For more than 200 years, the Bolshoi Ballet has been world-renowned for its technically masterful, aesthetically classical and marvelously expressive interpretations of revered story ballets. Today the Bolshoi continues that tradition with two performances of Alexei Fadeyechev's "Don Quixote."

On Friday evening, the Russian troupe boldly broke from tradition in the U.S. premiere of its exhilarating new "Romeo and Juliet," by British theater director Declan Donnellan and the young Moldavian choreographer Radu Poklitaru. From its indelible opening image -- a silent volcano of bodies from which dancers erupted, one by one, until grouped into two warring factions -- to its disturbing conclusion -- the dead Romeo gently rocked to rest by the men, while the women roughly tossed the dead Juliet on top of him -- it was clear this "Romeo and Juliet" is unlike any other.

Instead of toeshoes and tutus, sumptuous sets and arabesques, this contemporary production features a richly layered concoction of startling choreographic detail and memorable characterizations; psychological intrigue and resonant symbolism; minimalist decor and cinematic lighting. It's all presented with compelling clarity, and underscored by Sergei Prokofiev's thunderous score, superbly performed live by the Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra.

At the core of the production is the ever-present, ever-mutating corps de ballet, brilliantly deployed for tone, as metaphor, even as scenery. At times, they're the Jets and Sharks a la Jerome Robbins' "West Side Story," right down to their trousers and T-shirts, surging toward and away from each other in mock battle. In the ballroom scene, they're masked diabolical beings, the men brutally thrusting down the women's heads, the women riding the men's backs, both men and women suggestively swiveling their hips.

They writhe like a pile of snakes. They act as a Broadway chorus line. Like a Greek chorus, they're the silent, ever-present reality of death and destruction looming over Romeo and Juliet. They form the wall that Romeo climbs over but can't penetrate to reach Juliet, and the "balcony" on which Juliet stands. They hold Romeo and Juliet apart as the lovers' arms and legs quiver in ecstasy. They're a militant band of black-clad mourners led by Lady Capulet; the thrust of Juliet's knife; the giddy, head-tilting, crawling gaggle that rejoices in Juliet's death.

Only once does this strategy go awry: a surreal section in which the corps, wearing green and red marching-band uniforms, mills around the stage screaming. Throughout the performance, the corps is a multifaceted character as unconventional and riveting as the soloists.

Juliet (Anastasia Meskova), in her shag haircut, pants and blouses, is a petulant youngster who leaps on the backs of her parents, bites her fiance, hammers on the priest, throws tantrums, even kicks the dead Romeo.

When she first meets Romeo (Yan Godovsky), she literally melts down his side, he quivers at her touch; they giggle. Their duet with a bedsheet is a cubist intersection of arms and legs, playful curves, pigeon-toed lifts and long stretched bodies. They brush each other with their hair and stand nose to nose.

Mercutio (Yury Klevtosv) is a warm, jovial prankster who attends the ball in a sparkly flapper dress. In contrast, the snarky Tybalt (Alexander Petukhov), with his slicked-back hair and gold neck chain, is a tightly wound mass of aggravated muscle who steals a kiss from the in-drag Mercutio, then finds himself a laughingstock. The grieving Lady Capulet (Maria Volodina) recalls Martha Graham in her black jersey dress. Father Lawrence (Ruslan Pronin) conveys both his blindness and his insight into the Romeo and Juliet situation with expressive hand gestures.

Will this Donnellan/Poklitaru production of "Romeo and Juliet" find a place alongside the other seminal choreographic interpretations of Shakespeare's tragedy? Only time will tell if such a bold experiment -- uncompromising in its vision, unflinching in its essentialism, flawless in its execution -- can be borne by the ages.