Lar Lubovitch’s “Othello,” revived Tuesday night by American Ballet Theatre, isn’t the first production to translate Shakespeare’s drama into a full-length ballet, but it may be the most enduring. Transferring Shakespeare’s subtlety to other mediums without the benefit of his poetry and without the many ancillary characters, which are difficult to make significant without verbal exposition, requires a degree of padding. Mr. Lubovitch, who is traditionally a modern dance choreographer, bulks out the narrative of his 1997 work by employing the traditional resources of 19-century grand ballets. In Act I, hired entertainments perform divertissements at the wedding of Othello and Desdemona. In Act II, the corps de ballet is both the storm that delays Othello’s arrival as well as the populace awaiting him. Later in the act, a frenzied Tarantella acknowledges the dance mania that often afflicted the Middle Ages.

The sets by George Tsypin juggle elements both abstracted and exaggerated. Plexiglass panels denote elaborate architectural edifices, while realistic projections introduce lifelike spectacle without lavish three-dimensionality. There’s also a mood of hyper-realism, as mooring ropes engulf the stage following the storm of Act II. This element of expressionism pervades much of Mr. Lubovitch’s choreography, which frequently recalls that of Kenneth MacMillan, but doesn’t go to MacMillan’s extremes. The Act I divertimento dancers are mocking, functioning like a collective Mercutio, but they are more caustic, almost insidiously servile. Here, the Venetian court is as fetid as the canals — all you’d have to do is inhale and be poisoned by malice.

On Tuesday night the cast was led by Marcelo Gomes as Othello, Sascha Radetsky as Iago, Julie Kent as Desdemona, Herman Cornejo as Cassio, Stella Abrera as Emilia, and Adrienne Schulte as Cassio’s mistress Bianca. They all moved wonderfully — each mined the material for dramatic potency, though to varying degrees. They performed the choreography cleanly, with attention to balletic finesse, but they also knew to discard decorum when in the throes of passion and plot denouement.

Mr. Gomes plumbed the role, discovering different ways to convey physical menace, authority, and anguish than he had as Solor a few nights earlier. Mr. Radetsky was convincing as a broken psyche as well as a lethal perpetrator.

No one but Shakespeare seems capable of giving Desdemona a multi-dimensional character. Her wry observations with Emilia in the play don’t translate into movement and are not really relevant to the plot momentum. In Verdi’s great opera, she is at least wrathful and imperious at times. In Mr. Lubovitch’s depiction, she is guileless and even a little silly, dancing away heedlessly with Cassio. In lieu of dramaturgical complexity, Mr. Lubovitch attempts to make her interesting by virtue of the complicated duets she and Othello dance.

There can be just as much beauty and certainly as much poetry in a low arabesque as a high one; I don’t know what Mr. Lubovitch wanted, but Ms. Kent’s line seemed needlessly effaced at times, especially given the score by Elliot Goldenthal, which clanks and clangs with heavy metal cacophony. A variety of arabesques is always welcome, but a more aggressively incisive line might give the role more definition.

Until May 24 (Lincoln Center, 212-721-6500).