Helgi Tomasson’s “7 for Eight” kicked off a triple bill of new works presented by the San Francisco Ballet Saturday night at Lincoln Center. While Christopher Wheeldon’s “Quaternary”and William Forsythe’s “Artifact Suite”were long, grandiose, and conceptually overladen, Mr. Tomasson’s piece proved modest in its ambitions and gave the dancers material that enabled them to shine. Choreographed to Bach keyboard selections, Mr. Tomasson’s movement vocabulary possesses a Balanchinian provenance, as one might expect given his many years as a New York City Ballet star. But he’s able to compose with a degree of originality that doesn’t strain for effect.

Mr. Tomasson’s use of Yuri Possokhov allowed him to comment on youth and age. Now dancing his final season with the company, Mr. Possokhov performed all week long even though he is well past his dancerly prime. When employed judiciously, he remains a charismatic participant in any stage action. In “7 for Eight,” Mr. Possokhov partnered Yuan Yuan Tan in the opening duet; they exited with her crouched on his shoulder. At the end of the piece, Mr. Tomasson brought them back on stage in the same pose in which they made their earlier exit. Only then did Mr. Possokhov do more than partner, dancing briefly in unison with the high-powered young men — Joan Boada, Gonzalo Garcia, and Jaime Garcia Castillo — who performed together with Tina Le Blanc, Elizabeth Miner, and Rachel Viselli.

“Quarternary” refers to the last two-millionyear interval of time, and Mr. Wheeldon’s apparent interest in taking the long view justified his interjection of excessive theatrical and kinetic notions. Divided into four sections catalogued by seasons of the year, the piece provided everything from a snail’s pace duet à la Robert Wilson — performed by Muriel Maffre and Mr. Possokhov — which was intended to embody summer, to autumnal harvest celebrations performed by a linked circular ensemble to the strains of an electric guitar.

Jean-Marc Puissant designed a geometric screen at the back of the stage that registered the passing of time by moving scrims and by the incremental illumination of its onyx and chrome segmented borders. Finally the entire frame lit up as the dancers proceed into eternity.

Mr. Forsythe’s “Artifact Suite”consisted of highlights from a full-length work Mr. Forsythe made 20 years ago. It suggests close order formation, Spartan military drills, and communal gymnastics in China. Here, Mr. Forsythe’s trademark tropes exist in force: a repetitive soundtrack (heavy on the violin scraping), lots of arm swishes and semaphores, monotonous movement, and an undeniably apt eye for pictorial and compositional effect.

In “Artifact Suite” Mr. Forsythe again undermined theatrical protocol: During the first half of the work, the curtain plunks down capriciously over and over again; after a few seconds lapse, it rises again to show the dancers regrouped. After an entr’acte of more catgut scraping, the second half of “Artifact Suite” shows off serpentine lines of performers, clapping in syncopated time as well as ensemble work that takes its departure point from Balanchine’s ensembles in “Agon” and “Symphony in Three Movements.” Mr. Forsythe repeats motifs but characteristically doesn’t aim for a recapitulation. “Artifact Suite” ends not prematurely, but certainly abruptly.Mr. Forsythe decides it’s over and abruptly pulls the plug.

The company’s dancers don’t let “Artifact” get to them.They never appear bored or tired. Indeed the corps de ballet seemed thrilled to be positioned at the pulse point of Mr. Forsythe’s work. But the triple bill clinched a point made all week long: the company’s dancers are skilled and distinctive, but its choice of material for its New York shows left something to be desired.

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Yasmeen Godder’s “Strawberry Cream and Gunpowder,” performed last week at the Lincoln Center Festival, had a rare urgency. Indeed, it seemed like a piece that demanded to be made.In constructing the work, Ms. Godder and her six “Bloody Bench Players,” who hail from Tel Aviv, chose photographs to use as springboards for kinetic action.The iconography of trauma and grief they reproduced were not new — they were all too dreadfully ubiquitous — but that is the point of the imagery with which Ms. Godder strafes us. Her piece seems non-partisan, analytic, and observant, rather than judgmental.

At the start, composer and musician Avi Belleli took his seat in front of a percussion set. The playing area, framed by black mat corridors, parodied traditional offstage space. Observatory corridors served as wings. The dancers could get out of sight only by running out the theater’s back doors, as they did on occasion, but more often they retreated from the center stage into moments of repose.But, whether they performed at the epicenter of the stage or on its sidelines, they were always firmly part of the work.

When Ms. Godder and her frequent partner Iris Erez first appeared, one collapsed in the other’s arms. Both froze, hand in mouth, as if to suppress reactions of horror. A man walked out and dropped to the ground, as though dead, and his successive resurrections and collapses elicited myriad responses from fellow performers.

Wisps of shredded green turf evoked landscape; a railroad crossing signal suggested boundaries in lockdown.Frequent descents into animal charades questioned how far human behavior has evolved, perhaps reminding us of Homer’s Circe and her bestial transformations.

Sound effects suggested traumatized hysteria, as dancers transformed speech into falsetto and grotesquely inappropriate song. When four women surrounded one young man, they became pacificers. The work suggested how infantile or childhood trauma can become the trigger for organized adult bellicosity: caresses sheath assaults, victims turn instantly into victimizers, battle lines blur into self-perpetuating, contagious cycles of violence. “Strawberry Cream and Gownpowder” remained stimulating and harrowing all the way to the very end of its 70 minutes.