When New York City Ballet’s “Romeo and Juliet” returned to Lincoln Center Friday, it came on the heels of a year that was particularly abundant for fans of Shakespeare’s classic tale. American Ballet Theater, the Metropolitan Opera, and Shakespeare in the Park all presented the doomed lovers in different settings.

But no matter how it’s produced, “Romeo and Juliet” is packed with seminal moments. From the balcony scene to the death of Tybalt, the action skips from one iconic exchange to another. In the theater, Shakespeare’s unparalleled language conveys the spikes in drama and passion. But when the tale is told as a ballet, opera, or movie, those moments are communicated through dance, song, or camera work. Across these genres, directors and choreographers emphasize different scenes according to the qualities particular to their media. And for the viewer, watching multiple interpretations provides new insight into the original text.

NYCB’s “Romeo and Juliet,” with choreography by Peter Martins set to the Prokofiev score, places a strong emphasis on youth, which ballet dancers tend to have on their side. From the title roles to Friar Lawrence and the Nurse, these characters seem capable of making the mistakes they do out of sheer youthful folly. Even so, one of the most compelling scenes is the Capulets’ society ball; as the score growls in a cold, ominous direction, the grown-ups engage in a precise dance that seems to reflect the calcified rules and roles of the community.

That level of social rigidity is emphasized in this production again when Lord Capulet — in an attempt to force his daughter to marry the suitor Paris — slaps Juliet. Even for a medium as physical as dance, the strike is an unexpected jolt for the audience. But perhaps it is not out of character. In the 1996 film “Romeo + Juliet,” director Baz Luhrmann captured a similar level of paternal rage. Red-faced and sweaty, Juliet’s father — played by actor Paul Sorvino — shoves her to the floor. She crumbles as her mother stands by, powerless, watching history repeat itself.

Movies give the viewer unusually intimate access to the facial expressions of actors, and Mr. Luhrmann used that to brilliant effect in creating the moment when the lovers first catch sight of each other. Romeo and Juliet stand on opposite sides of an aquarium looking at the fish within — when their eyes meet, the viewer witnesses their reactions by way of creative film editing. When the scene was filmed, the actors — Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes — were not in the same room together. The shots were filmed individually, yet the illusion could not be more convincing.

The lovers’ first encounter can also create a thrilling frisson in American Ballet Theatre’s production, but the most deft use of dance is when it is all but absent. After Romeo has left Juliet’s bedroom, and after her parents have ordered her to marry Paris, Juliet has a few moments alone. Here, choreographer Sir Kenneth MacMillan created a scene that is iconic for its simplicity: Juliet sits on her bed facing the audience and thinks.

The moment is haunting for its contrast. While the score swirls forward in a way that reflects a sense of tumult and determination, Juliet is almost motionless. Indeed, after just a few moments of reflection, Juliet jumps up with what is clearly a chilling new sense of resolve and runs to the Friar.

In the play, however, Juliet’s internal struggle is most intense after she has obtained the potion and contemplates her next 24 hours. Should she drink the potion? What if she wakes in the tomb, full of death and decay, all alone? This scene of deliberation is given full attention in Charles Gounod’s “Roméo et Juliette,” which the Metropolitan Opera presented this season. In Guy Joosten’s production, Juliette not only has time to think, but she stops the show with a full-throttle aria. First, she turns away from the audience to sing to her beloved, who has been banished: “Pour myself this potion! Oh Roméo, I drink to thee!” Then, with a flourish, she turns to the audience and delivers the same passion.

When it comes to Juliet and Romeo in the tomb, some versions allow for one last encounter while both are alive: In the tomb, Romeo drinks a poison that does not take full effect until after Juliet has risen. They have one last duet in dance, words, or song. Then, once the potion kicks in, he dies, and she follows.

In ABT’s ballet, however, there is no goodbye. When Juliet discovers the situation, she has almost no time for a second thought — and that’s largely due to the speed of the music. She wakes to see Romeo, as well as Paris, both lying dead at her feet. In short order, she grabs Romeo’s dagger and stabs herself — and then Prokofiev spools out a slow, mournful last chance to observe the tragic tableau. Still, it’s a subtle MacMillan addition that makes this moment complete: Juliet dies slowly, dragging herself closer to her lover’s hand so that they can touch one last time. And with that gesture, the choreographer reinforces dance as a physical medium: The lovers have not one last look or song, but one last touch.

When contemporary dance choreographers take up “Romeo and Juliet,” the story tends to become as abstract and minimal as the style of dance. This fall, the German choreographer Sasha Waltz used the Berlioz choral and orchestral score in a stark production for the Paris Opera. Though tender at times, Ms. Waltz’s work had a setting — a black backdrop and a geometric white plane — that lent an air of isolation to every scene. Likewise, the experimental choreographer Angelin Preljocaj’s 1992 version for the Lyon Opera Ballet is set in a militaristic world so violent that Romeo kills a guard in order to get to Juliet’s balcony. The production strips the plot down to its bare essentials: love, murder, suicide — and forgets all the rest. It’s a way of looking at the story that only contemporary dance can — in the same way that only film can deliver secret glances and only opera can deliver explosive moments in song.