Ever since the ballet “Spartacus” made its London premiere in 1969, it has been a standard-bearer in the West for the bold theatrics and assertive phrasing associated with the Bolshoi. Based on the true story of a Thracian gladiator’s uprising against the Roman Empire, the work dramatizes the oppressed underclass’s struggle against a corrupt regime. On Friday night, the company captured the Soviet-era monumentality of the work in a strong performance at the Metropolitan Opera House.

Today, the political overtones have almost completely lost their resonance. Halfway through the evening, a red cape of freedom trails behind our hero as he exults across the stage in revolutionary strides. Nevertheless, Yuri Grigorovich’s forceful staging retains interest. His choreography is visually forthright, from the opening image of Crassus (Alexander Volchkov) leading the Roman army from his chariot to the closing scene in which Spartacus (Yury Klevtsov) is raised up, impaled.

In his magnificent score, Aram Khachaturian intersperses the brassy marches of various sword dances with a recurrent “love theme.” As the historical drama proceeds with an operatic sweep, each of the four leading roles performs arialike solos, or “monologues.” This human element – the relationship between Spartacus and his wife Phrygia, as well as the Roman military general Crassus and his courtesan mistress Aegina – continues to enthrall.

Friday night found Mr. Klevtsov in fitful form, alternately expansive and subdued. While still in chains, he propels slowly with cruciform arms, pulling his bonds taut. Upon leading the revolt, he gains momentum with drilling turns and declamatory coupe jetes. He initially strikes out for Phrygia, protecting her from four guards at a slave market. In an epiphany, he raises her above his head in the first of several thundering lifts. Throughout their Act 2 pas de deux, he wields her as if she were weaponry.

Anna Antonicheva astounded in her prized role, wrapping her body around his torso like a sash, her knees protruding in front of him. She gave a sympathetic interpretation in her first monologue, loading her ronde de jambe with a depth of character. A dynamic ballerina, she shined in her bourrees and showed pliant restraint in her long extensions.

Mr. Volchkov initially under whelmed as Crassus but gained authority throughout the evening. Surrounded by satyrs and odalisques during the splendid bacchanal in his palace, he made a thoughtful portrait of ambivalence in his diagonal, first away and then toward the charms of Aegina.

Maria Allash, as his mistress, gave the performance of the evening. She peppered her movements with menacing laughter, shifting weight in a hip jutting pose. She excelled in her backward-bending leaps, but left an indelible memory of the coldly calculating promenade with Crassus at the villa. Gripping her knee in attitude, she slowly straightens her leg in the opposite direction. Her immodesty with a staff between her knees in Act 3 understandably scandalized the traitors from Spartacus’s camp.

Theatrical elements strongly contribute to the success of this production. In the background, faces are continuously rinsed in a golden streak of light. A mesh curtain in Simon Virsaladze’s set design hangs visibly over the stage the entire time. A practical tool for quick scene changes, it is also used to eye-catching effect throughout the main action.

Its presence resembles at times a wave pattern looming over the gladiators’ barracks, separating their remote province from the Roman capital, or else it floats voluptuously above Crassus’s villa. Before his revenge against Spartacus, the curtain falls with a visceral billow, finally forming in a red tinged slant downward during his final moments.

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Wayne McGregor’s London-based experimental troupe Random Dance lived up to its name Thursday night at the New York State Theater. Mr. Mc-Gregor, who spent time as a research fellow in the department of experimental psychology at Cambridge University, draws his material from psychology, science, design, and computer programming. In the U.S. premiere of “AtaXia,” 10 dancers moved in sharply disjunctive phrases with lightning quick speed.

The choreography, continuing the radical combination of ballet and postmodern dance found in Mr. McGregor’s earlier work, is often fresh and exciting on its own. It also illustrates a keen musicality. But its rationale as a portrayal of ataxia, a neurological disorder affecting the body’s ability to move properly, is completely arbitrary.

Like his earlier works “Simbiont(s)” and “2Human,” much of the choreography in “AtaXia” centers on the dynamic of assistance and recovery between two dancers. With stiff-armed gestures, lashing in all directions, a man maintains the surprising balance of a gyroscope. He gathers a woman and together they share similar movements between each other.

In another duet, both partners, seated Indian-style, are reduced to using only their upper body. A mechanical eroticism characterizes some of their behavior, but there are moments of sensitivity: hands through hair, reclining against a partner’s knees, rubbing each other’s bellies. Highly synchronized ensemble patterns alternate between slow and fast phrases. But our eyes quickly tire of the same old pathways through the odd combinations.

A propulsive score by Michael Gordon, performed live by the ensemble Icebreaker, accompanies the choreography. The wild instrumentation, which included amplified pan-pipes, saxophones, keyboards, and electric cellos, ebbs and flows in Doppler-like waves of sound. The volume verged on being abusive, however, escalating in staccato passages on clarinet before trembling with apocalyptic-sounding guitar and bass.

Lucy Carter’s lighting design used fluorescent lights to create an institutional ambience.

The audience adopts the view of a specialist, observing as through a double-mirror a patient’s progress. Toward the end the piece, which runs about an hour, video screens also appear.

The filmic montage, produced by John Warwicker and his graphic-design collective Tomato, ranges from images of Saturn’s rings to aerial footage of highway traffic at night. The dancers disappear altogether, save for fabric around their waist that glows beneath a black light like halos.