The libretto for “Raymonda” follows the rivalry between a courtly suitor and a perfumed Saracen, but much of it must have gotten lost in the spice trade. An excuse for countless divertissements, the true purpose behind this age-old scenario is about as thinly veiled as the brocaded scrim that opens and closes the work. No wonder individual entrees from the ballet are performed separately more often than together – the “Grand Pas Hongrois” and the closing “Grand Pas Classique,” not to mention Balanchine’s own “Raymonda Variations” to the same music by Glazunov. On Tuesday American Ballet Theatre performed for the second year its richly staged full-length production of the entire work.

Under Anna-Marie Holmes’s direction, the pretense of a plot is condensed even further than in Petipa’s original. When the two men arrive as guests at Raymonda’s birthday celebration in the palace courtyard, Glazunov’s overture (adapted by Ormsby Wilkins) has already introduced them as rivals in a menacing run of cellos followed by the sound of chivalric horns.

Their individual courtships are dramatically framed around the imposing figure of the White Lady, who is said to protect the sanctity of family tradition. Martine van Hamel as the Countess Sybille warns the young Raymonda to pay heed to the wisdom of her ancestors. Her statue comes alive in Raymonda’s dreams, awakening a passion for both men.

In the title role, Paloma Herrera performs with a self-conscious rigidity throughout much of the first act. She is a confident, absorbing countess-to-be in the closing variations. A flawed performance at first had much to do with her practiced theatricality, which gave her character movements the quality of a farce. She is a poor pantomime, and this is particularly injurious to her solos at the beginning – felicitous numbers that coincide with brisk, playful music, and require personality and zest.

Ms. Herrera totters with the rhythm, testing the floor around her with small pats, shuttling herself downstage with repeated kicks from one leg. But it’s more academic than playful. As Raymonda’s friend, Henrietta, Maria Riccetto was able to make frank allowances for charm in her solos, often interpreting many of the same steps as Ms. Herrera more vividly.

Once Raymonda falls asleep, a colonnade of corps dancers flanks either side of her. They hold bolts of fabric in gorgeous statuesque poses. Her manipulation of the scarf – pulling it over her neck, slowly teasing it at her side – is meant to highlight her own elasticity, but instead highlights her shortcomings in this role. She is stubborn and precise but lacks the bustle and fluidity suggested by the fabric.

Oddly, it is her adagios that are most riveting. When the tempo does not require such rhythmically light movements, we can appreciate the rigor of her quite meticulous phrasing: It does not compromise the theatricality of her role. By the time the “Grand Pas Classique” comes around, she relaxes in compass-needle tours while being held by Maxim Beloserkovsky, who performed Jean de Brienne, her chivalric partner. She even becomes handsomely smitten, trustingly diving into his arms.

For the most part, Mr. Beloserkovsky conducts himself with elan, moving decisively in measured cadences in his own solo variation. Throughout he shimmers in his vest like a sword, executing multiple leaps in a large circle or repeatedly jousting with extended sissonnes. The Saracen Abderakhman is played by Julio Bocca, the only lead new to his role. He dances with the coiled force of a concealed dagger. When he jumps, he cocks his leading leg, moving forward with the edge of his knee instead. In demanding combinations he showed occasional strain, forcibly completing a leap with a twisting torso.

Many of the ethnic dances in the second-act divertissements revive these competing gestures. In one allusion, the “Grand Pas Classique” features the men lifting the women, who maintain outstretched legs; they slowly collapse them into an attitude. Maria Bystrova and Jesus Pastor in the “Grand Pas Hongrois” introduce an array of other intoxicating occidental movements that seep into the closing finale, including a playful, knock-kneed pose. Once repeated by Mr. Beloserkovsky and then the entire cast, this gesture points toward a reconciliation between the two vocabularies, East and West.

The theatrical caliber of the cast is highly inconsistent. Ms. Herrera cottons up to her role toward the end, flashing innuendo and an overall commitment in her attack, but her performance is not a sympathetic one. The problem is not entirely with the cast, however: It lies in the reduction of dramatic scope between the two rivals.

In Petipa’s version, the gallant knight goes off to fight in the Crusades, and the Saracen’s advances on Raymonda seem particularly egregious. Here they are just barroom-variety contenders. Moreover, the significance of the White Lady diminishes to, again, your run-of-the-mill fee. As a result, the superstitious bedtime story about the importance of tradition becomes a trifling soap opera about a privileged girl who can’t decide between a mama’s boy and a bad Saracen.

In Ms. Holmes’s staging, only a few dramatic episodes drive the festive dancing. Strong character performances are needed to carry it convincingly without the whole plot just getting in the way. Although it clocks in at more than two hours, calling this version “full length” feels like a stretch – “prolonged” might be a better word.

Even as an arena to enjoy the virtuosic talents of a company’s finest dancers, “Raymonda” comes up short. Much of the bravura dancing, varied and energetic, is recognizably uneven: It was clear what sections were rehearsed more often than others. The most impressive ingredient has to be the costumes and set of Zack Brown. The multicolored pastel tights of the troubadours (each leg a different hue) gives their leaps a festive verve. The chinoiserie is mouthwatering, flavored with violets and limes. The Moorish architecture and palatial interior also inspire awe. The dream sequence, with falling vines and flowering branches, creates a convincing other world, in which the corps strikes delectable symmetries with a bolt of fabric in their hands: It will provide for a terrific excerpt someday.

Until June 11 (Lincoln Center, 212-477-3030).