered with jewels, was like seeing another Mathilde Kchessinska dance for the Imperial Court. I wouldn't be surprised if Osipova was wearing actual diamonds - she certainly performed as if she did. Confident, commanding, seemingly self-absorbed yet utterly lovable, she is as imperfect, ebullient and delightful as Kchessinska must have been. Nureyev doesn't provide much opportunity for high-flying bravura, but Osipova is much more than jumps, and she made an absolute show of her rock-solid technique, taking to the choreography like a duck to water - and adding little flicks of the hands or the head here and there to welcome the applause. She is a natural phenomenon, and we are all the richer for her presence on stage.

In the secondary roles, Charline Giezendanner proved an excellent Luisa (Clara's sister) on both occasions, convincing in Act I and making a spirited attempt at the Spanish Dance in Act II. She spent a long time in the corps de ballet after a promising Coppelia at the POB School, but she is now finally hitting her stride, with infectious dancing in demi-soloist roles. Gregory Gaillard was a mischievous Fritz, and Celine Talon and Fabien Roques, who retired at the end of the run, made for hilarious grandparents. Alice Renavand led the snowflakes with gorgeous amplitude, and Eve Grinsztajn, probably the most sensual dancer in the company, managed to turn Nureyev's Arabian Dance into a mysterious dialogue - can we have her as Nikiya please? A word about the corps de ballet, finally - efficient and well-rehearsed throughout, but military precision in the legs isn't everything. Something Osipova and Tsiskaridze share is sheer warmth on stage, and it is about time Paris should steal from its guests.